Bernardo Atxaga - Seven Houses in France

Unable to hear, Van Thiegel could only see. Everyone in Yangambi was gathered on the upper part of the beach. In the first row stood his comrades — Lopes at one end, Donatien at the other, and Lalande Biran in the middle, standing slightly forward of them. Behind, in the second, third and fourth rows were the askaris and their respective NCOs. At the back, in some disorder, were the natives. The blue flag with the yellow star of the Force Publique seemed to hang heavy on the flagpole. There was no movement, not a breath of air.

Lopes opened his mouth, and all the soldiers, the askaris with more brio than anyone, stood first to attention and then at ease. Afterwards, Lalande Biran began to speak, opening and closing his mouth vigorously and fluently. How the cuckold loved to talk! There he was on the banks of the River Congo, giving speeches, and there was Christine alone in Paris, hopping from one bed to the next, from one lover to the next. In the end, though, that woman would be his, because she had been born to be his woman number 200. Of that there was no doubt.

He turned towards Chrysostome, but his eyes alighted instead on the journalist, who was taking a photo with his Kodak. That Lassalle fellow was another poofter.

Van Thiegel stroked the barrel of his rifle and lifted it an inch or so from the ground. He felt its weight and felt, too, the weight of the twelve cartridges. The magazine was full. This was unusual. Usually in duels, each man had just one bullet, and if both men missed, then the matter was closed, and there was no loser. The magazines had clearly been filled on the orders of Lalande Biran. Both Van Thiegel and the yokel would have twelve shots. The cuckold obviously wanted to get rid of him. Well, he was going to be disappointed.

Richardson went over to him and touched his arm. Lalande Biran’s mouth was closed. Chrysostome and the journalist were walking to the other end of the beach.

When Van Thiegel removed the plugs from his ears, he was surprised at how quiet it was, far less noisy than when he’d had them in.

‘You’re as good as dead, you poofter, you yokel!’ he yelled.

Chrysostome, however, was too far away to hear all the foul words pouring from Van Thiegel’s mouth. Cocó addressed Lalande Biran:

‘Biran, if your champion misses, then you’d better start running!’

Finally, he spoke to the white officers, to Donatien in particular.

‘And if he kills me, bury me with a bottle of cognac!’

‘The sun is a little brighter now,’ Richardson told him as he led him to his position.

VAN THIEGEL’S DEATH DID

not change life in Yangambi. The sole consequence was an argument that broke out among various officers after he died. Some said that the bottle of cognac that was to accompany him to the grave should be empty, others that it should be full. In the end, they buried him with the bottle he had been holding shortly before the duel.

Ferdinand Lassalle was sitting writing on the porch of the Club Royal, while he awaited the arrival of the Princesse Clémentine . Richardson kept coming in and out of the storeroom, followed at all times by two servants. On the beach, the askaris stood guard.

Lassalle raised his eyes from his notebook and looked down at the river. The waki were flying very high now, but he dismissed the idea of including them in his report. They would not do as a symbol of the situation. If they symbolised anything, it was his state of mind, because, from where he sat on that porch, he was imagining his destination, Brussels, as if Europe were a huge mountain and Brussels were perched on top, and he found it hard to believe that he could set out from Yangambi on a steamboat and travel entirely on the flat, without soaring up into the sky.

He glanced across at Richardson. It was odd that he didn’t realise he was stuck in a hole, neither he nor the other officers, nor the askaris in their red fezes or indeed anyone. It reminded him of the horses he had read about in a book by Zola. When visiting a very deep mine, the writer asked the miners how they managed to get the Percheron horses they used for transportation out of the mine, given that the animals were so large and the entrance to the galleries so narrow. One of the miners told him: ‘Oh, we don’t take them out. They’re brought down here when they’re only a few months old and then they stay here for good.’ According to him, there was no reason to pity the poor beasts. The horses knew nothing else and had adapted to the world they inhabited.

Lassalle continued to write in his notebook:

After burying Van Thiegel, everyone wanted to know about the wound Chrysostome had sustained less than two inches from his heart. Livo explained that the bullet had only grazed his shoulder, and that he would be fine in a week, thanks to the ointment supplied by his tribal medicine woman. Young Chrysostome seemed saddened by the duel, because — and he said this two or three times — it was no way to resolve disputes between Christians. The Captain tried to reassure him. He had to bear in mind that the Lieutenant had changed, been poisoned, metamorphosed into a black mamba. Completing this train of thought in his own way, Chrysostome showed us the medal on its blue ribbon and declared: ‘Yes, it was a duel between the Virgin and the serpent, and, as always, the Virgin won.’ His words brought a great feeling of peace to the hut in which we were gathered, giving us all a sense of breathing pure air. Then came the most moving moment of all. Lalande Biran took a small mother-of-pearl box out of his pocket and gave it to the wounded man. Since Chrysostome could not open it singlehandedly, the Captain himself offered to help. It contained two beautiful emerald earrings. ‘I was aware how desperate you were to know where these earrings were, Chrysostome, because they were your engagement present to poor Bamu,’ said the Captain. ‘I feared that the serpent had snatched them from her when he committed his crime, and so I ordered Donatien to search for them. My assistant is very good at finding things, and here they are.’ At last, after spending whole days plunged in gloom, Chrysostome smiled. And we smiled too. Donatien could not contain his feelings and, going over to Chrysostome, he clasped his hand.

Richardson came out onto the porch and sat down beside Lassalle. He sighed.

‘It was Livo,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the jungle before them. ‘I’ve just found the proof in the storeroom. Three stinking baskets. He brought the snakes here in them. And there are ten boxes of biscuits missing, as well as loads of salami. It was obviously him.’

‘I remember now,’ said Lassalle, after an initial start of surprise. ‘When we were coming back from Samanga, he got onto the boat shortly before we reached the Lomami, and he had three reed baskets with him.’

‘Yes, that sounds like them.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. Donatien knew where Livo’s village was, but I don’t. We’ll see. But now I’m going to ask you a favour. I need you to help me write two letters. I’m not much good at writing.’

‘Of course, with pleasure. Bring me some paper and envelopes, and we’ll have it done in no time.’

‘And a little coffee. The boat won’t be here for another hour.’

Not wanting to leave his report half-finished, Lassalle returned to his notebook.

In the wounded man’s hut, we all thought that the serpent had been crushed. We believed that the words repeated by young Chrysostome had come true, about the Virgin crushing the serpent. It was evening, the end of a difficult day, and we were all weary. After a light supper, we retired for the night. And lying in my bed, I was filled by the same peace I had felt earlier, in Chrysostome’s hut. When dawn broke, however, that peace was shattered. The serpent had not been crushed and was intent on spreading its poison.