Seven Houses in France

XX

DONATIEN CAREFULLY CLEANED the emerald earrings before putting them away in their mother-of-pearl box. This was not a difficult task, far more difficult would be finding a good place to hide his treasure. He could think of nowhere safe enough, and yet he needed to do so quickly. The real murderer was Lieutenant Van Thiegel, the drunkard, Cocó, but if Chrysostome saw the earrings, he would immediately put two and two together — ‘I gave them to Bamu, and now Donatien has them, therefore …’ — and then, inevitably, he would recall how beautiful the young woman was and how well the green of the emeralds had suited her. Tormented by this memory, he would shoot Donatien in the head before he could even open his mouth. It could not be simpler, that was how things were.

He sat in his hut, waiting to receive advice from his brother and immediately heard his voice:

‘Why don’t you tell him the truth? Tell him exactly what happened. Cocó forced you to go with him, threatening you with the chicotte if you didn’t, and thanks to Livo, you easily found your way to the village. Then Cocó went inside the girl’s hut, while you stayed outside, trying to catch the parrot that kept flying about and squawking. In the end, Cocó came out of the hut and you went in to get the earrings.’

Donatien didn’t know what to think. This account wasn’t quite true, but it would do.

The voice went on:

‘Once you’ve told him everything, you hand him the earrings and say: “I took the earrings, thinking of you, Chrysostome, as a souvenir.” That should be enough, I think. It could save your skin.’

This advice enraged him. It was as if the emerald earrings were cursed. He had only just got them back and already he was being asked to give them away again.

‘If giving him the earrings doesn’t work, Donatien, don’t despair,’ he heard the voice in his head say. It was the same voice as before, but it didn’t always sound like that of his intelligent brother. ‘You go up to him, embrace him and say: “My deepest sympathies, Chrysostome.” He’ll be really touched by that.’

These words struck a false note, immediately putting Donatien on the alert. He heard a hollow laugh.

‘And if an embrace isn’t enough,’ said the voice, ‘kiss him full on the lips. Then he won’t just forgive you, he’ll return the earrings to you as well.’

Donatien recognised the voice now. It belonged not to his intelligent brother, but to the homosexual, who was imitating his other brother’s way of speaking.

‘You may be a mangy dog, Donatien,’ the homosexual brother said, abandoning all subterfuge. ‘But this time your sense of smell has let you down. The Roi du Congo is travelling back to Yangambi. In a day, or two at most, Chrysostome will know everything. He’ll know that you and Cocó killed the girl.’

He gave a most disagreeable laugh.

Donatien rushed from his hut and, out of habit, his feet carried him to the Place du Grand Palmier. The sky was grey and the heat weighed heavily. Sweat was pouring down his back, and his head ached. Even the little mother-of-pearl box in his right trouser pocket hurt him. The edge was sticking into his thigh like a knife.

The askari guarding Government House saluted him, and he returned the salute. He hesitated between sitting down on one of the white benches beneath the palm tree or continuing on to the river. He decided on the latter.

The palm trees along the road would be a good hiding place, especially high up, at the growing point, but that was also where the black mambas lay coiled and asleep. No, it was no use, he couldn’t risk it.

He also considered the small island in the river, or the beach itself. The mother-of-pearl box would be safe if he buried it. But how could he do that without someone seeing him? The askaris weren’t stupid. And they were fascinated by precious stones.

The edge of the box seemed to be getting sharper and would end up cutting into his thigh. He took it out of his right pocket and put it in the left.

He reached the storeroom of the Club Royal. The corner where he slept wouldn’t make a good hiding place either, because Livo tidied it up two or three times a week. And the crates of drinks weren’t safe because it wasn’t just Livo who helped himself, all the club servants did. The salamis might be an option, because no one took them without his consent. If he stuck the earrings inside, say, the last or the penultimate in the row, they would be safe there for a few months. Then he would take them out and put them back in his kit bag. Cocó had told him that he had definitely decided to return to Europe and that if Donatien was still interested in being his business partner, they should make the journey together. It was a good plan, and that way he could take the earrings back with him as they had come, in his soldier’s kit bag, or perhaps still inside the salami.

‘God, you’re stupid, Donatien.’

This time, there was no doubt. It was his intelligent brother. He was quite right. He was being a fool. His thoughts made no sense at all. Hide the earrings in a salami? How ridiculous. Livo himself might make off with it without a word to anyone, as he had on other occasions, for he was in the habit of stealing provisions to take to his daughter, and then Donatien would never see the earrings again. Livo’s daughter would bite on something hard and when she spat it out in disgust she would find the jewels. He had to think of something better, and quickly too. He had only a few hours in which to hide his treasure. It was midday, and the Roi du Congo would be back in Yangambi that evening.

He picked up a knife, chopped a salami into small chunks, put them on a plate and went out onto the porch. The river was empty, the jungle silent. That, however, was merely a first impression. The monkeys were, in fact, more silent than usual, but the drums were sounding again. A hole had opened up in the air, as if in a piece of transparent fabric, and through that hole came the call of the drums.

Donatien counted the pieces of salami on the plate. There were fourteen in total. He put two in his mouth and the taste made him feel better. The sound of the drumming bothered him though. It was getting louder and louder, as if the hole in the air were growing wider. Besides, the hole was immediately above the village of Chrysostome’s girlfriend. What bad luck, going down to the club just when they were performing her funeral rites!

He took the mother-of-pearl box out of his pocket and placed it on the table on the porch. He put three more pieces of salami in his mouth.

He felt alone, but not alarmed exactly. After all, it was perfectly logical that he should feel alone when no one else was around. Cocó had gone off into the jungle to inspect the enclosure where the less photogenic rubber-tappers had been kept, and he hadn’t been back to Yangambi for two days, far too long. Perhaps he was already dead. Perhaps his arrogance had led him to enter the enclosure with only a chicotte, like a lion-tamer, and one of the rubber-workers had split open his head with a rock. In that case, Donatien would be able to hide the earrings in Van Thiegel’s office and, when the corpse was brought back, he could pretend to find the earrings there and hand them over to Lalande Biran. Then no one, not even Chrysostome, would be in any doubt that Cocó had been solely responsible for what had happened.

He popped another piece of salami in his mouth.

He thought of Livo. He hadn’t been seen for several days either. He was probably still in the jungle. Perhaps he had gone to the girl’s funeral. Not that he was in any danger, given that he had stayed behind and seen nothing.

The hole in the air had grown smaller and the sound of drumming fainter. On the other hand, the monkeys were making much more noise. They had emerged from the undergrowth and were sitting very close now, watching the porch. They weren’t mandrills, but chimpanzees.

He put two more pieces of salami in his mouth.

Livo, of course, knew who had found the right path that led to the mugini, and if he told Chrysostome …

The thought floated in the same air that brought Donatien the sound of the drums. He sat looking at the mother-of-pearl box. He had to hide it. He got up, but, still undecided as to where to go, he stayed where he was. The chimpanzees came nearer and waited expectantly. He put the box in his pocket.

As soon as he left the porch, the chimpanzees rushed forward to grab the pieces of salami left on the plate. The hole in the air grew larger, and the urgent drumming pursued Donatien as he walked up towards the Place du Grand Palmier.

Cocó’s office was in a state of utter confusion. On the desk alone, Donatien counted two pairs of trousers, a shirt, a hat, two boxes of empty cartridges, a copy of La Gazette de Léopoldville, five glasses, three bottles, a handful of coins, a chicotte and a machete. The shelves were in even more disarray.

The office didn’t seem to him a suitable place to leave a pair of emerald earrings, and so he went into the bedroom. The contrast could not have been greater. The only furniture there was the bed and the bedside table.

He examined the bedside table and considered leaving the earrings between the bottles of cognac in the lower compartment, as if Cocó had absentmindedly put them there, but then he rejected the idea. No one would go and fetch a bottle while holding a pair of earrings. The logical thing was to put the earrings down somewhere first. Not anywhere obvious, on the bedside table, for example, but half hidden in the bed, under the mattress, beneath the pillow …

He saw the photo when he picked up the pillow. He didn’t recognise the woman at first because the bedroom was in darkness and he couldn’t quite make out her face. It was only when he lit the oil lamp that he realised who it was: Lalande Biran’s wife, the exquisitely beautiful Christine Saliat de Meilhan. She was wearing only a wet bathing suit.

Donatien felt his Adam’s apple pulsate violently, as if someone had struck him in the throat, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He fell back on the bed, acting out the shock of his discovery; but the mother-of-pearl box with its sharp edges was cutting into his thigh again, and he stood up.

He took the photo and ran to his hut to examine it more closely. In one corner was a note saying that it had been taken on the beach at Biarritz.

‘Donatien, you have just been handed a trump card. The Captain will never forgive Cocó for this,’ he heard a voice say. It was his intelligent brother, and he was quite right. The fact that Cocó was in possession of that photo of Christine Saliat de Meilhan meant many things, how many he didn’t know, but a lot.

‘Seven things, perhaps eight!’ he heard another voice say, and he knew at once who it was — his homosexual brother, irritated by this piece of good luck.

He knew exactly what to do with the photo. He would hand it to Lalande Biran as soon as he returned.

* * *

He waited for a moment to see if his intelligent brother would make any objection, but no voice came into his mind. He put the mother-of-pearl box away in his kit bag. Then he wrapped the earrings in a piece of rag and put them in his pocket. That way, he wouldn’t even feel them.

He walked over to Government House carrying the photo and sat down on one of the rocking chairs in the garden, looking out over the river. Soon he would hear the paddles of the Roi du Congo and, shortly afterwards, Lalande Biran would walk through the door. Donatien would salute, hold out the photo and say: ‘This was in Lieutenant Van Thiegel’s bedroom, Captain.’