Seven Houses in France

XXIII

THE WORDS OF Lalande Biran and the bishop marked the end of the farewell meal held in the Club Royal before the Roi du Congo made its return journey to Léopoldville. The bishop declared that the statue of the Virgin, the work of a new Michelangelo, was now safely installed on top of Samanga, from where she would, in future, protect all those who travelled the River Congo. Lalande Biran emphasised how very pleased the Force Publique were. It had taken them almost three whole days to get there and back and they had seen not a sign of the rebels. The Catholics of Europe and Léopold II’s subjects could rest easy. The kingdom was at peace.

Lalande Biran asked if anyone else would like to speak, and Lassalle got to his feet to say that, as a journalist, he, too, felt satisfied with his work, but that in his case, credit was due, above all, to his assistant, Monsieur Kodak. If the text was not up to much — and here he smiled — the photographs would ensure that readers in Europe and America got a clear idea of what Africa was like.

‘We journalists may occasionally tell fibs, but Monsieur Kodak does not,’ he concluded, smiling again. There was a ripple of applause.

Generally speaking, though, the banquet was a joyless affair. Despite the speeches and the toasts, despite the exquisite grilled fish that Livo and the other servants brought to the table, and despite the pains Donatien took to ensure that the champagne glasses were never empty, the atmosphere — the atmosphere’s oimbé — remained a constant purple. Most of the visitors from Europe were impatient to get back on the boat and leave Yangambi; and the residents of Yangambi and the officers of the Force Publique could not wait to be left alone to resume their normal lives. At the top table, however, the oimbé was more black than purple due to the absence of Lieutenant Van Thiegel. His chair was empty. No one in Yangambi knew where he was.

‘He’s in the jungle on a routine patrol,’ said Biran to the bishop. ‘He has to make sure the surrounding area is free of rebels. The Lieutenant may tend to drink too much, but he’s a responsible soldier.’

The bishop nodded.

‘Are you sure he’ll come back?’ Lassalle whispered to the Captain. Richardson and he both knew what had happened with Bamu, and Lassalle had tried to interview Livo and corroborate what the Captain had told him, but without success.

‘Who knows what that pig will do,’ Lalande Biran whispered back as he removed the bones from his fish. ‘Je ne sais pas ce que fera ce cochon.’

‘Let’s eat this difficult but delicious fish in peace,’ said the bishop, and his fellow guests at table agreed.

After the meal, and once the Roi du Congo had set off for Léopoldville, Lalande Biran, Richardson and Lassalle walked up to Government House at such a brisk pace that Lassalle almost had to break into a run to keep up. Donatien followed behind with the coffee.

When they reached the Place du Grand Palmier, Lalande Biran paused to give instructions to the black NCO on guard. Then he took the tray from Donatien and went to join Lassalle and Richardson, who were waiting for him in Government House.

The three men drank their first cup of coffee in silence. When they were on their second cup, the black NCO reappeared at the door. Behind him came Chrysostome, flanked by two askaris, rifles at the ready.

After the usual exchange of salutes, Lalande Biran said very calmly to Chrysostome: ‘I am obliged to lock you up in the dungeon. I ask you, please, to go down into the cellar.’

Chrysostome hesitated, and the askaris levelled their rifles at him.

‘Please, don’t put up a struggle,’ Lalande Biran said, indicating the stone steps.

In the dim light of the cellar, which was lit by only one small window in the upper part of the dungeon wall, the askaris were struggling to get the key in the lock. Lalande Biran told them to leave, and he himself locked the door.

‘I have to give you some bad news,’ he told Chrysostome when they were alone. ‘Your friend, young Bamu, is dead. Van Thiegel killed her while attempting to rape her.’

If Chrysostome made a gesture or a movement, however slight, Lalande Biran did not see it. The dust motes, visible in the ray of light coming in through that one window, continued calmly floating. A long way off, a monkey screamed.

Lalande Biran had prepared a speech inspired by the words Napoleon had spoken at the funeral of one of his soldiers. Apparently, the sorrows of love had driven the young man to commit suicide, and the Emperor wished to warn his comrades that hard battles were not only fought on the fields of Borodino or Marengo; emotional battlefields could, at times, be even more dangerous.

‘I know full well, Chrysostome, that your beliefs would not allow you to kill yourself, and that you would be incapable of doing such a thing,’ he was thinking of saying at the end of his speech. ‘But I was afraid that when you heard the news, you would go straight out and kill Van Thiegel. And, as commanding officer of this military post, that is something I have to avoid. There are certain rules that all soldiers must obey. If you feel your honour has been compromised, then you can challenge Van Thiegel to a duel. The journalist from Brussels, Monsieur Ferdinand Lassalle, has agreed to be your second.’

But Chrysostome said nothing, thus depriving Lalande Biran of the chance even to begin his speech.

‘Lieutenant Van Thiegel is at present in the jungle. He will return tomorrow or the day after,’ Lalande Biran said.

In the dungeon, Chrysostome’s breathing sounded a little louder than normal, but there were no other sounds. Silence also reigned in the living room of Government House, where Richardson and Lassalle were awaiting events.

‘The Lord’s ways are strange indeed,’ Chrysostome said at last. ‘Who would have thought that he would seek the help of that filthy drunk to save my purity?’

Lalande Biran was somewhat disconcerted.

‘The Lord’s ways may be strange, but not as strange as you,’ he said after a pause. He forgot about Napoleon and his soldiers and suggested to Chrysostome the possibility of a duel. ‘If you feel that your honour has been besmirched, then the best thing you can do is challenge Lieutenant Van Thiegel to a duel. The journalist from Brussels, Monsieur Ferdinand Lassalle, has agreed to be your second.’

‘Fine,’ said Chrysostome. ‘It can be at two hundred yards or twenty, as he wishes. And if he prefers a machete to a rifle, that’s fine with me too.’

‘The seconds will sort out the details.’

Lalande Biran had already spoken to Richardson and to Lassalle about this. The duel would be with rifles, on the beach, and not on the firing range. The only other thing to be decided was the distance, although it would doubtless be the same as during the mandrill-shooting contest.

‘You agree then. You’re not going to go running off to find the Lieutenant,’ he said, opening the dungeon door.

‘I would like the duel to take place at the earliest opportunity,’ said Chrysostome.

‘It will take place as soon as the Lieutenant returns to Yangambi. On Sunday morning if possible.’

Richardson and Lassalle were surprised to see them come back up the steps together and they kept their eyes trained on Chrysostome until he had gone out through the door. Lalande Biran continued to watch him as he crossed the Place du Grand Palmier. He wanted to see how he behaved when he passed Van Thiegel’s house. Chrysostome did not stop or look up or spit; he carried straight on to his own hut.

Lassalle wanted to know what had gone on in the dungeon.

‘I thought he’d go mad when he heard the news and race off to find Van Thiegel,’ Lalande Biran explained. ‘That’s why I decided to put him in the dungeon, so that he wouldn’t do anything against army regulations. But, as you see, he remained perfectly calm.’

‘The man is an enigma,’ declared the journalist.

‘What distance shall we put them at, Captain?’ asked Richardson.

‘What was it when we shot the mandrills?’

Richardson sighed. ‘I think, in the end, it was one hundred and eighty yards, more or less, but as Cocó’s second, I would ask for a shorter distance. Otherwise, Chrysostome will be at an advantage.’

Lalande Biran shook his head. ‘No, one hundred and eighty is the minimum. Given that they will each have twelve cartridges, I imagine that at some point, they’ll manage to hit the target.’

‘As Cocó’s second, I would prefer one hundred and twenty-five yards,’ Richardson insisted.

He had just realised that the Captain was wearing his wedding ring, something he rarely did. Perhaps what Donatien had told him was true, that Cocó really had stolen an intimate photograph of the Captain’s wife from his office. That would explain the Captain’s stubbornness over the duel. It was a way of holding a firing squad, the only way. You couldn’t shoot someone, still less a lieutenant, over a photograph.

Lalande Biran addressed the journalist.

‘What do you think? I’ve given my opinion, but it’s up to you really. You are his second, after all.’

‘What about something in between, say, one hundred and fifty yards?’ Lassalle suggested. ‘But do you really think there will be a duel? Will Lieutenant Van Thiegel come back to Yangambi?’

‘He’s not a coward. He’ll come back,’ said Richardson.

‘And if he doesn’t, we’ll go into the jungle to find him, then bring him back here and shoot him,’ said Lalande Biran.

Richardson raised his coffee cup to his lips, but it was empty.

‘All right,’ he said, getting up. ‘One hundred and fifty yards it is. And on the beach, right?’

‘Yes. Speaking both as Chrysostome’s second and as a journalist, I prefer the beach,’ said Lassalle.

‘I’ll go and measure up,’ said Richardson, and left.