Seven Houses in France

XV

WHEN THE SECOND clean-up operation began in Yangambi, there was only a week to go before Christmas. A despatch from the AIA informed Lalande Biran that since the journalist Ferdinand Lassalle would be bringing the most up-to-date of cameras with him, it would be best if the older, uglier natives were removed from Yangambi and kept in an enclosure in the jungle until the visit was over.

Helped by the askaris, Van Thiegel and Richardson gathered together about eight hundred rubber-workers and lined them up on the firing range until Lalande Biran arrived. Then the three of them reviewed the workers, separating out those they thought would photograph badly and, at the same time, choosing the best-looking candidates, the healthiest and most handsome of the young men, whose pictures would be guaranteed to catch the eye of magazine editors in Paris, Brussels or Monaco.

Those workers deemed to be suitably photogenic, about fifteen of them, were taken to the Place du Grand Palmier, where the work of decorating the square had begun, supervised by Lalande Biran. He had found the coloured ribbons said to have been used on the day Yangambi was officially founded, and he wanted to create a kind of cupola by hanging the ribbons from the top of the palm tree. ‘Ideal work for our black Adonises,’ he had declared. As for the ugly or less presentable workers, about a hundred of them, they were marched off into the jungle, and Van Thiegel was charged with escorting them there.

This wasn’t a particularly dangerous mission, but given that the enclosure was located in a somewhat inaccessible part of the jungle, the whole thing took all day. The outward journey lasted eight hours because of the sheer difficulty of moving such a large group of men and because one of them attempted to escape, a problem Van Thiegel managed to resolve satisfactorily. Coming back took another three hours. Not that he minded. The physical and military nature of the exercise lifted his mood, for he had been feeling uneasy ever since he stole Christine’s photograph.

Back in Yangambi, he met up with Lalande Biran on the club porch. The Captain seemed very contented, and pleased with the improvements being made in Yangambi. He began singing that song again: ‘La Cigale, ayant chanté tout l’été …’ Everything indicated that the last steamship to pass through Yangambi, the En Avant, had brought him good news.

‘Our visitors are about to arrive,’ he announced.

Two letters lay on the table. Van Thiegel looked at the return address on one of them: Christine Saliat de Meilhan. Rue du Pont Vieux 23. Paris. There was his woman number 200! La femme numéro 200!

‘My wife is happy,’ said Lalande Biran. ‘Her ambition was to own seven houses in France, and she has just bought the last one, in St-Jean.’

‘Is that where she will live? All year I mean?’ asked Van Thiegel.

Lalande Biran shook his head.

‘I’ve also had a letter from Monsieur X. The profits from the mahogany and the ivory — which were huge apparently — have been safely deposited in the bank.’

As usual, the Captain was hiding Monsieur X’s letter from Van Thiegel, this time underneath the letter from Christine. Not that Van Thiegel cared who Monsieur X really was. He was about to leave Yangambi, and there would be no more of those emergency expeditions in search of mahogany and ivory.

‘I’ve sent a letter to my mother in which I recommend that she model herself on your wife,’ he said.

‘As I mentioned before, they would make excellent colleagues.’

‘When we get back to Europe, we could meet up in Paris, you, Christine, my mother and me.’

‘Yes, why not,’ said Lalande Biran.

Livo came to ask if they wanted anything to drink.

‘Is there any cold champagne?’ asked Lalande Biran.

‘I’ve left a few bottles to cool in the river.’

‘Bring me one, will you, Livo. The one with the best oimbé,’ said Lalande Biran. Livo left, smiling, and returned carrying the bottle of champagne in a bucket of water.

They sat out on the porch until late in the evening, and Van Thiegel told Lalande Biran of his plans. By next spring, he hoped to be in Antwerp, where he intended opening a business with Donatien, a bar that would be simultaneously modern and old-fashioned. Donatien had some experience in the field and his family was well known in the city.

‘Sounds good,’ said Lalande Biran.

‘Of course, I won’t stay in Antwerp all year. I’ll spend some time in Paris too,’ added Van Thiegel.

Lalande Biran’s only response was to begin softly singing that song again: ‘La Cigale, ayant chanté tout l’été …’ Van Thiegel almost mentioned which Paris street he would like to live on, but stopped himself.

Richardson joined them, and Livo was despatched to bring another bottle of champagne.

‘I have some important news for you,’ Lalande Biran said when their glasses were full.

‘We’re all ears, Captain!’ said Richardson.

Lalande Biran raised his glass to his lips. His blue-gold eyes were smiling.

‘Gentlemen, Chrysostome is in love. With a girl!’ he exclaimed.

‘In love?’

This time Van Thiegel’s look of surprise was absolutely genuine.

Richardson was pacing up and down.

‘Chrysostome? In love? With a girl?’ he repeated.

‘Yes, with a young girl, half-black, half-white!’

Lalande Biran poured himself more champagne.

‘A young girl, half-black, half-white?’ Richardson repeated. He was waving his arms about like the conductor of a choir, as if urging the monkeys to scream loudly. As chance would have it, the monkeys did exactly as Richardson asked.

Lalande Biran and Van Thiegel burst out laughing.