Heading South

One Good Deed

CHARLIE QUIT SCHOOL during second term for one very simple reason: he was too beautiful to spend the whole day cooped up in a classroom. Women had been after him for a long time. He was still a virgin when his geography teacher offered him a ride home and then took him to her house instead. Since then, Charlie realized he could get anything he wanted out of women. So what was the use of staying in school when real life was bustling out on the street? The sweet, ripe fruit of the tree of good and evil was dangling inches from his outstretched hand. And Charlie had a good appetite. All the girls adored him except one: his sister, who, curiously, was not particularly gifted by nature. Every time she bragged that she was Charlie’s sister, someone would always say: “But how is that possible!” After that, she changed tactics. Now she says: “Charlie may have looks, but I have intelligence.” But she might as well save her breath. Sometimes I think it best to just say nothing and give in to your fate. Charlie is beautiful, that’s all there is to it. There are those who reveal themselves to be beautiful only after you’ve looked at them for a certain length of time, and others who, as they say, have beautiful souls. At the risk of repeating myself, Charlie is beautiful, by which I mean that whenever he enters a room, heads turn: women look at him with an avidity bordering on dementia (they literally devour him with their eyes), and men with a certain pique. A truly beautiful man is rarer than you might think. At first it was incredible. Charlie would scoop up any woman who gave him a certain come-hither look (and did they ever really look at him any other way?), so that his miniscule room on Christophe Avenue became a kind of bordello. A new girl would arrive as the previous one was leaving, still fixing her hair. Sometimes they met in his bed. These days, however, he’s being more selective. He’s been known to turn down a staggering beauty and go home with a woman who is more fun to be with, or who makes him laugh, or even one who is downright ugly but has a certain charm, or an interesting walk, or even one who seems to have accepted the fact that no one will ever be interested in her. When he goes to a disco, no one, not even Charlie himself, has the slightest idea who he’s going to leave with.

BEFORE WE GO too much further, you should know that Charlie’s parents are poor but respectable. His father threw him out of the house the day he quit school. He went to live with one of his cousins in Carrefour-Feuilles. Said cousin being an Adventist preacher, very strict, who prayed every night at nine o’clock, went to bed at nine-thirty, and didn’t let anyone in after ten. After a month of this monastic regime, during which he believed he was going insane, Charlie moved in with a friend who lives in Pacot. This arrangement didn’t work, either, since the friend’s young wife fell for him in a big way, placing him in an embarrassing situation. He found himself stuck between a benefactor and a woman for whom he felt no desire whatsoever. One of the cardinal rules in the lover’s social code is: never live under the same roof with a woman you’ve turned down. Once again, Charlie had to pack his bags. Eventually he found the miniscule room on Christophe Avenue, above a shoe store. He’d kept in touch with his mother and sister, despite their being absolutely forbidden from contact by his father: no members of the family (including uncles, aunts, and cousins) were allowed to so much as speak to him. “I have only one child,” he was heard to say, watching Rachel do her homework. Ever since discovering the great injustice done to her by nature in the matter of aesthetics, she had sought solace in her studies (it could have been worse: it could have been religion). But since her brother’s banishment, Rachel has stopped hating him. Especially now that their parents are getting old. They still work in service for the Abels, a rich family that owns many houses, including the villa in Bourdon. Madame Abel picks them up in the morning and brings them back each evening (a job she never leaves to her driver). Work at the Abels isn’t all that demanding, except for the stairway that becomes steeper with each passing year. They are good Christians who treat their domestics charitably. As far as cooking is concerned, the ambassador (François Abel was the Haitian ambassador to London during the Second World War) isn’t hard to please. His menu hasn’t varied in twenty years, except that for the past two years he hasn’t drunk so much as a glass of water after six o’clock in the evening. What the ambassador brought back with him from London (apart from a box of Cuban cigars given to him by Winston Churchill during an unforgettable meeting) was a sense of discipline, sartorial elegance and a heightened respect for the individual. Charlie’s elderly parents are therefore treated with the same respect that the ambassador would accord to his colleagues, astonishing in a country where domestics are often treated like slaves. To Charlie’s father, it goes without saying, the ambassador is a living god. Work is evenly divided in the Abel household, where it is believed (as one believes that Jesus is the son of God) that England is the most civilized country on the planet. Charlie’s mother works inside (kitchen, cleaning and telephone), while his father looks after things around the yard (garden, garage, raising the gate whenever he expects the ambassador’s car to arrive). In this way the peaceful lives of these two couples (masters and domestics) have run for more than twenty years.

CHARLIE KNOWS THAT every Wednesday his father accompanies the ambassador into the city. He takes advantage of his father’s absence to spend that day with his mother at the Abels’ villa. Even when Charlie and his father were still close, his father never wanted his son to visit the villa, saying that he could not receive him properly in a house in which he was not the master. His mother, on the other hand, has never felt the least bit humiliated by the work she does. So Charlie fell into the habit of visiting his mother on Wednesdays. Sometimes they don’t even talk. She’ll make him a cup of coffee, which he will sip while she goes on with her housework or prepares the Abels’ dinner. This day, he finds his mother sitting at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes.

“Hello, Mama.”

She jumps.

“Don’t tell me your father left that gate open again. It’s the same thing every Wednesday; he gets as excited as a child when he has to go into town with the ambassador. .”

“No problem, I closed it. . Are you okay, Mama?”

Silence.

“What’s the matter, Mama? You don’t seem yourself today.”

“I’m worried about your father.”

“What for? Is he sick?”

Another silence.

“I don’t think he’s going to be able to resist. .”

“Resist what? Now you’ve got me worried, Mama.”

She takes a deep breath.

“You know what a prideful man your father is. . Well, here it is: for the past two weeks there’s been a young girl living here. The daughter of the ambassador’s elder brother, Monsieur Georges, who has just died. Monsieur Georges lived all his life in Paris. He was married there to a Frenchwoman from a noble family. . The daughter doesn’t want to live with her mother in France, and so she came to live here.”

“So, what’s wrong with that? The ambassasor’s her uncle. .”

“Yes, but Monsieur Georges was not like the ambassador. He was, how can I put it, more aristocratic. He was even snootier than his wife, who at least is a real aristocrat. They came here two Christmases ago. .”

“Oh, to hell with Georges and his upper-class hussy. .”

His mother opens her eyes wide.

“Don’t make fun. . She’s a terror, that girl. This morning she yelled at your father again. . And I could see how much effort it took him to keep from putting her in her place. Truly, she treats us like we were a couple of slaves, and the ambasssador. .”

“Yes, yes, so why doesn’t he just speak to the ambassador? You’ve always said he was justice incarnate.”

“I know, but the ambassador adored his brother, he’s the only brother he had, and it makes him very happy to have his brother’s daughter living with us. . Your father hasn’t the heart to tell him what she’s like. . you understand?

“No, Mama, I’m sorry but I don’t understand.”

His mother raises a face ravaged by pain.

“He’ll never do it, and we’ll have to leave the villa.”

“You would rather lose this great job than complain about the behaviour of this girl?”

His mother goes back to peeling potatoes, as though she hasn’t heard him.

“That’s what I said to him, Charles. . And he said to me that he’ll never speak to the ambassador. And he won’t, I know it, and we’ll soon have to quit this place.”

“Where is this girl?”

“She’s probably at the Bellevue Circle playing tennis. It’s just across the way.”

“What does she look like?”

“Very pretty. . She takes after her mother, but she has the personality of her father. . very conscious of what she is. .”

“Okay, Mama, I’ve got to go. . Can you lend me a little money?”

“Of course I can, but from now on I’m going to have to watch what I spend. . Oh, my God, I don’t know what he’s going to say to the ambassador to explain why we’re leaving. . Oh, Charles, what’s going to happen to us? We’re like one big family here.”

“I’ve got to go now. . See you next week.”

“Maybe. . I don’t know. I don’t have any control over my life. .”

THERE ARE STILL a few people on the courts, despite the oppressive heat.

“Who’s that girl, there?” Charlie asks the gardener who is standing beside him.

“Mademoiselle Abel. . She just got here. . She’s a good player, but she’s got a lousy personality.”

“How do you know that?”

“Ha! When she loses, she shouts insults at everybody, even the umpire.”

“I’d like to speak to her.”

“Why? You doing something for her?”

“No, I just want to speak to her.”

“I doubt that that’s possible, my friend.”

“We’ll see.”

THE BAR IS at the far end of the courts.

“Whisky,” Charlie says.

The barman looks at him.

“I don’t recall seeing you here before.”

“It’s the first time I’ve been here. . and it won’t be the last.”

“Forgive me, my friend, but I doubt that very much. This is a private club. That’s why it’s called the Circle, you see? Either you join, or else you have to be invited here by one of the members. Otherwise. .”

“I see you know the rules pretty well.”

The barman smiles.

“I’ve been working here for twenty years, my friend. . I not only know all the rules, I know all the people, and I know their ways.”

“Well, then, you must know my father.”

The barman looks closely at Charlie.

“Your father?”

“No, he’s not a member,” Charlie says, laughing. “He works across there, at Ambassador Abel’s place.”

The barman’s expansive smile.

“You ask me do I know your father? And how! We started working together. Me, here, him at the ambassador’s. How is he doing? I haven’t seen him in a while, now. A very upright man, your father. And a good friend. . In a way, he’s just like the ambassador. They’re like a couple of twins. . They come from different social classes, but deep down they’re the same kind of person. . What’s up with your father?”

“He’s having problems.”

“Health, I’d guess.”

“No, thank God, he’s all right on that side of things. He’s having problems at work.”

The barman can hardly restrain a cry of surprise.

“With the ambassador?”

“No, with his niece.”

“Mademoiselle Abel,” says the barman, dryly. “I can understand that.”

“I’d like to meet her. .”

“She should be on the court right now. . I can tell you, though, she’s not an easy one to deal with. .”

The barman gives Charlie a sidelong glance.

“Ah, I get it,” he says with a smile of complicity. “You want to talk to her. . They’ll all be coming here tonight to dance. . But you have to be a member to get in. During the day you can come in here no problem, but at night it’s impossible. I can tell by looking at you that you’re no slouch with the ladies, but I’d be very surprised if that one would have anything to do with the son of a servant. . But let me think for a bit. . Not everyone here is a snob. I’ll ask Hansy; his father’s a rich industrialist, but he doesn’t let that go to his head. That’s it, I’ll ask Hansy to invite you. So when you get here tonight, all you do is say you’re a guest of Hansy and there won’t be any problem. .” He favours Charlie with a conspiratorial wink.

“It’s the least I can do for your father.”

“Thank you, sir.”

CHARLIE SITS in the sunlight watching the tennis match. Mademoiselle Abel is losing to a good-looking brunette. She’s in a foul mood. Every time she misses a shot, Charlie applauds loudly. She looks quickly but furiously at the bleachers. At the end of the match (a terrific smash by her opponent that she could only watch as it went past her) Charlie jumps to his feet and claps. The two women pass in front of him. The winner (the brunette bombshell) smiles at him discreetly; Mademoiselle Abel looks straight ahead.

IN CHARLIE’S MINISCULE ROOM. Nine o’clock at night.

“Who is it?”

“Fanfan.”

“Come in.”

“What’s happening, my man? You’re all dressed up like a prince. . You look like you got something big going on. .”

“How’s your principal friend?”

“I’m giving her a hard time. . Chico says she drives past the Rex Café ten times an hour. . You going to tell me where you’re going?”

“To the Bellevue Circle.”

“I hope you’re a member, otherwise they’ll kick your ass out of there. .That place is like a fortress for the bourgeoisie, and they guard it very jealously, my friend. . They’ll card you. .”

“I got an invitation.”

“Oh, well, that’s different. .”

“What’s the matter, Fanfan? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“If you want my advice, my friend, take off that suit, which you have obviously rented for the occasion.”

“But it’s a good suit. You said yourself I look like a prince.”

“Rule number one: don’t dress like a prince when you’re going among princes. You can’t compete with them on their own ground.”

“Okay, I understand. . How do you know so much, anyway? You’ve never been invited into a rich person’s home.”

“I’ve prepared myself for that eventuality. . And I’ll give you some more advice, too: pretend to be honest. Don’t try to hide anything. You’re a poor man and they’re rich, that’s all. You could be introducing them to a whole new universe. .”

“Look, Fanfan, I’m not going there to seduce the entire middle class. I’m going to meet a girl. .”

“What I said goes for any and all occasions, my friend. . See you around.”

DOORMAN AT the entrance.

“You ain’t a member.”

“I’m a guest of Hansy’s.”

“Wait here.”

He’s gone for several minutes (I hope the barman didn’t forget to warn Hansy), then comes back with a man who looks like a perpetual smiler, obviously a bon vivant.

“This guy says you invited him.”

“Charlie! Charlie, my old buddy! What are you doing standing here at the door? Hey, Muscle,” he says to the doorman, “don’t you recognize Charlie? He won the German tennis championship, first Haitian to ever place in the top ten. .”

Muscle gives Charlie a dubious look. He must be used to Hansy’s shenanigans.

“Don’t listen to him,” Charlie says quickly. “I don’t even know him. A friend of mine”—he didn’t want to betray the bar-man—“ asked him to invite me, seeing as I’m not a member.”

This time the look Muscle gives him contains a degree of astonishment. Hansy laughs so hard his sides are aching.

“What a kidder,” he says to Charlie, clapping him on the back.

Hansy shows Charlie around the club for a few moments. One of the morning’s players, the brunette bombshell, comes up to them.

“Thanks for encouraging me this morning,” she says with a slight American accent. She gives him a long, languorous wink.

“Don’t mention it,” Charlie says calmly, “I like the way you play. .”

“Really? You have no idea how happy that makes me! Thank you so much.” And she continues on her way, smiling.

“What did you say to her? I’ve never seen June so excited before. . Did you see that wink she gave you?”

“She’s a nice girl.”

“What? A nice girl? She’s marvellous, my friend. She’s the most beautiful woman I know.”

Hansy seems on the point of bursting with excitement.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, “I get like this. . I’m hypersensitive, you see. . But June. . I’ve never seen her like this. . And you take it so. . casually. . Oh, I see, she’s not the right gender for you, is that it?”

Without Charlie being aware of it, someone has come up to stand beside Hansy.

“Hansy, darling, what are you doing, talking to this imbecile?” “Who do you mean, Missie?” Hansy says, looking frantically about.

“The idiot standing in front of you, Hansy.”

“Him? Do you know him?”

“I saw him this morning.”

“Ah!” says Hansy, laughing. “It was you playing June, was it? Florence called me to say June absolutely wiped the court with someone this morning, but she wouldn’t tell me who it was. .”

“Oh, stop it, Hansy. As for him, I don’t know how he got in here, but. .”

“He’s here as my personal guest. . a dear friend. . Let me introduce you. . In the left corner, Missie Abel, tolerable as a tennis player but intolerable off the court. . And in the right corner, my good friend Charlie. . Let the games begin. .”

“I don’t know where you dig up your dear friends, Hansy, but for heaven’s sake you don’t have to drag them in here. .”

“I don’t think I need to mention that no holds are barred.”

“At any rate,” Charlie says evenly, “I don’t like bottle blondes. ”

“What! Me, a bottle blonde! You’re out of your mind! You don’t know what you’re talking about! You see, Hansy, I told you he was an idiot.”

“And worse than bottle blondes,” continues Charlie, “what I dislike even more are real blondes who never stop bragging about it.”

Missie’s mouth drops open.

“I’m going to get a whisky, Hansy,” Charlie says. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’ll have the same,” Hansy replies. “What about you, Missie?”

“What?” says Missie.

“Do you want something? Charlie’s getting the drinks.”

“No,” she says, barely managing a whisper.

Missie still seems to be suffering from shock.

“Technical knockout,” Hansy says, ending the bout.

“DID YOU SEE HANSY?” asks the barman.

“Yes, sir.”

“And how did it go with her?”

“The trap has been baited.”

“Let me buy you a drink. . What’ll it be?”

“Two whiskies. I’ll pay for Hansy’s.”

“Hey, now, you’re not going to let yourself pay for these rich gents, are you? They’re very good at that game. . I’ll give you two whiskies on the house. I’ll put a little water in the bottle and keep it under the counter until the end of the evening, say around three in the morning, when all they’ll taste is the fire. . Don’t worry, I’ve been here twenty years. I know the way things are around here. I served the fathers, and now I’m serving the sons.”

Charlie goes back to Hansy, who is standing beside the battered old piano.

“No one but Jacky Duroseau can play this thing now. He completely wrecked it by pouring whisky all over it. When he drinks, he thinks the piano should drink, too. He’s supposed to play every Saturday night, but he only shows up when he feels like it. Once he came on a Monday. . You’ve brought me a drink. Thanks, Charlie.”

“No problem. . I didn’t pay for it. The barman wouldn’t take my money.”

Hansy looks at him strangely.

“You always tell the truth, don’t you? Around here everybody pretends. . They even pretend to be rich, when in fact most of them are on the verge of bankruptcy. . Don’t you worry about old Samson, he’ll top the bottle up with water. He thinks no one knows about it, but in fact everyone’s figured out his little game. No one but ninnies buy drinks here after two AM. . You see how they’re looking at us? It’s because they’ve heard about our little scene.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you just shut Missie’s mouth for her. It appears she has locked herself in the john. I also told them about June. You know who June is, don’t you? She’s the daughter of the American consul. Not bad for a guy who isn’t even a member of the Circle. As far as I’m concerned, you are a prince among men. Even Muscle is impressed, and no one impresses Muscle. He came up to me a while ago and asked me if it was true that you’re a German tennis champion. Don’t you realize what a stir you’re creating? In one day you’ve made the inaccessible June lose her head and sent the acid-tongued Missie packing.

TEN MINUTES LATER.

“Missie is outside, Charlie. She wants to talk to you.”

“No problem.”

They go out.

“It’s all your fault, Hansy,” Missie says, just short of tears.

“What happened?”

“Everyone is saying I’m fighting with June over this. . imbecile. You have a wicked, wicked tongue.”

“Would you be good enough to tell me why you called me out here?” Charlie asks politely.

Missie turns on him.

“I want you to go back in there,” she says breathlessly, “and tell everyone that I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever, and that I do not intend to fight over you with June.”

“You’ll have to run all that by me again, because I didn’t understand any of it. And you talk too fast,” Charlie adds with a half-smile.

She glares at him angrily.

“I could never feel anything for a person like you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hansy asks.

Charlie signals to him to stay out of it.

“But Hansy, I don’t even know him. He isn’t a member. .”

“No, I am not a member of your charmed Circle. I know that. My mother is a governess and my father is a gardener. . In other words, they’re servants. . They work not far from here. .”

“And you dare to come in here?”

“Missie!” cries Hansy. “Don’t you see how exceptional this fellow is? You’re right, he’s not at all like us. He has no desire to hide his origins, or his identity. . There’s not a single member of the Circle who hasn’t been vague about his life from time to time. We’re always lying about something, hiding our suffering, our desires, our fears. . A man who can proclaim his agony like this fellow does is a prince, I tell you, a prince.”

“Will you please leave us alone, Hansy?” Missie says.

Charlie and Missie watch Hansy move off towards the brightly lit building.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Missie says, resuming her customary ironic tone (“acid-tongued Mis-sie,” as she is known).

“I happened to be in the area, and I saw you crossing the street, on your way to play tennis. And I said to myself, ‘That’s her. I want her. She’s the one!’ That’s the only reason I came here tonight.”

Missie looks at him, nearly choking.

“Me! You! Why?”

“That’s the way it is. I want you. . I want to hear you moan. . and I will. .”

Missie continues staring at him, transfixed.

“I’m in no hurry,” Charlie says calmly.

And he leaves. Before Missie can even think of anything to say, he’s at the gate of the Bellevue Circle. The meeting place of the privileged youth of Pétionville. Missie feels that she can no longer stop herself from retching. She bends over between two parked cars and vomits huge, yellow streams on the green grass.

She stays outside for a long time, watching the others dancing. She sees Hansy come out to look for her, but really, she doesn’t feel up to talking to anyone. She runs between the luxurious cars parked anyhow on the lawn. She wants nothing more than to go home and shut herself up in her room. She hears Hansy calling, over and over. “That asshole has made me run away from my own friends twice in one night,” she thinks, continuing to flee. A luminous white dress in the moonlight. Just before reaching the villa, she stops one more time to throw up.

TWO O’CLOCK in the afternoon. Someone knocks on the door to Charlie’s miniscule room.

“Come in, it’s open.”

Hansy comes in.

“What did you do to Missie?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s gone completely bonkers. . She came to my place at nine o’clock this morning. . Nine o’clock! I was barely awake! She wanted me to find you. We looked everywhere. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and it’s really none of my business, but I think it must have been serious. .”

“Where is she, Hansy?”

“She’s downstairs in the car. I’ll go tell her to come up, shall I? I’ll stay down there.”

Charlie dresses hurriedly. He starts tidying up the room, then changes his mind at the last moment. He decides to wait for Missie sitting on his narrow, iron bed.

She comes in.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Excuse me for bothering you at home like this, but I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Ah!”

“I don’t understand what right you have to think of me that way,” she says coldly.

“And that’s why you came here, so I could explain it to you?”

A long moment of silence.

“It’s because I’m afraid of voodoo.”

He bursts out laughing.

“Is that it? Really?”

He laughs again, falling back on the bed.

“No,” he says, “I don’t use voodoo for things like this.”

“What, then?”

“It’s a question of blood.”

“Blood?”

“Yes. My blood wants to mingle with your blood.”

Missie’s lips begin to tremble.

“I don’t understand.”

“What I mean is that it’s out of control. . It has nothing to do with religion, or race, or even sex.”

“Well, if that’s true, then it has nothing to do with me, either,” she says, moving towards the door.

“If it had nothing to do with you, you wouldn’t have come here.”

She stops suddenly, like someone who has been shot in the back just as she was about to rush down the stairs.

CHARLIE IS LYING on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He can lie like this for hours.

“Can you lend me ten bucks, Charlie?” says Fanfan, coming into the room.

“Where do you think I could get hold of ten bucks?”

“Come on, Charlie, this is serious. I’m caught short. I’ll pay you back first thing next week.”

Charlie gets up and opens a drawer.

“Here. But you absolutely have to pay me back on Monday.”

“Thanks, old pal, you’ve saved my life. . By the way, how did things go last night at the Bellevue Circle?”

“As you suggested, I played the sincerity card, and so far it seems to have worked. . I met that girl, Missie Abel. .”

“Wait, I know that name. . Isn’t she the ambassador’s daughter?”

“His niece.”

“What happened?”

“She was here, just before you walked in.”

“Ah, my friend, you’re playing in the big leagues.”

Fanfan pushes Charlie until he falls back on the bed.

“Listen, Fanfan, you haven’t understood what I’m saying.”

“You’re going to tell me what it’s like to pork a rich girl!” Silence.

“No, Fanfan, she just dropped by to tell me that we’re from two different worlds.”

“In her eyes you’re nothing but a dog.”

“That’s it.”

Longer silence.

“I’ve got to go, my friend. . Don’t worry about your money. I’ll have it here Monday without fail.”

Fanfan misses a step on the stairway.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! And shit!”

TWO DAYS LATER. Two o’clock in the afternoon.

Charlie climbs heavily up the steep stairs to his room. Missie is waiting for him at the top.

“Have you been here long?”

She gives him a beseeching look.

“Did Hansy drop you off?”

“I took a taxi.”

He opens the door and lets her go in first. She enters and sits on the only chair. Charlie remains standing. She sits there without saying a word. Then suddenly she jumps up.

“Goodbye.”

She races down the stairs at the risk of breaking her neck. He listens for a moment, hoping she’ll reach the bottom in one piece. Then he sits in the chair she has vacated, and waits.

He waits.

Two hours go by. She comes back. He hears her feathery tread on the stairs. He tells himself that her feet would do well to get used to climbing those stairs, because they’re going to be climbing it many times a day from now on. A small knock at the door.

“It’s open.”

She comes in. He doesn’t get up.

She stands in the middle of the room. He looks at her tranquilly.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

He keeps looking at her.

“I want. .”

She stops, thunderstruck. A fierce storm appears to be raging in her head. He waits, silently.

“I want. .”

She stops again.

“I want. .”

Her knees buckle slightly.

“The other day you said, you said. .”

“What did I say?”

A moment’s hesitation. But she recovers. He has the feeling she may get away from him. Then she lowers her head.

“You said that you’ll. . make me. . moan. .”

Charlies says nothing.

“I don’t know why,” she goes on, “but since then I’ve been able to think of nothing else. .”

He decides not to have her today. She is suffering, but her pain is her pleasure.

WEDNESDAY MORNING. As usual, he finds the gate open. His mother is peeling potatoes in the kitchen, which is clean and well lit. He sneaks up silently behind her back. She is singing “The Red Roses of Corfu.” Her happiness song. The one she sings when she’s happy.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says without turning around.

“How are things?”

“Very good, my dear.”

“And Papa?”

“Your father is very excited because he planted some birds of paradise; you know how difficult it is to get them to grow. . Well, yesterday he called me out into the garden, where as you know I hate to go because of the anole lizards, to see their magnificent flowers. They really do look like birds. Even the Ambassador was impressed.”

“And Mademoiselle Abel?”

His mother looks at him in astonishment.

“Why are you asking about her?”

“She and Papa weren’t getting along, and, if I remember correctly, you were pretty worried about it.”

“Oh, we hardly ever see her anymore. First she was always underfoot, now she doesn’t even come home for dinner. And when she is here, she shuts herself up in her room.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No! Things are much better this way. .”

“Okay, Mama, I’ve got to go.”

“Already? Do you need money? I don’t have much, but. .”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I’m sure.”

“Good. Don’t forget to shut the gate behind you.”

“Yes, Mama.”