The Stone that the Builder Refused

by Madison Smartt Bell

  In a hundred more paces they’d come out of the trees and stood in view of the smoking hole that had been the Sancey grand’case two days earlier. French infantry milled on the slope beyond the ruin, and presently a young lieutenant came to inquire their business.

  “We are the proprietors of Habitation Thibodet, which lies just beyond this place,” Tocquet said. “We seek to regain our home today, supposing that it still exists.”

  Without comment, the lieutenant looked over all their crew.

  “Does one know who burned this property?” Elise said abruptly.

  “Ah, Madame.” The lieutenant’s eyes settled on her; he inclined his head politely. “This place is said to belong to the outlaw Toussaint, by whose order the towns of the coast have been razed. We thought to give him a taste of his own tactics.”

  To that, no one immediately replied. Gabriel and François were coughing from the smoke; Isabelle stared gloomily at the house key she’d plucked from her bodice.

  “And Thibodet?” Elise said finally.

  “I have no knowledge of the place,” the lieutenant said, as he stepped aside and beckoned. “But by all means go and see for yourselves—we do not mean to hinder you.”

  In another half-hour, Tocquet stopped below the mango trees and wrinkled his nose.

  “What is it?” Elise said.

  “I don’t smell smoke.”

  “You don’t smell smoke,” she repeated.

  “A good sign, I think,” Tocquet said. “Let us go on.”

  Paul and Caco had run on ahead; a few minutes later they came dashing back. Yoyo, Caco’s little sister, was capering among them now.

  “Saint-Jean is there!” Paul cried in high excitement.

  “What do you mean?” Elise said. “Saint-Jean is where?”

  “In your own house, ma tante—come see!” And the three of them scampered away again.

  “It is mysterious,” Elise muttered, pressing a hand to her abdomen.

  Tocquet took off his broad-brimmed hat and scratched at the back of his head. “It suggests the house is still standing at least. As for Saint-Jean—we’ll see soon enough.”

  When they entered the back of the Thibodet compound, they found Merbillay working around the kitchen much as usual—with Paul, Caco, Yoyo, and now Sophie all clamoring around her for a snack of the pork griot she was turning in her iron chaudière. The house was there, walls and roof intact, and all the outbuildings. Everything was quite as usual, except that now French soldiers were bivouacked around the area where the black army had formerly camped.

  Their gallery was crowded with French officers, they saw when they circled to the front of the house. And with them, one black lad who jumped up to greet them—Saint-Jean, as Paul had claimed. He ran toward the steps, but one of the officers came forward to restrain him.

  “Of course,” said Tocquet. “We’ve been requisitioned, for officers’ quarters.”

  “Dispossessed, you mean,” Elise said darkly.

  “An inconvenience less lasting, I note, than being burned to the ground,” Tocquet said.

  “Wait,” Isabelle said, staring at the captain who stooped to whisper in Saint-Jean’s ear. “I know that officer—so do you.” She turned to Nanon and Elise. “Help me.”

  Tocquet squinted under his hat brim. Yes, that captain did seem familiar—one of the lot that had infested them here before diplomacy with Toussaint had failed. Tocquet had kept clear of them for the most part, had not bothered to remember their names. The other women, even Zabeth, had closed around Isabelle. At first Tocquet did not grasp their purpose, but when the cluster opened he understood. Isabelle had been made over, insofar as circumstances allowed: her hair tidied, dust and soot brushed from her cheeks, a red hibiscus bloom tucked behind one ear. Kicking aside her broken shoes, she tripped barefoot across the grass beside the pool, carefree as a maiden coming home from a country outing.

  “Captain Daspir,” she trilled. “Can it be you?”

  Daspir was already trotting toward her, hat in his hand. Saint-Jean, forgotten on the steps behind him, ran down to join Paul and Caco, though one of the other officers stood up to watch him from across the gallery rail.

  “Quelle surprise!” Daspir said. “Of course, I’d hoped to find you here. But how—”

  “Oh, we have been fleeing the brigands for an age, it seems.” Isabelle flashed her brilliant smile. “For that, you find us in some disarray.” She lifted a fold of her stained skirt with one hand, then twirled out its stripes with a nimble pirouette. “And yourself, Captain?”

  Daspir seemed mesmerized by the flirting fabric; it took him a moment to react. “Oh, I have just been sent from Gonaives this morning,” he said, turning from Isabelle to locate Saint-Jean. “The surveillance of Toussaint’s offspring appears to be my destiny. But—” He reached for her hand; Isabelle let him capture it. “You must be very weary from your travel—and all the hazards you have run.”

  “God has preserved us,” Isabelle said, laying her free hand across her clavicle. “And my friends, whom you’ll remember, are thankful to regain their home. Though in the present situation, as I see . . .” She trailed off, looking at the officers on the gallery.

  “Oh no.” Daspir pressed her hand more warmly. “No, not at all. We shall not discommode you for a moment longer. Saint-Jean is meant to go up to Le Cap tomorrow—we have the unfortunate necessity to hold him as a hostage—and as for the rest of us, never mind. Give us ten minutes and the house is yours.”

  23

  It pleased me that the blanc officers gave me that letterbox where Toussaint’s souvenirs had been hidden, though what use would I, Riau, have for such a thing? There was no one who sent Riau letters or trinkets of the kind that Toussaint saved. I never wanted the love of white women as some men did. I did not like the way they smelled or their thin, sharp lips and noses like the beaks of birds. Once I had some letters from white women that I found in the pockets of a blanc soldier who was dead. I kept those letters for a long time, and used to read them sometimes, but by the time I got the box those letters were gone. Merbillay wrote no one letters. She could not read or write her name.

  Yet I took the box to an ébéniste and ordered the false bottom to be repaired. The woodworker was soon able to find the secret of the latch that let the bottom open or held it shut. I thought how Merbillay’s eyes would shine to see it open. Yoyo and Caco would like it too.

  I could not think then, though, how I was going to get back to Ennery to see them again, because Ennery was one of Toussaint’s places, and now Riau was on the other side of the war from Toussaint.

  So long as I was near Maillart, I did not feel so very uneasy about the place that I was in. Major Maillart had been in many battles with Riau and we respected each other as two brother officers ought to do. But Maillart had been in our country a long time. It was different with the other blanc officers who had just come out from France. There was Captain Paltre, who was much with Maillart in those days at Port-au-Prince. Paltre had been in the country once before, though not for long. Yet I did remember seeing him then, in the north. He had come and gone from Le Cap with the Agent Hédouville, when Toussaint chased him out. This seemed not a great thing to be proud of, but Paltre liked to boast of what he knew, and the things he had done and was going to do. His boasting was all built out of hints, maybe because there was no certain story he could tell. Maillart did not encourage this boasting, but he accepted Paltre’s company anyway. I felt a mean spirit living in Paltre, and I did not think he was so important as he claimed—no more important than Riau, since the General Boudet had sent us both away when they had opened the bottom of the box.

  But maybe Paltre did have something hidden behind his head. In those days at Port-au-Prince, between the battles, I went sometimes to the house of Paul Lafrance. The old man’s wife would give me coffee and something to eat whenever I came, and the three daughters laughed and swung their hips at anything I said. I did not mean anything toward any one of t
hem, but only saw the three of them together, though after a few times I could tell that Marie-Odette might like to be alone with Riau, without her sisters. But I had a respect for Paul Lafrance that held me back. Madame Lafrance was a good cook, and it was sweet to hear the voices of the girls together, but always when I left their house I would hear again in my head again the breaking voice of Paul Lafrance when he told the white officers how he would die to see his daughters slaves. How had that thought come into his head? It was against the proclamations. Still I could feel that Paltre, at least, and maybe others, would be glad enough to see those girls in chains.

  Maillart would often play cards with Paltre, who did not play very well in spite of his boasting, so that Maillart usually won his money. I understood this, but I did not stay long with them when they played, and I would not drink with the two of them past the first few swallows, though with Maillart alone I would drink to the bottom of the bottle. Maybe Maillart only sat with Paltre to get his money from him at cards, because it did not seem that many thoughts were shared between them. Maillart never seemed to notice, but I felt the weight of some bad secret on a few of the white officers under the General Boudet, even the General Pamphile de Lacroix, though that blanc had an open heart and an open hand, was quick with his words and fond of laughter, so that everybody liked him.

  It was Lacroix who told General Boudet that Riau ought to go down to the plain of Léogane to meet Lamour Dérance to see if he might bring his men to join with the French. How Lacroix came to have this thought I never knew, but it was not a bad one. I was glad to get away from Port-au-Prince for a few days too, though after the last time I was not so sure how Lamour Dérance would receive me.

  Soon after, General Boudet went out of Port-au-Prince with most of the men that had come out of the French ships with him, and marched them north to fight Dessalines at Saint Marc. He left the General Pamphile de Lacroix with only six hundred men to defend Port-au-Prince, which was maybe not a wise thing to do. Dessalines had left Saint Marc by the time Boudet arrived there. As Riau had seen before, Dessalines had made Saint Marc ready for the burning a long time before, and he set fire to the tar-painted walls of every building as soon as Boudet and his army came in sight. I heard Paltre tell Maillart about it afterward and his face was pale even for a blanc and his voice shook in a way his boast-fulness could not control. It had been the same at Saint Marc as what Riau had seen after Léogane was burned, because Dessalines had ordered the killing of all the blancs he could catch and left their bodies stinking and smoking on the coals of Saint Marc for Boudet’s soldiers to find. I looked at Paltre’s face when he told Maillart, and though he did not say so I felt certain that when he smelled the burning flesh of the blancs butchered at Saint Marc, he must have bent over low to vomit on his own shoes. But I did not hear him tell Maillart until many days later, and a lot of things had happened in between.

  Dessalines was gone from Saint Marc by the time Boudet brought his soldiers in. He waited to start the fires until the blanc soldiers were in sight, and maybe he waited to cut the throats of all the blanc colons he had caught there too, so that the soldiers could hear the screaming from where they stood on the road, and know they could do nothing to stop what was happening, because they would not reach the town soon enough no matter how fast they ran. Saint Marc was surrounded by many strong forts and it was as good a place as any to give the blancs a battle in their own fashion, and better than most, but Dessalines did not mean to fight them so that day. He was following Toussaint’s order when he burned Saint Marc and left it, but he must have agreed with the order too, because Dessalines, the same as Moyse, was not certain to follow an order if he did not agree.

  The blanc soldiers were angry at what they found at Saint Marc, but they did not hurry too much to chase Dessalines. Toussaint meant for them to find ashes and dead blanc bodies wherever they arrived, because that would throw down their hearts and discourage them. They stayed for a day on the ashes of Saint Marc, and while they had not yet raised up their spirits enough to march after him, Dessalines was coming quickly down toward Port-au-Prince again, in a circle that moved through the mountains at Fonds-Batiste and Les Matheux, at a speed that only Dessalines could manage in such territory. But I, Riau, knew nothing of these things until afterward, because I was already gone from Port-au-Prince.

  I rode out alone, with my horse well fed, and two days’ dried beef in my straw macoute, and even a purse with some money given to me by the blancs. General Lacroix would have sent some blanc soldiers to protect me, perhaps, and to watch that Riau did not try to play any trick on the French this time, only Major Maillart persuaded him that I would be safer without any blanc soldiers with me, and more likely to be trusted by the people I was going to meet. Maillart looked happy enough to be staying in the town, when Lacroix would have sent him with Riau if he had sent anyone, and I was content to be away from all these blancs for a while, and to be out of Port-au-Prince also.

  There were a few French soldiers watching Fort Piémont, and a few more in the town of Léogane. Some people who had lived in Léogane were shoveling ashes out of the holes where houses had been, or trying to raise roofs on what was left of the walls after Dessalines burned them. They did not work very quickly, and one could see that their hearts were low. South of Léogane, it was all quiet. Since Laplume had given his hand to the French, they had nothing to fear as far south as Les Cayes, except maybe from bands of maroons like the band of Lamour Dérance, but these had not taken either side yet, and they were waiting to see what they would do.

  I, Riau, I was also waiting. I thought that when I left Port-au-Prince and the blancs behind, my spirits would return to guide me. Yet this too was only a thought I had made, and even in the plain of Léogane I could not stop my thoughts, but they went crawling everywhere all the time, like worms in cornmeal. The stillness of the plain seemed wrong, like the stillness in the hole between the winds of a hurricane.

  I did not have to ride very long south of Léogane before I came upon some of Lamour Dérance’s people. This time they were full of smiles, because now they recognized Riau as a friend of Jean-Pic. I let them bring me to their camp, which had moved a little since the other time. They were in the low hills now below the plain, where they might get away quickly if they wanted to, in the direction of Jacmel or of Lake Henriquillo.

  So I came then to the ajoupa of Jean-Pic, and his madanm killed two ducks for us that night, and stewed them with mangoes in an iron pot. There was rice and beans too and boiled greens, so all of Jean-Pic’s small children were happy, and sat in the firelight cracking bones for the marrow with the duck fat shining around their smiles. One of the boys turned over a pot and struck a drumbeat on it with one bare hand and a stick found on the ground. He was strong like a little bull in his neck and shoulders, though he had not grown very big, and I thought of Caco when I looked at him, and then the younger children. I wondered how I was going to get to Ennery again, and what might be happening there now. I know from the blanc officers at Port-au-Prince that the General Leclerc was planning a big attack on Toussaint at Gonaives at the same time that Boudet was going to fight Dessalines at Saint Marc, but I did not know what had happened in those battles, and I only hoped that Guiaou might be near Merbillay and the children, when Riau was far away.

  I did not say much to Jean-Pic about the business that brought me to the camp, only that I had a message to Lamour Dérance from the French generals at Port-au-Prince. In the morning when we had each eaten a small piece of cassava, Jean-Pic signaled for me to walk with him. We climbed a little distance into the hills, high enough that tails of mist were lifting where we walked, till we came to a place where a stand of bamboo made a sort of arbor, a tonnelle. A pile of stones was on the ground beneath the bamboo, and at each of four corners around it stood a small clay govi.

  In a moment a couple of strong men came in from another direction than us, looking all around the place, but turning their eyes from the pile of stones and the
govis as they passed. Their fingers kept brushing the handles of the pistols in their belts, but Jean-Pic knew them and called their names, and they spoke to him in a friendly way. Then soon after came Lamour Dérance, stooping to enter the tonnelle and then straightening where the bamboo gave a higher space. He folded his arms tight across his chest and looked at Riau with hard eyes across the pile of stones.

  I knew that Legba was inside the stones, and maybe lying underneath Legba would be Maît’ Kalfou. I knew those four govis were there to mark the crossroads, though I did not know what pwen were held inside them. Also I knew that Lamour Dérance did not very much trust Riau.

  “Ginen maman nou,” I said at last. Africa is our mother. I said this because I thought I knew that Lamour Dérance had come out of Africa a bossale, as Riau did, instead of being born in Saint Domingue, a Creole like Toussaint. When I had said it, Lamour Dérance grunted and loosened his arms, then sat crosslegged on the ground. I sat down too and nodded at the stones. I knew the crossroads had been marked to judge Riau, but maybe it would also judge Lamour Dérance.

  “Now you have come to this kalfou with all your people,” I said. “Let your spirit show you the best way to cross for them and you.”

  “I am listening,” said Lamour Dérance. As he spoke, a little black kitten came wandering in under the bamboo and climbed up onto his knee. With one hand Lamour Dérance rubbed the fur of the kitten, always looking at Riau. Jean-Pic and the other men stood sideways to us, by the opening of the tonnelle above the plain—they listened though they did not look.

  “Well, it is simple,” I said. “There is a French general at Port-au-Prince now. His name is Pamphile de Lacroix. If you go to him now, he will receive you gladly. You have only to help him beat Toussaint and Dessalines, and all your people will remain free as you are now—”