The Haitian Trilogy: Plays: Henri Christophe, Drums and Colours, and The Haytian Earth
Page 20
(Pause. The others laugh.)
Angelle, that was very nice.
She is a good girl, but she so damn hot.
YETTE
I thought it was you who was hot.
POMPEY
I hot, too.
(He draws ANGELLE apart and whispers to her. ANGELLE nods and runs over to the MUSICIANS.)
My foot is like two yams, mulatresse.
But I can play drum, and I could sing,
I have the best voice in this valley.
And for you, I ask them to play this song.
Come dance. Or you doesn’t dance with niggers?
One day you will dance in this big house.
(The CHORUS joins in. ANGELLE claps. POMPEY draws YETTE gently to the ring in the yard. ANGELLE impulsively runs up and hugs YETTE. POMPEY dances.)
Is I who write this song.
Is my own song. Now,
When you hear this song, up in that hill,
When you hear it as you planting,
You will know, down in this valley
Is Pompey singing. And I will sing,
I will sing every day, every day,
Until you get so vex you will married me.
(He sings his song. The SLAVES watching, TOUSSAINT grinning.)
Or you doesn’t married niggers?
(YETTE laughs. They dance.)
Scene 12
Exterior. Night. The barracks yard. A circle of SLAVES’ faces watching others dancing. Travelling behind them, MOISE, a fine-featured, tall young black, a bag over his shoulder, a soft hat still dripping from rain on the back of his head. In another group, showing off for YETTE, POMPEY telling stories with excessive gestures. YETTE, fascinated by the obvious intensity of his approach, assessing him. Laughter.
YETTE
For your remembrance, in case you think I easy.
And for my own pride. I …
POMPEY
Yes, I know. Come on. He gone.
Scene 13
Interior. The mansion; morning streaks the windows. ANTON, dressed for the day’s work, comes down to breakfast. He senses something. He draws near the breakfast table, which is set with cutlery, crystal, excessively so, and as he draws slowly near his seat: He sees a white rooster, headless, and next to it a knife, folded in a napkin.
Scene 14
Exterior. A hill path, rain dripping on its green. Ochre mud. Below, the mist, the farms, TOUSSAINT and MOISE.
TOUSSAINT (Embracing MOISE.)
I will send for you …
When the time come.
(He looks towards the valley. Belle Maison. A bell ringing in the field.)
They are going to work now.
All of them. The bell.
And then the slow, melancholy shell.
(A conch shell blows.)
Go, then, go.
(MOISE turns and enters the low, wet scrub, then down into the plain. Then he turns, points towards the hills. TOUSSAINT nods.)
Scene 15
Exterior. The yard. ANTON runs across the wet yard into the stables. He has the carcass of the rooster.)
ANTON
Toussaint!
Toussaint!
Papa!
(CALIXTE-BREDA appears. ANTON is holding the headless carcass.)
It’s here. It’s here, Papa.
They started. They have started.
(The barracks. SLAVES emerge.)
Ungrateful bastards! Bitches! Pompey, my horse!
Saddle him! I’ll find that coachman. I’ll find him,
And I’ll roast him there!
CALIXTE-BREDA
You are under strain, Anton. You are not well.
ANTON (To the SLAVES)
I used to pray for you, I loved you,
I was one of you. And then this …
(To CALIXTE-BREDA)
I’m going to the other estates.
That will teach you to love and trust niggers, sir.
And when I come back …
(He circles the yard.)
When I come back, you will tell me who …
(ANTON runs off across the yard. The SLAVES emerge around CALIXTE-BREDA. One of them picks up the carcass and flings it into the drenched ashes. They form a ring around him. Friendly. Two of the WOMEN lead him back towards the house.)
FIRST WOMAN
I know is not Toussaint. I know that.
You must believe me, Monsieur Calixte.
CALIXTE-BREDA
Marie … I don’t know … I don’t know, pour vrai.
Where is he, then? Where is he?
SLAVE
There was a man with him when we was dancing …
SECOND WOMAN
I know him. Everybody know him.
It is his nephew Moise.
CALIXTE-BREDA
You all are good.
FIRST WOMAN
It was not Toussaint. Try and believe that.
CALIXTE-BREDA
I hope so. Go inside. It’s raining.
You will catch cold.
(He leaves the yard, enters the arches of the house.)
Scene 16
Exterior. The sky. A headless carcass of a white rooster whirled around by BOUKMANN. Sound of drumming, military. BOUKMANN, holding up a voodoo fetish, addressing his GUERRILLAS.
BOUKMANN
Entendez, Congos, Aradas, Ibos,
Entendez, Nabos, Mandingos, Haoussas!
Par là c’est les Français, ou ka ’tendre
Bangalang ces tambours-y-eux!
Maix nous mêmes, nous mêmes,
Aradas, Ibos, Congos,
Nabos, Mandingos, Haoussas!
Nous pas ni fusils, nous pas ni cannon,
Nous pas ni trompette,
We have the charms of our gods,
And we not going to die!
Personne, personne kai mourir ’jourd’hui,
No black man is going to die today!
(He holds up his charm.)
Nous ni Vodun, nous ni Shango!
Alors, au combat! Congos,
Aradas, Ibos, Haoussas!
And if we die, even if we die,
Our souls will go back!
Back home, to Africa!
Let’s go! A’nous!
(BOUKMANN, running on foot, leads the charge. GUERRILLAS descend into the plain, where the FRENCH CAVALRY advance steadily in formal squares. DESSALINES, above them, watches the massacre and surprise of the BLACKS.)
DESSALINES
Couillon!… Couillon!… Crazy nigger!
(BOUKMANN, his voodoo finery in bloody tatters, lies under the dead bodies of two of his GUERRILLAS.)
FIRST CAVALRYMAN
Boukmann! Look for Boukmann,
He’s the one we want.
SECOND CAVALRYMAN
I can’t tell one from the other.
They’re all dead anyway. I don’t know which one is his head.
THIRD CAVALRYMAN
Come on, that’s enough. After this,
Who the hell would try again?
(They ride off.)
BOUKMANN
Biassou! Biassou! You dead?
Biassou! Answer!
(Another figure rises from a heap of dead GUERRILLAS. BIASSOU. BOCKMANN staggers towards him. They meet, and together, in silence, they revolve slowly to take in the shock of their defeat. DESSALINES, whistling, comes down the hill. BIASSOU points and draws his sword.)
BIASSOU
They think we finish, eh? They think so?
They will pay for this. Not just the soldiers.
Men, women, children. Their animals, their houses,
Everything. They will sweat with cowardice
At everything black.
(DESSALINES arrives. Silence. DESSALINES extends his hand.)
DESSALINES
General Boukmann. General Biassou.
I am General Jean Jacques Dessalines.
BOUKMANN
General? Where’s your army?
DESSALINE
S
Where’s yours?
Never mind. Pas la peine, messieurs.
So far, I know nothing about the art of war,
But I know plenty about the art of revenge,
And I’m here to teach you niggers
A few simple tricks.
(BOUKMANN and BIASSOU study him. DESSALINES smiles.)
Lesson one. For the time being, messieurs,
There is no God. Not black, not white.
Don’t trust any of them. Can you say it?
Pour a present, pas ni Bon Dieu …
BIASSOU
For the time being there is no God …
(BOUKMANN turns to BIASSOU.)
DESSALINES
Your magic could turn these dead into zombies.
An army of shadows that bullets would go through.
That would really frighten the French. Imagine.
A harvest of transparent soldiers. You have wounded.
You have dead. Save what you can. Come, start.
You need a good doctor. A white one.
(He moves among the dead. BOUKMANN, BIASSOU help lift the wounded.)
Scene 17
A camp. Night. TOUSSAINT helping the wounded. He stops, exhausted.
TOUSSAINT
… and now there has begun, after the revolt of Boukmann, such a series of savage, vicious scenes of hatred and revenge, such godless brutality, that I felt ashamed of my own race. For what they could not inflict on the army, they took out on the citizens. All the hatred and humiliation of a hundred years … You hear, Moise? (MOISE, sitting quietly on a log, is watching his anguish.) … of a hundred years is being accounted for. They sawed a planter in half between boards, they nailed a slave who tried to save his master, they nailed him to a door. They are killing children, women … The slave they nailed … I knew him. His name was Bartolo …
MOISE
They did us worse …
TOUSSAINT
We are supposed to be fighting a war.
To kill a child, that’s a childish thing.
MOISE
Why don’t you teach them?
TOUSSAINT
Teach them, at my age?
I put earth in their wounds, I soothe their orifices
With herbs, make poultices from country medicines,
And they cannot stop bleeding. The soil itself
Is bleeding, and I can’t stop it. I don’t want
Revenge, there’s no strategy in revenge, Moise.
MOISE
You too good-hearted, Uncle. You want to see
The marks on my back?
TOUSSAINT
Bring me that hot water
And bring some clean rags. They’re bringing
Their wounded. They’re severely wounded
From murdering women, good niggers, and children,
And their good doctor Toussaint
Must look after them.
(He shouts.)
NIGGERS!
(Silence.)
NIGGERS! I AM HERE TO SERVE SOLDIERS, NOT ANIMALS!
(DESSALINES enters the clearing with BIASSOU and BOUKMANN. They stop.)
After you kill the women and children and the old planters, after you burn the land and butcher the cattle and crucify all the good niggers, THERE IS STILL THE ARMY!
(DESSALINES sits, chuckling He restrains BOUKMANN, who moves, sword drawn, towards TOUSSAINT. TOUSSAINT sees him coming but ignores him, addressing the GUERRILLAS.)
Now, all you great women killers and children killers and good-nigger crucifiers have known me as Toussaint the coachman, Toussaint the good doctor of this comical army … Well, I did not leave to join a massacre. I came, at forty-seven years old, to fight a war. I don’t see any war. I see a bunch of crapons, savages, I see nothing that is worth my life. Well, it is very simple. There will now be an army, and I will discipline that army. I’m old, but I’ve read the strategy of war!
(BOUKMANN folds his arms and shakes his head.)
Moise. Relieve General Boukmann of his sword.
The rest of you, get up on your feet,
Form fours, get your belongs together,
And prepare to march out of here.
(Silence. MOISE moves towards BOUKMANN, who keeps slicing the air around his head, and MOISE stops. TOUSSAINT goes over to BOUKMANN.)
Look here, Boukmann. That is my nephew.
Now, don’t waste my time. Come on, give me.
(BOUKMANN turns to DESSALINES. DESSALINES rises and moves among the SOLDIERS.)
BOUKMANN
I don’t need you all. I can fight alone.
I will start another army and you will see.
(He exits.)
DESSALINES
Come on, come on, get off your black arses now, niggers,
All that foolishness is finished. You heard what the
Old man said. You going to be an army. You’ll have
Nice uniforms, you coward goat fuckers, maybe even horses,
But right now you have to form fours and march. Come on.
(He moves among the GUERRILLAS kicking and slapping and drenching them with the hot water.)
That is the way you want it, Uncle, right?
Attention!
Forward, march!
(Desultorily, then more confidently, the GUERRILLAS march out of the grove. TOUSSAINT puts his arm around DESSALINES. They follow.)
Scene 18
Exterior. Noon, Sunday. A patch of arable land behind YETTE’s shack beyond the fields of Belle Maison. Church bells strike the noon Angelus. POMPEY, in a large straw hat, sweating, cursing as he ploughs. YETTE is in the shade of a single tree. She shouts, but he cannot hear.
YETTE
Don’t work so hard, is not your land,
And today is Sunday.
Come and drink something! Come!
(She pours him some lemonade from a carafe.)
POMPEY
Look at you. You stay in the sun so long
And you will get black.
YETTE
I glad. The white part of me is the town,
The black part of me is the country.
But the place coming well, and I thank you.
I thank you with all my heart, Pompey,
I don’t think I was ever so happy.
Lie down, and I’ll fan you with my hat.
(She fans his body.)
POMPEY
I must finish, I have to bring back the plough,
I have to …
YETTE
Lie down, Oh God.
Rest, non?
POMPEY
Somebody have to plant for people to eat.
Not everybody can be a soldier.
And they burning down this country …
All the estates … One day they could come here …
(YETTE and POMPEY are in the shade. The wind cools them, rustling the leaves …)
YETTE
Is so nice here. I will never go back.
I can’t believe that over on these hills
Niggers killing each other, people dying …
Is so quiet and happy here, I feel guilty.
And since you come on Sundays to help me with the land …
What I can tell you?…
POMPEY
Tell me you will never go. Say it again …
YETTE
You want all your women to be jealous …
POMPEY
Say it again. I finish with all of them …
YETTE
I am happy here. I am happy on this land.
I will never go anywhere again …
POMPEY
We will see …
YETTE
I swear on my cross.
(She kisses her crucifix.)
That poor mule in the sun …
POMPEY
You don’t find the mule looking like Toussaint?
(POMPEY juts out his lower lip, YETTE laughs. Silence. Peace.)
All Mr. Calixte do i
s sit around his room,
Praying that Monsieur Anton will come back …
But that old man Toussaint, victory after victory,
Battle after battle, and at his age.
(He takes out a bamboo fife and begins to play.)
Thank God for this peace.
And for you, too, my Yette.
Come in the house, I have something to show you.
(He pulls her to him in the shade.)
Scene 19
Exterior. Sunset. A long country road fenced with stakes. TOUSSAINT, BIASSOU, DESSALINES, MOISE walking. A severed head with a tricorn, with this sign nailed under it:
FRENCHMEN AND FREE-COLOUREDS
THIS NEGRO’S HEAD WAS BOUKMANN.
HERE IS THE FUTURE OF ALL
ENEMIES OF THE REPUBLIC.
DESSALINES
Read it, somebody! Biassou!
BIASSOU (Reading.)
Frenchmen and free coloureds,
This Negro’s head was Boukmann.
Here is the future of all
Enemies of the Republic.
(DESSALINES kisses the lips of the severed head, then hurls it away.)
DESSALINES
Adieu, Boukmann! Long live Dessalines.
Vive Jean Jacques Dessalines!
(The troop moves on into the dusk.)
Scene 20
Belle Maison. CALIXTE-BREDA reading a letter.
CALIXTE-BREDA
Pompey! Pompey! I heard from Monsieur Anton.
(POMPEY runs in.)
Listen. He has joined the mulatto army!
(He reads.)
If you love me, as you have always said, like your own son, then I ask you to help our cause against those who betrayed you, those who are now butchering those who have mixed blood, like your son, by sending us money to buy arms and ammunition to defend ourselves. After they have destroyed the whites, they will butcher the mulattos. Do not trust a single black. Toussaint, whom you treated like a younger brother, has shown you this. I am one of General Rigaud’s trusted aides. This map will show you how to reach us. I do not expect to see you ever again, but if you should find it in your heart to see me again, you could be proud of me; I am, you see, Papa, no longer a weakling. I love you and forgive you because I have become a man, and it is as a man that I would like to face you again.
Come, Pompey, we will go to him. Come! Now!
(He paces the living room, pauses.)