by Jane Harris
‘Good,’ said Emile. ‘Now remember that.’
‘Come along now,’ said Céleste.
She took Choisie by the hand and led him with Rosalie and little Casimir across the yard. I pegged over to join my brother, who was taking a last look around the quarters. From a distance, with the fires and flambeaux burning, it might look like a normal night in camp, everyone exhausted at the end of a hard week, drinking their Christmas rum. With any luck, nobody would stray off the River Road to vestigate.
‘I’ll go at the front of the line,’ said Emile. ‘You stay at the back with Céleste. Send word forward if you need me to carry you. Kompwan?’
‘Yes.’
We both glanced around the quarters again. The young women were helping each other strap their babies to their backs whiles Polidor attempted to round up the remaining children. My brother threw another log onto the big fire.
‘Tell me something,’ I said. ‘That lieutenant, back in Martinique. He told Bianco you saved his life.’ Emile remain silent so I went on: ‘What happened?’
I heard him take a breath.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It was during the invasion, after the English landed. The French took us south, near Fort Louis. We were entrenched in the mountains. But then we were told to attack and – well, it was a mistake. We had to retreat. The English came after us, into the ravine, then up Morne Grenier. In all the chaos, Fournier – the lieutenant – he was shot, injured. I had to throw him on my back, get him off the mountain before those Goddams took our position. Then I carried him all the way to Gros Morne, a safe place there for him to recover. They ordered me to return to my masters. I left him there. Got rid of the uniform and boots, went back to the Dominicans.’
For a while, I stood in silence, thinking about what he had done.
‘Why did you never tell me about all that?’ I asked. ‘You saved his life.’
Emile gave a shrug.
‘It was my duty. I had no choice. Same as now.’
Normally, if you asked him something, he would give no satisfactory reply. You might as well try and gather wool from a turkey.
‘Emile,’ I said.
‘Kwa?’
‘What if they do sail off without us?’
‘They won’t,’ he replied. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m counting on you now. Keep your eyes and ears open back there.’
Then he strode over to the others who had begun to line up at the edge of the yard and took his position at the front.
Chapter Forty-Two
By this time, the Man in the Moon was awake and almost full, his shocked white face peering down at us from behind the tallest trees, as though he dared not believe his eyes at our audacity. We sneaked along the perimeter of the provision ground and soon turned into the field. Hardly a word spoken as we threaded our way between the rows of cane, heading east along the valley then north toward Morne St Eloy. Saturnin and his platoon long gone. No trace of them remained, not a shu-shu to be heard ahead of us, not the snap of a twig nor the rustle of a leaf.
My brother led the way, one field to the next. Léontine followed him and, in her wake, Magdelon and Cléronne. Some short way behind them, out of range of the collar spikes, came Charlotte with her baby and Polidor who carried their two other infant, one on his back and one in his arms, but he was strong despite his missing hand and the tots both small and light thus he managed a fair pace. The rest of us followed best we could in a rag-tag line. Chevallier walked with the two old women, Angélique every otherwhile fending off his attempts to take her arm. Raymond must have been a tough old cod to survive so long but he was frail now, his gait shuffling; and though Augustin seemed accustom to lugging his weight, that and his great depression of spirit did slow him down. As for me, I made my way between the cane-rows swift as I could kick it, but my foot and leg felt as though they were afire and venom still fevered my blood. For true, I struggle to keep up even with the tardiest of the others, all the while dreading what terrain we might yet encounter.
Most laggard of us all was Choisie. Advanced age and endless toil had bent his spine, his walk a kind of crab-like scuttle with abundant flapping of elbow and scant forward motion. He seem to have remembered what Emile told him for he had yet to jump on any back. But each-every sound startled him and even harmless sights that appeared in his path could cause him distress. A sudden breeze shivering the leaves on a cane-stalk made him jump and the screech of a nightbird caused him to stop dead with his two hands on his ears. In between, he tottered along, every otherwhile muttering: ‘Stone me down!’ or laughing to himself until someone told him to shut his beak. Time and again, Rosalie and Céleste had to persuade him onward with hushed entreaties.
They also had to contend with Casimir, the oldest child. He prove to be a sulky, wriggling imp who cause more fuss than all the rest together. Halfway through the third cane-piece, near the fork of the river, he threw himself to the ground and refuse to walk further. When Rosalie tried to persuade him, he set up wailing and – disturb by the commotion – the old watch-dog at the mill began to bark. Of course, all this fracas cause great alarm along the line. Mercifully, no dwelling nearby – only a handful of coffee plantation up in the hills – but anyone on the River Road would hear that hound, plus the bloucoutoum could wake the sleeping babies who might, in turn, begin to caterwaul. Everyone with a child hurried on, leaving a few of us to comfort the boy. Rosalie hugged him to her breast to muffle his sobs. The remainder of us stood there like stone statue amid the cane, scarce breathing, each of us wondering if any Béké might come poking to discover what had disturb the guard-dog. Then I remembered the corncake in my pocket. I dug it out and showed it to Casimir. He stopped his racket at once, then took the cake from me and began to eat. The old hound gave one final bark that echoed across the valley and then he fell silent.
My brother patted me on the shoulder.
‘Well done, Lucien,’ he said.
Though Emile offer to carry Casimir, the child insisted on walking with his mother, but at least we were able to proceed.
Thus, by starts and fits, did we creep through the plantation and eventually reach the inland end of Morne St Eloy where the cane-fields began to ascend the lower slopes of the mountain. Here, Emile summon Céleste to the head of the line and came back to stand with me. When the others began to make their way uphill, I did my utmost to follow but the ground was too steep and my crutches kept sliding out from under me. In the end, Emile gave them to Léontine and lifted me onto his back.
Borne along by my brother, I close my eyes. The sound of the others up ahead came to my ears like a whisper half-heard above the din of the peeping frogs: if you listen hard you might wonder if a breeze had rattle the cane. Emile carried me without complaint, though his breathing grew laboured the higher we went. Sometimes, if he staggered or swayed, the cool leaves of cane brushed against my skin.
We found the others waiting for us at the summit of the slope. Emile set me down and rested awhile. From that high point, we could hear the faint sound of music. The Christmas soirée had begun at the Anglade estate and the plaintive notes of violins and other instrument drifted over from behind the hills: the genteel strings such a contrast to the lush vegetation, both wild and cultivated, that flourished all around.
By then, the moon had climbed above the trees and we had a silvery view all the way to Turtle Bay. Inland, a bank of cloud had gathered above the distant mountains. I could hear a stream running through the vale. Down there, the Chemin des Hauteurs cut across the valley, marking the northern edge of the hospital estate. On the far side of the road, an enorm dark shape rose up against the glittering sky, a forested mountain with a high peak. We set off again, descending toward a narrow band of forest near the road. I could just about manage on my crutches. Soon, the ground began to level out and, somewise further on, we reach the first trees. Up ahead, a scrub land of grass and low bush between us and the Chemin des Hauteurs, beyond which lay another sugar est
ate.
After a hush consultation with my brother, Polidor and Chevallier set off to check that the Chemin was clear, Polidor heading up to the bend in the road, whiles Chevallier sloped off downhill. Emile lined us up in twos and threes to help each other to the far side. Soon enough, a series of dove hoot came from the highway, our signal that the road was clear. Grasping their collars, Magdelon and Cléronne were first to dash across the scrub land and skitter-scatter over the highway to the strip of open ground on the other side before disappearing into the tall cane. Next to venture forth, Charlotte and Rosalie. Although cumbered with babies and infant, they hurried forth and vanished into the new estate. Then Léontine helped old Marigot and Angélique to safety, followed by Céleste with Casimir and also Augustin who lumbered over, his chain clinking. That left me with my brother and the two old men. Emile presented his back to Choisie.
‘Want a ride?’
Choisie needed no persuasion and since he weigh no more than a leaf my brother lifted him with devil the sign of effort. He trotted across the highway in a snap, Choisie riding him much as though competing in a donkey race. Having set off in their wake, I glance back only to see Raymond hesitating on the scrubby ground. I whisper to him:
‘Let’s go.’
But still he stood there, his limbs struck with some species of paralysis.
‘Raymond – what’s the matter?’
He kept staring at the road as though transfix.
‘I just realised, I never once left the plantation, not since the Fathers brought us from Martinique.’
Choisie and his donkey had already plunged into the cane on the far side. Just then, from beyond the bend came another signal. This time, the trill of a pigeon – a warning. When I listened, hard, I caught the sound of hooves pounding the dirt road in the distance: what sounded like a single rider heading down from one of the coffee plantation in the hills.
‘Hurry up,’ I whispered.
The old man seemed about to turn and retrace his step to the quarters but I could tell that he would never make it back to the trees before that horse hit the bend and he would be caught on the open ground, lit up by moonlight. Hoping to persuade him onward, I hobbled over and had almost reached him when a figure darted past me. Céleste. She grab Raymond by the arm and began to pull him to the road, the old man scuttling along behind her like a crab caught by his claw. Peggity-peg, I hopped after them as the drumming of hooves grew closer, closer. We started across the road but the horse gallop so fast I realised we would never reach the cane in time to hide. Quick-sharp, I threw myself at Raymond, casting off my crutches as I knocked him to the ground at the side of the highway. In the same moment, Emile came shooting out of the dark. He grab Céleste and dropped with her so that he fell beneath her body, protecting her as he rolled over onto his side, holding her in an embrace.
Raymond groaned.
‘Shh!’ I said and clamp my hand across his mouth just as a stallion came hurtling around the bend at full tilt, two Béké colonial on his back, a man mounted behind a woman. They rush downhill like a hurricane-wind, shrieking with merriment and calling out to each other in English, the woman shouting ‘Faster! Faster!’ and her companion yelling: ‘No, stop! Stop it! Slow down!’ The cataclop of hooves grew so loud as they gallop toward us, I thought we would surely be trampled and when the stallion snorted in passing I swear I felt his breath on my foot. All the while, Emile kept hold of Céleste, wrapped around her, his face buried in the back of her neck, his protecting hands clasped over the swell of her belly, until the stallion hammered past us and was gone, flying down to the coast.
Chapter Forty-Three
After that, Emile became determine to steer clear of any highway. As soon as Chevallier and Polidor rejoined us, off we set again in our slow line, plodding through the rows of cane. Now, of course, we were trespassing. The screech of fiddles up at the Anglade place soon faded until, at last, we could hear them no more. Once we had reach the trees on the low slopes of the next hill, we crept on around the edge of the plantation, mostly inside the skirt of the wood. By then, a bank of cloud had drifted across the moon, throwing deeper shadow. We pressed on toward the coast then turned inland to make our way along the northern side of the mountain, through the forest. The ground here so steep and slippery in places that every otherwhile Emile was oblige to carry me. Once or twice, he had to go back for Choisie who was too weak to claw himself up the steepest slope. Rosalie, Polidor, Charlotte and Céleste helped each other and the children, sometimes carrying them, sometimes handing them upward or down, one to the other.
Thereafter, we made slow progress along what felt like a broad shelf with cliffs on both side: above us, to the right and below, to the left. Sometimes, the shelf became almost as broad and clear as a road; other times, the field hand had to use their cutlass to hack out a path through the wild grasses. Léontine went ahead with my crutches whiles my brother carried me pick-a-pack. The grassy terrain persisted for such a stretch that we fell behind the others, out of earshot.
‘Well done back there,’ said Emile. ‘With Raymond.’
‘It was nothing,’ I replied. ‘Like eating pastry.’
After a moment, his shoulders began to shake and I realised he was silently laughing.
Eventually, the ground began to dip again, descending. The moon reappeared, peeping out from behind a raft of cloud. I could hear the sound of rushing water up ahead. We soon reach the foot of a ravine and found a river in spate after recent rains in the mountains. The others had stop for a rest on the riverbank.
‘How much further?’ asked old Marigot.
Emile set me beside her among the roots of a tree.
‘That depends. If this is the Rivière de Beausejour then – not far.’
‘Do you not know?’ asked Léontine, who no longer seem to favour him so well.
My brother gazed at the starlight sparkling on the surface of the water.
‘Can’t say I know this stretch.’ He turn to Céleste. ‘What do you think, ché?’
She shook her head.
‘It might be the Beausejour. Hard to tell.’
‘Well,’ said Emile. ‘Whatever it is, we must get to the other side.’
‘Can we sit here awhile?’ said Angélique. ‘My knee is killing me to death.’
‘Us old ancients need to rest,’ Raymond added.
Emile thought for a moment then said:
‘Let’s find somewhere to cross before we rest.’
And so we headed upstream. Foot on foot we went, one after the other. Along the riverbank, the vines grew thick, climbing and twining. Choisie clambered his way over the tangle of roots and liane like a nimble old beetle but Emile had to carry me again.
At last, we reached a gully where the river broadened out neath a thundering waterfall. In mid-stream there appear to be a number of deep pool and, here and there, the water ran fast over flat rocks. Emile set me down again then turn to the others.
‘Let’s rest here until we find a way across.’
Whiles Polidor and Léontine went to check whether any spot might be fordable, the women led their children to a stony stretch of river and began to play with them in the shallows. Magdelon settled in among the roots of a prodigious tree and, after a moment, Cléronne sat in front of her and began to rub her feet, quite companiable. Nearby, Chevallier stepped off a low part of the bank into a knee-deep pool.
‘Oh, that feels good.’ He turn to his woman. ‘Come in, ché, cool down.’
‘Help me, then,’ she said and he held her hands as she lowered herself into the water to paddle among the rocks.
Further upstream, Raymond took a calabash from his bundle and filled it from a pool near the falls. Then he carried the vessel over to Augustin and Choisie.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Cool yourself.’
The three men took turns to splash the water on their necks whilst watching the shadowy figures of Polidor and Léontine pick their way, rock to rock, testing the depth of various
pool. Meanwhile, Céleste had wandered up to the lagoon below the falls. She stood on a rocky outcrop and reached into the cascade of water then brought her hands to her face and throat. Emile set off toward her then seem to change his mind and return to where I sat.
‘Come on,’ said he. ‘Let’s cool you down.’
He carried me to the outcrop of rocks and set me on a fallen tree at the side of the lagoon. Céleste cupped her palms together neath the torrent then came over to us, careful not to spill a drop, as though to let us drink. However, soon as she got close enough, she threw the water at my brother in jest. Most of it caught him in the face, so unexpected that he spluttered and I could not help but grin. Céleste laughed so hard, she almost lost her footing and fell into the lagoon. My brother began to bespatter her and she kicked a deluge back at him. Then they both turned on me. I had to lean down and scoop handfuls of water at them best I could in order to retaliate.
All at once, Emile paused in the act of splashing me. Something caught his attention on the riverbank: Polidor, dashing low toward us. Downriver, various shadowy figures scrambled out of the water, ushered infants into the trees. I could just make out Augustin and Raymond cowering with Choisie beneath some overhanging branches on the bank.
‘Someone coming,’ Polidor hissed as he dived into the bushes.
Céleste slipped in beside him whiles Emile drag me down behind the fallen tree. Somewhere nearby, one of the babies began to whimper but the cries were muffle so quick I could only guess that his mother had stuff something in his mouth to hush him. For a while, the roar of the rapids fill the air. Me and my brother hunker down in silence, listening, watching, scarce a breath between us. Then, sure enough, I heard the crack of a twig or bamboo, just audible above the falls and then, coming closer, the whush-whush brustle of someone struggling to make their way through dense foliage.
In my mind, I was seize by the notion that Bell had discover the abandon quarters and was bringing a parcel of troops to catch us. Could it be that he had only pretended to go to the Anglade dance? Had he followed us all the way here? For a sudden, the breath left my body. But then Emile put his hand on my shoulder, reminding me that he was there, and I felt somewise reassured.
