Dany Laferrière - Heading South

“You’re sure you don’t mind if I don’t go, sweetie?”

“I’d rather you came with me, but if you’re not feeling well, my dear. . I’ll just show up for form’s sake and come home as soon as possible.”

She knows Harry has no intention of leaving the party until the “last interesting woman” has departed, which means the woman with the roundest ass and the thickest lips. Suffice to say that Harry has a weakness for the young Haitian women who invariably show up at the Widmaiers’ parties. But Christina is not a jealous woman, and Harry isn’t a fool. He likes coming home. If he fantasizes about black women that’s his business. In a way, it has nothing to do with her. Christina, it should be pointed out, is a brunette, born to New York Jewish parents. She loves Woody Allen, and her favourite writer (apart from le Carré) is Philip Roth. Which means she appreciates humour and cultivates an air of desperation towards life. She has followed Harry here and has landed a job teaching contemporary literature at the Union School. Harry works at the American Embassy as the cultural attaché. He’s the lean type (but well muscled) with a prominent brow, which makes him look vaguely like a serial killer. His eyes, however, are bright, and he has the lips of a gourmand. He’s difficult to define. As for Christina, she’s a tad on the dry side, thin-lipped, tight-bummed, but very intelligent and a veritable dynamo of energy. It amuses her that men find her attractive. At parties she is never at a loss for admirers. But she much prefers intellectual conversation to primitive sex. Which is not easy to explain to a man with a hard-on. And so she avoids the usual parties as much as possible, since they are, let’s face it, nothing but pretexts for drinking and cruising. Which became clear the night a drunk pinched June’s bottom. June is their seventeen-year-old daughter, born in Manhattan. The name June doesn’t suit her. Harry named her after a Henry Miller character he found particularly disturbing. A sort of femme fatale who evoked every hell Miller could concoct. And every paradise. Harry’s daughter is nothing like that. She’s a classic beauty. Nicely rounded, as the saying sometimes goes. Adored by her professors. So gifted she takes her courses in French — a language she hadn’t known before coming to Port-au-Prince — and is doing quite well. She never raises her voice. Always calm. Usually to be found in her room either studying or listening to music. She so seldom goes to her friends’ surprise parties at Kenscoff or La Boule that her friends have pretty much taken her off their list. Sometimes Christina wonders, with a growing sense of unease, if her daughter isn’t turning into a nun before their very eyes. At first it was a joke that she and Harry shared, but lately it’s begun to be a serious concern. To the point where Christina has started to be on the lookout for her daughter.

“June, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

“Hansy.”

“How did you know?”

“I know you, mother. You’ve been talking about him for a week. I knew you’d hook up with him sooner or later.”

Christina takes a shallow breath.

“Do you mind that I invited him over next Saturday for a little badminton party?”

“I have an exam on Monday.”

“But my dear, you study all the time. You should get some exercise.”

“But mother, we do all kinds of sports at school.”

“My dear, there’s more to life than sports,” Christina says, sounding slightly vexed. “There are boys, too, and they’re good for our equilibrium.”

“What do you mean by that, Mother?”

“June!”

“I’m joking. I know exactly what you mean, Mother, and I assure you I have no problems with my equilibrium.”

Christina seems to reflect on this for a moment.

“My dear, you know that the mind isn’t everything.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asks June, suddenly anxious.

“I’m telling you this,” Christina begins, keeping her voice gentle, “because I myself have fallen into this trap.”

“I don’t get you.”

This time Christina takes a deep breath.

“All right. . Well, I mean I wasted a lot of chances I might have had with men I found interesting because, to put it simply, I sublimated my intellect as an adolescent.”

“You know, I don’t always follow you, mother.”

“Good God!. . Listen, sweetie, there are times when the body must speak out. . No other part of you. . just the body. . Nothing you can do about it. It’s the way we’re made.

It’s physical, June. It’s natural. We’re animals, you know, just like other animals. Monkeys do it. Dogs do it. Birds do it. For all I know even plants do it. June. . June, look at me. . June, your mother does it. Even nice girls do it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Look, Mother, I’m not stupid. I know all about that.”

“June, there’s a huge difference between knowing something and accepting it. Or rather experiencing it. I’d hate to see you going down the same path I took. I have suffered too much, and I want to save you from the same suffering before it’s too late. . I don’t want you to become nothing but an intellectual. I want you to have a good mind, of course I do, but I also want you to have. . a body. Do you see what I mean?”

“Yes, Mother.”

THEY TALKED FOR a while longer, and then June went up to her room to work on an assignment. Christina took a long, cold shower (menopause). Then she called her best friend, Françoise (she’d met Françoise Saint-Pierre shortly after her arrival in Port-au-Prince). For a brief time, Françoise had been Harry’s mistress (Christina knows that), but he dropped her when he started becoming interested in Haitian women.

“Françoise, I told her everything. . Absolutely everything, including the bit about animals. I felt like a complete nincompoop! She listened calmly enough, as she always does, but I know her, I know she was shaken. . Of course she was, she had to have been, seventeen years old, beautiful as she is, and not a soul calling her at home except when they need help with their homework. . Do you think that’s normal? What would you have me do? I had to take the bull by the horns! Now all I can do is wait and see. . Yes, Françoise, wait. I’ve planted the seed, now I wait for it to bear fruit. . Of course I’m worried, what do you think? She might decide to go out with four different boys at the same time. But I’d prefer that! I can’t sleep. All I hear is the time bomb ticking, and I try to guess when the damn thing is going to go off! You know, I see her when she’s a young woman indulging in fantasies in her bedroom. No, no, she has to get out, get some fresh air, meet some young men, enjoy herself, have fun, you know what I mean, it’s important for her to do that! Life is too absurd, Françoise, to be taken so seriously. I want her to let herself go (Christina begins to cry), get some kicks, be happy, enjoy life, gobble up everything that love has to offer (she sobs). That’s all I want for her. Go ahead and say it, all the things that I never had. . Yes, I know one can’t make up for what’s missing in one’s own life by vicariously living another person’s life. . Oh, I’ve got to go, Harry’s just come home. As far as he’s concerned, everything’s just ducky. . Lots of sun, tropical fruit, Haitian women with big asses: he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. And there are no problems in paradise. . I’ll call you later. . And what about you, anything good going on with you these days, Françoise?”

A long pause.

“Let’s get together soon and talk about it. .”

“My dear, you’re leaving me on tenterhooks. .”

“I’ll call you when we have more time to. .”