Dany Laferrière - Heading South

“Do you have the feeling that even when he’s lying passively on his back, he’s still the one who’s in control?”

Long silence.

“Yes. .”

“That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Why did you want to know that?”

“I can’t tell you that because it’s not my secret to tell. . There’s someone else involved in this story. .”

“It’s your daughter, isn’t it? You found her with a boy? Isn’t that what you wanted? Ever since she. .”

“No, it isn’t that! I found her straddling a boy on our verandah. . Oh, good Lord, I shouldn’t have told you that. I haven’t even had the courage to talk to her about it. I don’t know what to do about it at all. .”

“We should talk about this again when we have more time. . I have an appointment I have to go to. . What are you doing Saturday?”

“Riding with June in the morning. . What about lunch at Chez Gérard?”

“It’s a date. Unless. .”

“I’ll understand, Françoise.”

HARRY IS FINISHING a game when his wife and Madame Saint-Pierre come out. He’s winning hands down. Whenever he’s ahead of an adversary, it isn’t in him to take it easy. He is a lean, mean, killing machine. Madame Saint-Pierre claps her hands. Christina remains silent, a light smile floating on her lips, a sure sign that she is still in love with her husband. Harry comes over to where the women are standing and takes off his T-shirt. He’s as red as a boiled lobster. His naked, sweating torso emits an undeniable vitality. An animal vitality. He casts a quick look towards the Bellevue Circle’s high green wall. It doesn’t last a quarter of a second, but Christina catches it, and when she follows it she sees the young woman who’s been waiting for Harry by the gate. They don’t usually come here, she thinks. She feels as though she’s been slapped in the face. She looks again at the girl before turning her back on her. She’s seen her before. Small, compact, tight bum, smooth thighs, very black, just the way Harry likes them. She feels a sexual charge surge through her. The girl isn’t hard to look at, she tells herself.

“Damn,” says Madame Saint-Pierre. . “I left my scarf at the table.”

Harry offers to go in and fetch it for her.

“Have a shower while you’re in there,” Christina tells him.

“I think I will,” Harry replies. “Anyway, I’m not going home just yet.”

“Oh?” says Christina.

“I have to drop by the office to sign some papers.”

“On Saturday?”

“Yes, they need them first thing Monday morning. .”

Harry moves off with an easy grace towards the Circle.

Now it’s Françoise’s turn.

“Excuse me, Christina, Harry will never find my scarf; I left it at Jacqueline’s table.”

“Jacqueline Widmaier? I didn’t see her in there. .

“She was hiding. She’s with someone. .”

“Who?”

“A young musician she’s interested in launching, it seems. .”

“She’ll never retire, will she. .”

“Let me go in after Harry. He’ll be making a fool of himself by now. You know how impatient he is. .”

It’s the kind of remark that should never be made to the wife of a man you’ve had an affair with. A veil descends over Christina’s face. The man Harry was playing tennis with, the dentist they’d talked about earlier, says hello to Christina as he passes. Madame Saint-Pierre takes advantage of the distraction to slip into the Circle. She feels ashamed of herself. Christina is left standing alone on the lawn.

“May I speak with you for a minute, madame. . I won’t take up too much of your time. .”

Christina turns, slightly taken aback.

“Of course. .”

“My name is Tanya. . Let me get straight to the point: I’m Harry’s mistress. . It’s my house he stays at when he doesn’t come home.”

“And why are you telling me this, Tanya?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you.”

“So?”

Christina feels some of her spirit returning.

“You deserve better.”

She gives the girl a closer look.

“You want my husband for yourself, is that it?”

Tanya laughs.

“Not at all,” she says. “He’s not my type. .”

Once again, Christina is nonplussed. This girl moves fast. Christina chews her lip, telling herself she could never keep up with her.

“Then what is it you want?”

“Sometimes Harry gives me money.”

“No doubt you earn it.”

“If you give me the same amount, I’ll leave him all to you. .”

“How dare you talk to me like this!. . Harry can pork every little Negress on the island as far as I care, it has nothing to do with me. . People like you, I wouldn’t even hire you as a servant. .”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up. I only came to make you an offer. . If you change your mind, let me know. . Don’t worry, I know where to find you. .”

She leaves, moving like a cat. Christina watches her with a certain admiration. What nerve! Suddenly, she feels tears coming on. She squeezes her eyes shut until they hurt to prevent herself from crying. And then Madame Saint-Pierre comes out, smiling.

“Christina, I found out everything. . I ran into Jacqueline Widmaier putting on her face in the women’s. She always acts like a little tart whenever there’s a new man in her life. And each one younger than the last, too. Maybe she can help me with my new relationship. . She gets more sharklike all the time. She doesn’t bother hiding her teeth anymore. Okay, enough about me. He’s a very young musician, as I told you, who has just put out an album that’s all the rage these days. You can hear it day and night on the radio, or so I’m told. He’s simply brimming with talent, but he’s insecure, too, typically male. She told me she practically had to stalk him down, day and night, for a week. It’s only been the last few days she’s been able to shout his name from the rooftops. Since then he’s been sleeping in a little shack Jacqueline owns in Kenscoff. She laughed and told me, ‘He’s absolutely insatiable, and I’m no spring chicken.’ But I noticed her eyes were as bright as buttons. Ah, what a time this is!. . But what’s up with you? What did that girl want?”

“What girl?”

“Oh, come on, Christina, not you, too! Why does everyone take me for an idiot? Very well, I forgive you. When I saw Harry’s little trollop over there I invented the story of the scarf in order to give you time to get rid of her. . She has no business hanging around here. . I think we have to start putting those people in their proper place.”

“Would you give me a lift home?”

“Don’t you have your car?”

“I’m not fit to drive. . I’ll send someone to pick it up. .”

“If you’re not feeling well, Harry should take you home. .”

“You’ve just told me your story, and I didn’t judge you. .”

“I’m sorry, Christina. . My car’s just down there, on the left. .”

“I feel so tired all of a sudden. .”

“Do you want me to stay with you? We could go to Saint-Marc.”

“No, I’ll be all right in a few minutes. .”

LYING BETWEEN MISSIE’S long, slender legs, employing the same degree of skill that Shoubou, the lead singer of the Tabou Combo, devotes to his microphone, Charlie dips his tongue into the juiciest bit of fruit in Port-au-Prince. Missie never tires of this exotic but exquisitely executed caress. Especially towards the end of the afternoon. She is always the one who insists on it. Missie’s sweet, pulpy body. Her sex exhales an odour of ripened fruit. She may be European on the outside, but inside she is pure Caribbean. Her slit smells of guava; her stomach tightens and lifts at the same time, inviting Charlie’s tongue to resume its exploratory probe. She moans constantly, frantically, faster and faster, with mounting sweetness and intermittent, delicate puffs of breath. After her violent orgasm (her whole body trembling, nearly drowning in her own saliva), a brutal seizure pervades her entire body and pins her to the tip of Charlie’s tongue as she prepares to let herself go anywhere, do anything, lose herself in this timeless, endless madness. The orgasm brought on by Charlie’s tongue is for her only the beginning.