“Be quiet!” André yells.
“Why? We are locked up. No one can hear us. This is stupid!… Poor Jacques getting hit in the head by one of them! Bap and bap and bap until his nose and eyes were bloody. What’s wrong, René? I’ve never seen such a grin on your face! Why are you looking at me like that? You’re scaring me. You look like a wild beast. Get a hold of yourself, my friend!”
“I don’t like to hear you lie,” I whispered furiously “You’re talking about things I don’t remember. If Jacques had indeed been hit in the head, how could I ever forget that?”
“I don’t remember much either anymore,” André admitted sadly, voluptuously scratching the scar on his forehead.
“What scheme are you two hatching? Or are you trying to make me think I’ve gone completely nuts? You, André! Where did you get that scar?”
“I don’t know, I don’t really know… I fell, I think, when I was little, just like that…”
“Like that, really!”
“And anyway, leave us alone,” I shouted.
“I have the right to talk about it, hell and damnation!” he shoots back. “I’ve had my fair share of beatings and getting slapped around, just like you. No point blubbering. They won’t come looking for us where we are. And anyway, were we arrested for a political reason? We weren’t, were we? So then? We’re not doing anything wrong. We are locking ourselves up to get drunk and that can’t bother anyone, not even the devils you pretend you’ve seen… Oh! Oh! Oh! You bunch of pranksters!…”
“Don’t laugh at them,” I say to him.
“Gosh! You’re looking dangerous there. Thin as a rail but standing on his spurs like a fighting cock. Say, old friend, you’re not going to beat up a poor drunk white guy, are you, your poor drunk white buddy?”
“Don’t talk about them or you’ll draw them out.”
“About whom must I no longer speak?”
“The devils.”
“But I wasn’t talking about them,” he protests. “I don’t believe in them, I tell you.”
“You get everything mixed up and you don’t understand a thing,” André tells him. “Take René’s advice. In reality, you’re just a white man and our country’s mysteries are beyond you. Take René’s advice. He’s the boss.”
“The boss of what?”
“The boss!” André adds without any further explanation.
“Shit then,” Simon exclaims. “Me, I can’t keep up with you anymore.”
“That’s because you are just a white man,” André answers.
“Oh! Really now,” he protests. “Fuck off with your white man bullshit. Aren’t the four of us brothers who go way back, yes or no?”
“Yes,” I reply, “but there are things in our country you will never understand.”
“What, for example? That I’m forbidden to drink your syrup even if I am croaking of hunger, because you’ve supposedly already offered it to your loas? Hold on! Watch this! I am going to swallow your syrup, you watch me…”
“No!” André shouts.
“I am a white man,” Simon yells, “and I’m hungry.”
He leans over the trunk and grabs the dishes.
“Double dishes of baked clay!” he says with admiration. “Joined like Siamese twins! Bugger me! They’re full of syrup! I could never swallow that much! Nothing can make a man as sick as sugar after alcohol. I’m going to barf and I don’t like barfing… Him, why is he sleeping like that? Hey, Jacques! Wake up, sonny. He’s still as a dead man. Anyway, here’s your syrup. Looking at it makes me nauseous. Dear loas, I return to you what’s yours. Ah! Ah! Ah! Bugger me! I like clairin better. Why is he sleeping like that? Hey! Wake up…”
I see him suddenly put the dishes down on the trunk and lean over Jacques. He finds his heart and puts his ear to it. He looks so funny in that posture that I burst out laughing.
“He’s dead,” he tells us and gets up staggering, goes toward André and puts an arm around his neck.
“He’s dead,” he says again.
“You’re mad,” André says coldly.
“He’s dead, I tell you!” he yells.
And he begins sobbing noisily, like a big child, fists in his eyes.
Pain suddenly hit me, sinking into my skull like a knife and swelling in my brain. A thousand red-hot needles pierced my right temple and a gong resounded in the distance, mournful and deafening.
“The signal,” I cried out.
“What signal?” Simon asked.
I threw myself on the wall, trembling, barely able to stand on my legs. The gong resounded a second time, then a third. I saw a multitude of devils coming out of the ground. They were naked this time and all black with red horns and tails. They were moving in rhythm as if to the beat of some strange, stylized voodoo dance. I saw one of them climb a beam up to Cécile’s balcony with the agility of a monkey. He broke open the door to the living room and came out carrying her under his arm like a small package. He jumped over the balcony and let himself slide to the ground, where he put her down. He tore off her clothes, leaving her naked. I seized my weapons. I shoved five bottles into my pockets, struck a match and lit the sixth.
“What are you doing?” I heard Simon say as in a dream.
I looked at him calmly. At the approach of danger I was swept with confused happiness, almost incomprehensibly so. I removed the barricade, opened the door and went out in the street. The light blinded me. Eyes closed, I threw the bottle against the pavement with all my strength. I heard the bottle smash. The ground gave way under my feet. And at once the drums began to roll, conch shells roared, flutes and bamboo trumpets wept. Their mingled sound, distant at first, swelled and echoed. The mountains leaned on each other’s shoulders, their blue-green bodies encircling and slowly, inexorably approaching the city. Everything started to go topsy-turvy: trees, houses, streets. Everything got mixed up, clustered, stuck together in a single bubbling cauldron of scarlet lava full of townspeople struggling and screaming. I recognized my mother, Father Angelo, Dr. Chanel, Saindor, cousin Justina, Simon’s black woman Germaine, Mme Fanfreluche, and I threw myself down screaming and began rolling on the ground. Simon sprang up and lay on top of me, holding me tight:
“It’s out of grief,” he said. “He’s gone mad over Jacques’ death.”
“Our Father who art in heaven,” André began to recite, “thy will be done…”
Book Two
A crowd gathers around us. Simon, astride my legs, holds me firmly by the shoulders, while André, kneeling, watches me with his arms crossed. Leaning over me, Simon says to me in hushed tones:
“God almighty God almighty God!” he says. “What possessed you to start screaming like that? What with the men on patrol from Port-au-Prince, what’s going to come down on us now? Calm down, old friend! You’re about to faint, that’s what brought you to this, grief too, and all that clairin. Get a grip! You’re going to need your wits about you. Reach out to your loas, call on your God, but let’s get out of this mess.”
THE PRIEST (clearing a path for himself in the crowd with great difficulty): Excuse me, excuse me, please. I know these boys, excuse me, please.
SOMEONE IN THE CROWD: Let Father Angelo through!
ONE OF THE PEOPLE: He is possessed by his loas, that’s all. Father Angelo can’t help him.
SOMEONE: He’s going to exorcise him! It’s a simple case of demonic possession. Looks like they’d locked themselves in for eight days. Ugh, that dead dog over there stinks!
SOMEONE: Look! Father Angelo can’t control him either. He’s rabid. He’s going to smash his own head open. Oh, here come the police!
THE COMMANDANT: What’s going on? I heard screaming all the way from the prison. What’s going on? Where are the witnesses? The crowd backs away.
THE COMMANDANT: Nobody move! The crowd freezes.
THE COMMANDANT: Step aside, step aside but don’t go anywhere. Make room for the police. Hey, get back here! Stand right there. I’ve got a bullet for the first one who
tries to run. Make way for the police, make way! Father Angelo, get up! And you too, white man! He leans down and sniffs at a broken bottle.
THE COMMANDANT: Molotov cocktails! Adjutant, notify the patrol! I’ve uncovered a plot! Nobody move, God damn it! Father Angelo, get up! You too, white trash!
M. POTENTAT (to an unsavory individual listening to him a little too closely, an obvious spy): Here comes the patrol. My God! Just my luck getting mixed up with this crowd. My, they reek, these beggars. And this dead dog crawling with worms is making me sick! And now I may get caught up in this damn plot nonsense.
THE INDIVIDUAL: You seem a bit nervous, Monsieur Potentat!
M. POTENTAT: Me? Nervous? And, pray tell, why should I be nervous?
THE INDIVIDUAL: Stay where you are, Monsieur Potentat! This is a serious matter.
M. POTENTAT: What insolence! Don’t you dare take that tone with me or you’ll regret it!
THE INDIVIDUAL: Me, I’ve got nothing to lose: no house, no wealth. So I can take this all the way.
M. POTENTAT: Oh, come now! Take it easy. There, take this money and keep your mouth shut.
A ONE-ARMED BEGGAR: There goes my day! Why are they asking me to stick around? I’m just a wretch begging on the roads.
A ONE-LEGGED BEGGAR: We should have stayed on the church porch.
A BEGGAR (with both legs amputated, crawling): Excuse me, good people, excuse me. You others, why don’t you crawl and get out of this crowd here?
A BLIND BEGGAR: And get myself crushed? No thank you.
THE COMMANDANT: You beggars over there, settle down and stay right where you are. Hey you there, creepy-crawly! Not another move or I shoot!
SOMEONE (standing in his way): Will you stop, beggar? Or you’ll make cripples of all of us!
PATROL MEMBER: Well, Commandant, have you laid hands on the conspirators?
THE COMMANDANT (strutting): I’ve been watching this shack for eight days.
PATROL MEMBER: Who lives here?
MARCIA: The man on the ground does. The one who’s possessed. He hasn’t opened his door in eight days.
THE COMMANDANT: Who said that? Where’s the witness? Step forward.
MARCIA: NO, no, I didn’t say anything. I don’t know anything.
THE COMMANDANT: Take her into custody!
MARCIA: NO, no, no, I didn’t say anything. I don’t know anything. Help! Mademoiselle Cécile, they’re arresting me! Let me go, I haven’t done anything. Let me go!
CÉCILE: She’s my maid, Commandant, and I can vouch for her.
PATROL MEMBER: Take her into custody too.
CÉCILE: Father, say something!
THE PRIEST: Commandant, consider what you’re about to do! Mademoiselle Magistral is a young woman from a respectable family; her father was one of the most notable figures in the province.
THE COMMANDANT: Father, time is of the essence. We are faced with a plot against the security of the State. Public order has been compromised. We must question the witnesses. Where is the prefect? Where is the mayor?
SOMEONE: Nobody knows.
A BEGGAR (to another): They must be hiding somewhere.
PATROL MEMBER: Someone go get the prefect and the mayor. Commandant, why don’t you dispatch your warrant officer. He knows their habits better than we do.
THE COMMANDANT: Make it happen, Adjutant.
THE ADJUTANT: Yes, Commandant, sir.
CÉCILE: FATHER, I want nothing to do with the police. Father!
THE PRIEST: You must bow before the holy will of God, my daughter, and wait for the prefect to come. He alone will be able to help you.
PATROL MEMBER (to another in a low voice): She’s fine-looking! I’ll take real good care of her in prison.
THE COMMANDANT: Go on! Move along! Let the prisoners through. He fires two shots in the air and the crowd immediately disperses, running.
SIMON (to me): Get up, old friend. They’re taking us to prison.
PATROL MEMBER (jamming a few kicks into my ribs): Get up, mulatto bastard!
SIMON (to me): Try to get up. Hold on to your old buddy.
PATROL MEMBER (pushing André and hitting him in the face): Didn’t you hear me? You, let’s go, start walking!
CÉCILE: Somebody tell my mother. She’s sick in bed. Somebody tell her. Somebody take care of her. Father Angelo, I leave her in your hands.
THE PRIEST: You can count on me, my child. Courage! You too, my little ones. (Blessing them) Go in peace!
SIMON: Oh, Father! spare us your blessings and instead tell them to give us food and drink before the interrogation. Look at them, Father. These two can barely stand. They’ve had nothing but clairin for eight days.
THE PRIEST: Why?
SIMON: They didn’t dare come out on account of the devils.
THE PRIEST: What devils?
SIMON: The ones that have invaded the town.
THE PRIEST: Here comes Dr. Prémature! Doctor! You must intervene. According to what Simon tells me, we’re dealing with a rather peculiar kind of collective madness. These poor boys had shut themselves inside because of devils that they claim invaded the town.
THE DOCTOR: Is it to chase away devils that they smashed this bottle in the middle of the street?
PATROL MEMBER (entering the shack): Commandant! Come see! There’s another one in the house and it looks like he’s dead.
THE PRIEST: Lord! Have mercy on their souls.
THE COMMANDANT: Bring the prisoners inside the premises. Sorry, Father, but let the police do their job. Doctor, come inside to make your official report.
THE DOCTOR: Open the door. It’s suffocating in here… He’s dead, Commandant, been dead for several hours.
PATROL MEMBER: Handcuff and then search them!
PATROL MEMBER: Come on! Hold out your mitts. You over there, what’s in your pockets? What do you have here? Bottles! Bottles stuffed with cotton and alcohol! So, you were plotting, huh? You wanted to commit arson? You wanted our hides, huh? I asked you a question, scumbag. I’ll make you talk, I will!
CÉCILE: Father! Someone go to my mother. I beg you.
THE PRIEST: Doctor! These men have had nothing but clairin for eight days. Look at them. Ask that they be fed or else they’ll die from the beatings. Farewell, Cécile, I am going to your mother’s bedside.
THE DOCTOR (to me): What possessed you to get mixed up in a political matter? We help you out, we give you charity, we look after you, and this is how you thank us.
ME:?…
THE DOCTOR: Do you want to eat something?
ME:!…
CÉCILE: This one is sick, too! Oh, my God! Doctor, do something.
THE DOCTOR (to André, whose legs are wobbling): You want to eat something?
ANDRÉ: I’m hungry.
DOCTOR: Commandant! I have observed these men. They appear to be in such bad shape that I wouldn’t be surprised if they lost consciousness during questioning. Let’s feed them so that they’ll be able to talk.
M. POTENTAT: I must protest against such leniency. These people are despicable subversives.
UNSAVORY INDIVIDUAL (whom M. Potentat cannot shake off): I suggest the Commandant conduct a general search of all the houses on Grand-rue.
M. POTENTAT: Dr. Prémature is too soft on these traitors.
PATROL MEMBER Unconscious or not, I’ll loosen their tongues. I promise you that much.
THE COMMANDANT: Quiet, people!… It might be better to listen to the doctor’s advice. Otherwise, they’ll be useless.
PATROL MEMBER: Commandant Cravache, these men are political prisoners. They must be treated as such. If they lose consciousness during questioning, we have the means to revive them.
MARCIA (in tears): I want to go. I haven’t done anything. All I did was throw stones at the dead dog. I just kept an eye on the mulatto from a distance because he’s always talking to himself and gets all strange when he looks at our house. I even suspected that he wanted to climb the balcony to rob us at night. He was always watching the balcon
y out of the corner of his eye. I swear I’m telling the truth.
SIMON: Be quiet, bitch.
MARCIA: You won’t stop me from talking, you crazy old white man. Everybody here knows you’re crazy. And the dead one was crazy too. Everybody knows that.
CÉCILE: Quiet, Marcia!
PATROL MEMBER: All right, stop your sniveling!
MARCIA: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
THE DOCTOR: What is that stench?
PATROL MEMBER: A chamber pot.
THE COMMANDANT: You found nothing else?
PATROL MEMBER: Yes. Papers and a trunk full of all sorts of stuff.
THE COMMANDANT: Weapons?
PATROL MEMBER: NO, Commandant. Personal effects. Marassas dishes with syrup, dressed candles, bags. Let’s leave this stuff alone. This one’s dead, this one possessed, another lost his marbles, the fourth an idiot-all proof that these loas are dangerous.
THE COMMANDANT: Close the trunk!… You, the white guy, you don’t look so bad to me. Take care of the dead body, before I tickle your fat gut with my club.
SIMON (taking Jacques’ body in his arms): Don’t count on my gut, Commandant. It’s full of gas and alcohol and will explode in your face if you touch it.
CÉCILE: Don’t provoke them, I beg you.
SIMON (quietly to Cécile): Keeping quiet won’t prevent anything. Might as well insult them.
Love, Anger, Madness Page 38
