Bernardo Atxaga - Seven Houses in France

‘I’d like to, but I don’t know what to give her.’

‘Send her a box of biscuits. I’ll tell you which are my daughter’s favourites. Bamu is sure to like them too.’

As the best marksman in Yangambi, Chrysostome did not have to go every day to keep watch over the rubber-tappers, because he needed time to check the other officers’ rifles and keep them in tip-top condition. Taking advantage of these free moments, he started visiting Bamu, always taking with him a box of biscuits, and what was bound to happen happened; first, there were kisses and then caresses. So powerful was the effect of the sweet poison that he forgot the blue ribbon around his neck and the old words about purity, which had now been relegated to the remotest corner of his heart.

The number of his pollutio increased. Despite that, the danger continued to grow. On one such visit, Chrysostome gave Bamu some emerald earrings and she hurled herself at him, embracing him with arms and legs. This put Chrysostome in a terrible predicament, and only his condition as commençant saved him from plunging into sin.

Naturally, the Virgin was not about to give up the struggle, and that very day, as if fallen from Heaven, she appeared on the beach at Yangambi. Chrysostome saw her from the canoe, on his way back from visiting Bamu, and being utterly oblivious to everything apart from Bamu’s existence, he did not even recognise her. He forgot that it was nearly Christmas and that they were expecting a delegation from Brussels. The canoe travelled a few yards downriver, closer to the beach, and then he understood. It was the Virgin, the statue they were going to place on the island of Samanga.

He saw in that apparition the hand of his parish priest. He had obviously wanted to keep the promise he made in his last letter — ‘I will protect you from above’ — and had placed that symbol of purity there on the beach, where she could best be seen.

When he reached her side, he knelt down and prayed. However, even at that moment of devotion, the image of Bamu was still in his mind, and it was clear that she would never surrender either. Britancourt would fight its corner and so would the jungle. The priest would give him good advice, and so would Livo.

In the struggle that began inside him, sometimes it was the Virgin and all he had learned in Britancourt and from the priest that predominated, but at others, it was Bamu, the jungle and Livo who came out on top. When they set off upriver, for example, and placed the statue on Samanga and celebrated mass, it seemed that victory would go to the First Team, but as soon as the boat set off back to Yangambi, the Second Team — Bamu, the jungle, Livo — returned to the attack. And then, unexpectedly, Livo himself appeared. The Roi du Congo had to pick him up on the river bank, shortly before they reached the mouth of the Lomami.

By the time they reached Yangambi, the competing armies within were at stalemate, but he was troubled by the thought of Bamu waiting for his visit on the farther shore. When he saw Livo walking up to the Club Royal, carrying three baskets on a long pole, he considered talking to him about his dilemma. In the end, though, he didn’t. Livo looked ill, and Chrysostome preferred not to risk infection.

THE WORDS OF Lalande Biran and the bishop marked the end of the farewell meal held in the Club Royal before the Roi du Congo made its return journey to Léopoldville. The bishop declared that the statue of the Virgin, the work of a new Michelangelo, was now safely installed on top of Samanga, from where she would, in future, protect all those who travelled the River Congo. Lalande Biran emphasised how very pleased the Force Publique were. It had taken them almost three whole days to get there and back and they had seen not a sign of the rebels. The Catholics of Europe and Léopold II’s subjects could rest easy. The kingdom was at peace.

Lalande Biran asked if anyone else would like to speak, and Lassalle got to his feet to say that, as a journalist, he, too, felt satisfied with his work, but that in his case, credit was due, above all, to his assistant, Monsieur Kodak. If the text was not up to much — and here he smiled — the photographs would ensure that readers in Europe and America got a clear idea of what Africa was like.

‘We journalists may occasionally tell fibs, but Monsieur Kodak does not,’ he concluded, smiling again. There was a ripple of applause.

Generally speaking, though, the banquet was a joyless affair. Despite the speeches and the toasts, despite the exquisite grilled fish that Livo and the other servants brought to the table, and despite the pains Donatien took to ensure that the champagne glasses were never empty, the atmosphere — the atmosphere’s oimbé — remained a constant purple. Most of the visitors from Europe were impatient to get back on the boat and leave Yangambi; and the residents of Yangambi and the officers of the Force Publique could not wait to be left alone to resume their normal lives. At the top table, however, the oimbé was more black than purple due to the absence of Lieutenant Van Thiegel. His chair was empty. No one in Yangambi knew where he was.

‘He’s in the jungle on a routine patrol,’ said Biran to the bishop. ‘He has to make sure the surrounding area is free of rebels. The Lieutenant may tend to drink too much, but he’s a responsible soldier.’

The bishop nodded.

‘Are you sure he’ll come back?’ Lassalle whispered to the Captain. Richardson and he both knew what had happened with Bamu, and Lassalle had tried to interview Livo and corroborate what the Captain had told him, but without success.

‘Who knows what that pig will do,’ Lalande Biran whispered back as he removed the bones from his fish. ‘ Je ne sais pas ce que fera ce cochon .’

‘Let’s eat this difficult but delicious fish in peace,’ said the bishop, and his fellow guests at table agreed.

After the meal, and once the Roi du Congo had set off for Léopoldville, Lalande Biran, Richardson and Lassalle walked up to Government House at such a brisk pace that Lassalle almost had to break into a run to keep up. Donatien followed behind with the coffee.

When they reached the Place du Grand Palmier, Lalande Biran paused to give instructions to the black NCO on guard. Then he took the tray from Donatien and went to join Lassalle and Richardson, who were waiting for him in Government House.

The three men drank their first cup of coffee in silence. When they were on their second cup, the black NCO reappeared at the door. Behind him came Chrysostome, flanked by two askaris , rifles at the ready.

After the usual exchange of salutes, Lalande Biran said very calmly to Chrysostome: ‘I am obliged to lock you up in the dungeon. I ask you, please, to go down into the cellar.’

Chrysostome hesitated, and the askaris levelled their rifles at him.

‘Please, don’t put up a struggle,’ Lalande Biran said, indicating the stone steps.

In the dim light of the cellar, which was lit by only one small window in the upper part of the dungeon wall, the askaris were struggling to get the key in the lock. Lalande Biran told them to leave, and he himself locked the door.

‘I have to give you some bad news,’ he told Chrysostome when they were alone. ‘Your friend, young Bamu, is dead. Van Thiegel killed her while attempting to rape her.’

If Chrysostome made a gesture or a movement, however slight, Lalande Biran did not see it. The dust motes, visible in the ray of light coming in through that one window, continued calmly floating. A long way off, a monkey screamed.

Lalande Biran had prepared a speech inspired by the words Napoleon had spoken at the funeral of one of his soldiers. Apparently, the sorrows of love had driven the young man to commit suicide, and the Emperor wished to warn his comrades that hard battles were not only fought on the fields of Borodino or Marengo; emotional battlefields could, at times, be even more dangerous.