Bernardo Atxaga - Seven Houses in France

‘That’s the wrong way, Lieutenant!’ Donatien warned him. ‘ Montenantnéspouci .’

Livo was carrying a stick he’d picked up from the ground, and suddenly he struck Donatien roughly on the thigh with it. Donatien looked at him, surprised. Of course! He remembered perfectly now. On the day he saw the tall girl, she had fled towards the area where the larger mugini were to be found. The Lieutenant was mistaken. If they went in that direction, they would end up in the mugini where the drums were sounding and would find not the girl, but a funeral.

Livo raised one finger to his lips. Donatien obediently, but rather sulkily kept silent. It was always the same with that old Twa tribesman when he was back in the jungle; he turned arrogant and acted the big chief, quite different from the servant he was at the Club Royal.

The drumming was getting ever louder.

‘Madelaine! Madelaine! Madelaine!’ bawled Van Thiegel.

Livo noticed that his own oimbé had taken on a bluish tinge, allowing him to think much more precisely. They should let the Drunken Monkey head off towards the drumming and then, once he had realised his mistake, lead him back and forth in the jungle until his legs gave way or he sobered up.

He imagined the itinerary in some detail. The girl called Bamu lived not far from his daughter’s village. He would lead the Drunken Monkey away from there, so as to avoid any chance encounters. Unfortunately, there was still Donatien to deal with. The Long-necked Dog wanted to find the girl at all costs, unaware of the consequences.

The drumming stopped.

‘Madelaine! Madelaine! Madelaine!’ shouted Van Thiegel. The noise from the monkeys rose to a crescendo, and a flock of startled birds flew up.

‘There it is!’ Livo said, pointing to a group of huts. As he had foreseen, there was no one in sight. The people attending the funeral had fled. He sat down on a tree trunk. He was in no hurry.

Van Thiegel was moving anxiously from one hut to another, while Donatien followed behind. After Van Thiegel had inspected the fifth or sixth hut, both men walked over to where a fire was still smoking. A little way beyond, he saw the dead man lying on his side. His family members had obviously tried to carry him off with them, but for lack of time or for some other reason, had been unable to.

The Drunken Monkey got angry when he saw the corpse and started kicking it. The Long-necked Dog approached him and said something. They had obviously come in the wrong direction.

Livo noticed that neither man was carrying a rifle. In their haste to find the girl, they had left them behind in the club. They didn’t have their chicottes with them either, but they did have pistols.

Suddenly, the oimbé surrounding his body changed colour, going from blue to red. The Drunken Monkey was heading straight for him. The holster attached to his belt bumped against his thigh with every step, and Livo could see the long barrel of a Luger protruding from the bottom of the holster.

‘You lied to me, you wretched pygmy!’ he yelled. ‘ Tu m’as trompé, sale pygmée !’

Livo had spent eight years in Yangambi and for five of them had been in charge of the Club Royal. He knew the Drunken Monkey well, but even so, he was surprised. Only a mind like Van Thiegel’s could think that the drumming was actually intended for him, to facilitate his meeting with Bamu. How could he believe such a thing, even under the influence of ten different liqueurs? Now he was trying to blame Livo for their failure to find her. And how could Livo possibly tell him the truth? The Drunken Monkey had his hand raised ready to strike.

‘They usually hide her away. For them, she’s the princess of the jungle,’ Livo said quickly. He felt as if he were talking from inside a red cloud.

‘Is that poofter a better man than me, then?’ roared the Drunken Monkey. Livo’s eyes met his. Van Thiegel was definitely a monkey, but a monkey with the eyes of a black mamba.

‘That’s why they let her spend time with Chrysostome,’ Livo went on, ‘because the girl is in no danger from him; he even protects her in a way. The rest of the time, though, they keep her hidden away. They say she never sleeps in the same village two nights running.’

These explanations gave the Drunken Monkey much to think about. The hands he had raised to strike Livo were now grasping his own head. He was trying to concentrate.

‘If you find her, I’ll give you ten boxes of biscuits,’ he said at last.

‘And a salami too?’ Livo asked. The red oimbé meant that he wasn’t entirely master of himself and was in real anguish.

He was caught, as they say, between the sword and the wall, frightened by what was happening to him. If he refused to lead the Drunken Monkey to Bamu, he would kill him, probably with a pistol shot. On the other hand, he could all too easily imagine Chrysostome with that stern look on his face and his Albini-Braendlin rifle in his hands. If anything happened to the girl, all three of them were as good as dead. There would be no forgiveness for the Drunken Monkey, but Chrysostome wouldn’t forgive him and Donatien either. He would consider them the Monkey’s accomplices and put a bullet through their respective brains.

Out of the corner of his eye, Livo saw Donatien circling the corpse.

Livo was beginning to see a way out or at least the shadow of a way out. The Long-necked Dog’s situation was different. He wasn’t caught between the wall and the sword, in fact there was no wall, because the Drunken Monkey hadn’t asked him for help and wouldn’t punish him if they failed to find Bamu. There was, however, a sword hanging over Donatien. Chrysostome didn’t like him; on the contrary, he despised him and called him ‘a mangy dog’ to his face.

The Drunken Monkey was sitting on a tree trunk, trying without success to tie the laces on one boot.

Donatien came over to them and pointed back at the corpse.

‘I can’t see any wound. He must have died of some illness,’ he said.

‘There is an illness going round, it’s true,’ said Livo. It occurred to him that he could have made use of this lie to start with and told them that Bamu was dying, but it was too late for that now. Besides, the Drunken Monkey wouldn’t have cared.

‘Is it contagious?’ asked Donatien.

Livo didn’t dare to say it was. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered.

‘Tie this lace for me, will you?’ said the Drunken Monkey.

Donatien obeyed at once. He fumbled with the laces too, but finally managed to tie the knot.

‘If the illness is contagious, that’s bad news for our Captain, and for Chrysostome too. They don’t like diseases,’ he said, sitting down next to Livo.

‘The Captain and Chrysostome will be back soon,’ said Livo, nudging him. ‘Another two days, three at most, and they’ll be here.’

Donatien turned to him. He suddenly understood what Livo meant, and a look of fear came into his eyes. He had just realised the consequences of what they were doing.

‘Let’s go and find that princess!’ shouted the Drunken Monkey.

‘It won’t be easy,’ said Livo.

After a red interlude, his oimbé had recovered its blue tone, and his thoughts came to him clearly now.

‘You said that before. I thought you were supposed to be a good guide, one of the best.’

Livo pointed to a fairly wide path that began on the other side of the mugini .

‘It’s that way.’

The Drunken Monkey thought for a moment.

‘No, we’ll go back to where we left the canoe and start the search again,’ he said, showing unexpected good sense. ‘Isn’t that what you thought, Donatien, that we were heading in the wrong direction?’