Dany Laferrière - Heading South

“So what’s she doing now?”

“Nothing. . Since then she seems unable to leave the island. . Every time she gets ready to go, something prevents her from getting on the plane. . Jacqueline tells me she’s really questioning everything about her life in Paris. She doesn’t know whether she wants to go back there or not. Voodoo gods can change your whole existence. They’re not much different from the gods of other religions, except that they act directly and instantaneously. You get the answers to your questions right away.”

“God, you seem to know a lot about it.”

“I took some courses in it a few years ago, in the ethnology department, with Dr. Louis Mars. .”

“You never told me that! Look, she’s leaving. What does she do for a living?”

“She works for a big Paris daily. Travels a lot. Writes trendy novels. Goes to museums, galleries, Paris boutiques, you know the kind of thing, but now she finds all that so vapid. Well, she isn’t the first. I knew an Englishwoman once who came here and more or less the same thing happened to her. She didn’t think she was interested in men, came here from London on vacation with her husband and kids, the whole shebang, and completely lost her head over the first farmer she ran into. She decided to move in with him. .”

“You know some strange people, don’t you? You should write a book. . It would be a laugh. .”

“I’m only warning you, my dear, that this isn’t a country one leaves easily. Look at me. At first it was still possible, but after just two years it was already too late. This place is like quicksand: the harder you try to get out of it, the deeper you sink.”

Christina is watching a green bottle fly as it tries every possible way to drink from her glass without drowning. Finally it lands on the water’s surface with its tiny feet. Madame Saint-Pierre stares fixedly in front of her. The two women sit for a long time without speaking.

THE WAITER HAS just placed a dozen chicken thighs in a small wicker basket on the table. Christina signs the bill. June comes in. She greets her mother and Madame Saint-Pierre, wraps several pieces of chicken in a napkin, and begins to move off.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve got an early game. . Can you pick me up later at the Circle?”

“No, dear, I have to run a few errands before meeting your father.”

“My father! Who knows where he is now?” she says, with a knowing look.

Christina lightly bites her lower lip. Madame Saint-Pierre spears a chicken thigh and begins biting into it, which helps her pretend not to have heard June’s remark. The girl gives her mother a hug and says goodbye to Madame Saint-Pierre as she heads for the door.

“Christina, you don’t seem well. . What is it? Is it June?”

Jacqueline Widmaier and her young musician say hello in passing.

“June has been constantly irritated for some time now.”

“Christina, don’t tell me she’s pregnant!”

“No! What are you trying to do, kill me?. . No, it’s all because of this boy we have working at the house. . I don’t know what to do about it. .”

“What are you saying? You mean, with a servant!”

“Well, I try to tell myself, he’s also a man, and if he’s the one she’s chosen to be with. .”

“No, I can’t let you do that! It’s not possible!”

“Don’t worry about June, Françoise. She may seem timid, but she’s got a will of iron. If I tell her not to do something, she plunges right into it.”

“I know, Christina, but she’s your daughter. . She can’t have a love affair with one of your servants. It’s just not done!”

“It’s my fault. . I’ve never spent enough time with her. We raised her completely without guidelines. Our time in Port-au-Prince has always been a kind of holiday. When we’re in New York we’re in a totally regulated world. Everything is organized. It’s a complete jungle. I spend all my time telling June not to smile at strangers in the subway, to look out for this and be careful of that. . And then, we come to Port-au-Prince. We find this wonderful villa in a beautiful part of town. Nice people invite us to dinner every night. I let my guard down. I’ve raised my daughter like a savage. To her, a man is a man.”

“People here are very attuned to that. What does Harry say?”

“Are you kidding? Harry’s so impulsive, he’d probably kill the young man.”

“So why not just fire him?”

“You know, I’m really afraid of what June would do. . She’s totally capable of going with him. At least this way I have a bit of control. . I still haven’t even talked to her about it. . Sometimes I tell myself that all this fuss about social class is a load of crap. . Why would it be better if she was sleeping with some little idiot who had a name? In any case, I don’t make such distinctions. To me, everyone here is the same. They’re all Haitians. What difference does it make if it’s this one or that one?”

“You know, deep down you’re a racist.”

They both laugh. The waiter brings the bill. A little back-and-forthing over who will pay it. This time, it’s Madame Saint-Pierre who wins. Suddenly the atmosphere becomes cheerful. Which suggests it’s time to leave. There is a lag in the conversation after all the usual subjects are exhausted, all the week’s secrets gone over. When the heaviness of life has been replaced by the lightness of adolescence.

“I think I’ll take up tennis again.”

“I’d really, really like to get a new life. Don’t you ever feel as though there’s another life waiting for you somewhere out there, that you’re not quite in the right house, or the right social class. .?”

“Or the right century. . I’ve always dreamed of living in the Renaissance. . The balls, the brilliant conversation, the arts, the great patrons, Venice. .”

“You know, I used to know a girl at university. Couldn’t have been more of a wasp if she tried. Very Manhattan. She came down here before I did. We wrote to each other. When Harry was posted here I wrote to her right away, and she was the one who urged me to come. I’ve been trying to see her ever since I got here. I was told she didn’t stay in Port-au-Prince for long, she went up to Artibonite, it’s a province. . of rice paddies.”

“I know. My husband was an agronomist.”

“That’s where she met a peasant farmer, and ever since then she’s lived in this village with her husband and son. . growing rice. Can you imagine? This was a girl who spent all her time in museums, went to the theatre, to concerts, all that. I’m truly impressed by people like that, who can make such huge changes in their lives. A hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround. Can you imagine doing something like that?”

“It’s true there’s something about this country. . Maybe it’s the voodoo, I don’t know. Anything can happen. You get the feeling you’re walking among gods.”

“Don’t turn around just yet, Françoise.”

“What?”

“There’s a thin young man who’s been watching you for several minutes.”

Françoise freezes.

“Where is he?”

“Near the door.”

She looks, then turns back.

“It’s him,” she whispers.

“I thought it might be.”

Françoise squeezes her napkin in her fist to stop her hands from trembling.

“You’re shaking, Françoise! Good Lord! And with all these people here! This is not a good day for such antics. . You go to the washroom, I’ll go ask him to leave.”

A sharp cry: “No, are you crazy or what?”

Heads turn. She immediately lowers her voice.

“I’m sorry, Christina. . I’m the one who’s crazy.”

“So I see. . Let’s think about this calmly. .”

“I’m going.”