With a cue from the priest the drumming came to a stop.
Then God said: “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the cattle, and over all the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground.” God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them, saying: “Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth.” God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.
The word of the Lord.
Already, the crowd on the grass was growing restless. Then came the psalm, and I could barely hear over their chatter. Even the bride and groom’s attention seemed to wander. By the time the gospel came, I was probably the only one listening.
Jesus said to his disciples: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. But it did not collapse; it had been set solidly on rock. And everyone who listens to these words of mine but does not act on them will be like a fool who built his house on sand. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. And it collapsed and was ruined.”
Finally it was time for the vows, and Louis took both of Lulu’s hands in his. The pavilion fell silent.
“I loved you the first moment I saw you,” Louis said.
“It’s true!” a man shouted from the crowd.
“If I could have, I would have married you before we even met.” Louis seemed about to say something more, but before he could get it out there arose a cheer from inside the pavilion that soon spread far beyond me in the grass.
And then it was Lulu’s turn, but she could not manage to say anything at all before breaking out in tears. Unbidden by the priest, she moved toward the man who was to be her husband, and he toward her, and they met in the middle with a kiss. The bare-chested man beside me clapped me on the back with an exclamation of satisfaction.
I could not tell what it was the bride and groom slid onto each other’s fingers, but it gave off no sparkle as they bounced down the stairs into the sunlight and were swallowed by the crowd.
Without my noticing, they had prepared a feast. Around the manor house pool there were tables full of food and a plank of roasted pig. The supply of rum had been replenished and the bottles were making their way from hand to hand. Everywhere he went, someone was trying to pour a drink down Louis’s throat, and he never stopped smiling. One after another the older men took him aside with an arm around his shoulder and solemnly pressed their sour-smelling advice to his ear. I kept looking for Marc, but he seemed to have slipped away. No one could tell me where he had gone.
“If you see him,” I said to one of his friends, “tell him to come see me. It’s important.”
“Important,” he repeated with a smirk. “Right.”
I knew I was on my own.
Of everything I had seen since Dragon Guy brought them all here, this was perhaps the most peculiar. There they were, mingling by the pool with empty cups still in their hands, as if they expected a waiter to come and top them off; laughing and talking with a practiced ease, as if they had never known days that were anything other than this; casually reaching out for another bit of meat, as though an infinite supply of hors d’oeuvres lay waiting on silver platters in the kitchen.
As I walked among the crowd, it struck me how much my parents would have enjoyed this moment, how at home they would have felt here. Only now, with so much behind me, was I able to understand that however much my mother might have appreciated the beauty of what we had built, not until now—with so much of that beauty destroyed—would she have felt she belonged. The hotel in all its splendor would have had no place for her.
After everything I had accomplished, it was the thing I never intended—the thing I fought against—that would have pleased my parents the most. The realization did not disappoint me as much as I would have thought. After all, watching the celebration of Louis and Lulu made me happy, too, and I wondered if this was the sort of marriage Mme Freeman had imagined for me. It did not matter now. It was clear that was not the life I was meant for.
Just then Hector—with the colonel beside him—stepped up to the side of the pool and raised his gourd of rum, as if it were a holy goblet.
“To Louis and Lulu,” he said. “For reminding us what we’re fighting for.”
Around the pool there arose a cheer, and I was glad they could have this moment when everything was just as they had dreamed.
Toasts were offered in every direction. Louis and Lulu were too full of smiles to speak.
While everyone’s attention was turned toward the bride and groom, Hector snuck a glance at me, and our eyes met, just as they had the day he made his very first speech, on the stage outside Madame’s villa. I did not know what I expected to see. Perhaps he did not know either. None of this was how either of us would have planned it. And yet we both understood this was how it must be. And as I watched his still-boyish head nod ever so discreetly, telling me in a way I could not fail to see that whatever happened was for the best, I did not think it foolish to believe he was also thinking back to that morning so long ago when he had stood in the foyer, staring up at the chandelier, contemplating a whole new world of possibilities that he had never before imagined. Although for his part he might have gladly accepted having to do it all over again, I knew that if I had been given a second chance, I would never have let him go back to Cité Verd. I would have kept him here beside me, where he could have remained the boy he was meant to be.
So far away were Hector and I in that moment from the wedding party and everything else surrounding us that we were the last to notice when—out on the road, beyond the gate—the gunfire suddenly erupted. It was as if our heads had surfaced from under water at the exact same second, birthing us in the same foreign world of sound. Booms and cracks and pops. But even those among us who had heard the very first shots seemed not to know quite what to make of it. The face of the man beside me appeared to register the sounds only as something vaguely recalled from a memory. It was as if he had never imagined such things could occur in broad daylight.
“Hector!” I yelled, but the colonel was already sweeping him back to his villa.
The wedding guests were fleeing, a mass of them making for the paths that would lead them toward their own villas. A smaller group dashed up the steps to the manor house. Soon only the bride and groom remained, sitting side by side on a bench, still holding hands.
In Louis’s eyes I saw panic and fear.
I said, “Come with me.”
Moving quickly, we passed the orchid garden and I led them down the trail to Villa Moreau. And when we reached the courtyard and I pointed toward the trees, they looked at one another in confusion, but they did not resist.
By now, Raoul and Hector’s path had largely regrown, and there was little sign of where it had once been. Lulu struggled to get through the thick undergrowth in her dress, and Louis had to stop several times to untangle branches from her hem. And when at last we reached the hollow cavity near the wall, they looked around perplexedly.
“Where are we?”
“You’ll be safe here,” I said. “No one will find you.”
As I turned to go, Louis was helping Lulu to sit down in the tall grass.
When I stepped out of the trees and into the courtyard of Villa Moreau, Hector’s men were emerging from their quarters. I was struck by how little change was required for them to turn back into soldiers. Yet when they had taken up their rifles and machetes, there seemed to be little agreement about what they should do next. Some of the men were yelling that they must go to the barricade. Other
s insisted they take up positions inside the estate. One way or another, they knew they could not stay where they were.
Upon reaching the path, they were joined by other soldiers from other villas, and together they made their way back to the drive, still not knowing what to do when they got there. And then they arrived, and it was clear the decision had already been made for them.
It was some of the men beside me, at the front of the pack, who first saw the men running toward us from the gate, four in front and one limping along in the rear, struggling to keep to his feet. The men with me were quick to reach for their guns and take aim, and I have no doubt they would have fired, had not the men in their sights thrown up their arms just in time, waving frantically that they were friends, not enemies. That was the moment we understood the barricade had fallen.
And then there was silence. As suddenly as they had started, the guns out on the road ceased, and there seemed to be no one coming in pursuit of the men retreating from the barricade. And where, I wondered now—as the men from the barricade finally reached us, shouting about platoons of troops and artillery assembling on the road—were Hector’s precious lieutenants now that the real battle had arrived?
Although I had never been in close proximity to one before—nor seen one, except in pictures—somehow I knew the throaty thrum of the tank as soon as I heard it. I knew little about such things, yet still I was surprised by how quickly it moved, rushing forward and crushing the gate in a single motion. As the tank crested, first rising up and then tipping downward, its turret swinging in a wild arc, the others around me took off running.
But if it was cannon fire they were fleeing, they could just as well have stayed put; following its dramatic entrance the tank appeared to have nothing in mind but rest, coming to a slow, lazy stop.
The way the soldiers spilled down the drive, like water from an overturned cup, they must have come by the thousands. I did not stay to count. The trees beside me to the west and behind me to the south erupted as Hector’s men opened fire. The army’s response was equally sudden, and I do not know how I managed to get away. In an instant the air was alive with bullets, and the dirt and the grass and the gravel and the trees and every material thing was eating them up.
I made for the manor house, aware of the shots kicking up at my heels. Inside, the scene was no less frantic. Men were racing simultaneously up and down the stairs, and from every direction—and seemingly every mouth—came ceaseless shouting. A thousand competing plans were hatching at the same moment, with no one left to carry them out.
At the top of the stairs, the men broke off down the corridor. The door to my rooms was closed, as was the door to the colonel’s office. But the rest were open, and the men were scurrying through, rifles at the ready.
Once inside, I locked the door behind me. I did not need to go to the shutters to know the army had advanced farther down the drive. In addition to their guns, I could hear their voices now, and from the balconies of the other offices Hector’s men were firing down upon them.
I stayed low as I crept across the floor. My progress was slow. So loud and close were the guns that it was difficult to keep from recoiling every time one of them went off. Eventually I reached my desk. But even once I had managed to slide the key from my pocket, my hands were shaking too much for me to be able to fit it into the lock. I needed both hands, one to steady the other.
The pistol was still wrapped in the same oilcloth in which Dragon Guy had delivered it. Not once having touched it since then, I had never had time to develop a proper feel for the thing, and even now—with bullets thunking into every part of the manor house—it felt wrong in my hand.
As I started to close the drawer, I spotted something else tucked in the back, half buried by a bundle of paper. It was Hector’s gun, the nickel plating just as shiny and polished as it had been the day he handed it over for me to keep, a little more than a year ago. Seeing it there, I felt a sickening knot tighten in my belly. How I wished now that I had thought to give it back.
It was clear I could not stay in the office, even if I had no idea where else to go. The tank had begun firing now, and even though the manor house was not the target, I could feel the floor shake with every shell. Should the tank choose to swivel this way, I knew I might never be able to come back; there would be nothing left to come back to.
I saw my father’s icons on the shelf, M. Guinee’s key, my books and the boxes of records from the hotel. All I had left of Senator Marcus was his suit, which I was already wearing. On top of the desk I spotted a small pile of Madame’s letters, tied with a piece of yellow ribbon.
There was room in my pocket for just one item. And so I chose Hector’s gun, hoping it was not already too late.
This time the stairs were clear. At the bottom I discovered a dozen of Hector’s men squatting in clusters on either side of the broad front entrance, taking turns firing. Three men bunkered behind the front desk popped up as if spring-loaded into a child’s toy, spraying the circular drive with bullets. And then, just as quickly, they ducked back down. The front of the desk looked as though it had been chiseled away.
There were bullet holes everywhere—high up on the wall, in the hallway mirror, in the ballroom door. It seemed that no angle, no amount of cover, could provide any safety. A blue china vase missing its upper half sat in prim indifference on a pedestal beside the library. The saw teeth cutting across its middle looked so serene and perfect they could have been sculpted by the artist himself. But not everything had been touched so superficially. On the floor between the settee and an armchair lay a man with a small purple smudge in his neck. It looked like a stain, like a drop of wine spilled on a tablecloth.
Huddled there at the bottom of the stairs—just as I was the night of Georges’s robbery—I could not decide what to do. I watched from behind as one of the men beside the entrance slowly raised his finger. A moment after the first came another. The others waited nervously for him to finish his count. The instant his third finger rose, the man pivoted toward the doorway and the others did the same, swinging the barrels of their rifles ahead of their bodies, shooting without taking time to aim. I got up to run just as one and then another of them fell.
Safe now around the corner, I glanced back. Those still standing had pulled back their guns and returned to their positions against the wall, pausing to catch their breath. The two men I had seen fall lay still on the floor. The only part of them that moved was their blood, blooming atop the marble.
Once again the leader began his count for all the others to see, firing his fingers out like pistons—one, two—his concentration unbreakable.
For the first time, I saw his face. It was Marc. He had found a place to put his anger, and I knew there was nothing I could do or say now to stop him.
There was an explosion of bullets, and I fled, knowing better than to look back. I ran down the corridor as fast as I could. This part of the manor house seemed completely empty, so I was not prepared when I stepped on to the verandah and suddenly found myself surrounded. There were five of them, but their pulsing, sweaty faces made them seem like one. Reflexively, I raised my hands.
Both pistols were still in my pocket, weighing me down like stones. I do not know why they did not shoot. I tried to stop, but I lost my balance and stumbled to the ground. Several of the barrels followed me down, still pointed at my head.
“It’s him,” one of the men said. “It’s just him.”
When I looked up, they had already dispersed, returning to their posts behind the low wall. The army had not yet made it this far. Down below, the charred pig glistened on its platter. On the surface of the pool floated the party’s abandoned vessels, scratched tin cups and hollow gourds, too insubstantial to sink.
Even before I reached the back of the manor house, I could hear the shouting. Soldiers were pouring onto the grounds surrounding the outbuildings, and there were women and children everywhere. There was too little space for so much chaos, and the soldiers
were swinging randomly with the butts of their guns, using them as clubs. I watched with sinking horror as one of the laundresses—a friend of Lulu’s, still wearing her purple floral dress—took a blow to the head and tumbled lifelessly to the cement.
Some of the women had weapons, too, but they were outnumbered. Every minute there were more soldiers. I heard shots coming from up above and then one of the soldiers down below fell with a cry against the wall of Mona’s kitchen. I saw with relief that the door was still barred shut.
Mlle Trouvé stood barefoot on the top step leading up to the casino, calling out to the children below her on the grass. Given how little time had passed since the invasion began, she must have run straight here, abandoning her shoes along the way. Seeing her so disheveled, I was struck by how much like a child she was herself.
“Hurry,” she shouted to the children as they bumped and stumbled their way toward the door. But it was taking too long, and the youngest among them could not keep up. Down the stairs Mlle Trouvé went, collecting one under each arm.
“Let me help you,” I said.
She did not answer. There was no time. We could hear the voices of the soldiers getting closer.
Up and down the steps we went until we had gathered together every last child. When they were safely inside, we scurried in after them, closing and locking the door behind us. At that very moment I heard the crunch of heavy boots kicking through the dust and pebbles outside.
“They’re here,” I said.
Mlle Trouvé was nearly gasping, trying to catch her breath. “Let them come.”
In her shaking hands a rifle trembled. Had it been in here all along?
As I watched, feeling the hope drain out of me, she pulled back the bolt handle to make sure the chambers were loaded.
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