Augustino and the Choir of Destruction (18 page)

Così Fan Tutte
,
Così Fan Tutte
, the dark mourning over all Europe,
Così Fan Tutte
, but dear, why are you wearing black, you hate black, Jean-Mathieu tells me, I do hear him though I can't see him, come dear friend, he says, we have so much to tell one another, why such silence between us, is it Charly, violent and jealous, is it her drugging you by degrees, a little more each day and each night, is she the cause of so much unhappiness, Charly, I told you to beware of whatever seemed new or fresh, didn't I, Caroline my dear, for when the falconers send their birds of prey after us, what can we do, what? Oh really now, what's all this fuss about, said Miss Désirée, Harriett, I'm here, how can I make you feel better, not by taking me in your arms like Frédéric with his Black Madonna after his fall by the pool, said Caroline, oh no, Harriett, do you hear the bell, should I change for dinner, Adrien, Suzanne, Bernard, Valérie and the others must be here already, how thoughtless, Harriett, what a mess the house is in, Charly's been out all night, you see, do you think you could wash my dress and my hair, what an untidy mess when Charly's out all night with that uncouth bunch of boys and girls, she's so young I can't forbid everything, has she fed the cat and the dog, that's a bad habit she has going out at night, but I can't stop her, and Chuan went into the cabin her husband was writing in, too bad he'd missed so much of the party, she thought it was a great success and was smiling with joy in the red dress, which was by now a bit wrinkled from going to-and-fro the kitchen and dancing with her friends and towards the end, with Jermaine, whose love she shared of music that was not passive, jarring and unnerving maybe, that was his way of expressing himself, she looped a strand of very short, dark hair behind her ear, was this a little bold and intrusive to surprize him like this, or just affectionate, if she didn't, he'd get into one of his dark moods, write all day and be rude to his guests, except for Mélanie, who had he talked to, really, it would be impolite not to say goodbye to them all, at least to shake a few hands, her feet were cramped in these patent-leather shoes, perhaps they were too tight and low-heeled, and she was going to say to her husband, as she placed her diminutive hands on his thoughtful head, come on, we have to get out of here, have you forgotten that this morning's the flotilla, there will be yachts, schooners, all kinds of sailboats from far off, more than a thousand, she'd say to him, your friends are on the beach already, and you're shut up here in your office, Esther told me how delighted she was, the party was a great success, what more could anyone want, except maybe for these shoes slung too low, by noon Jermaine would be on his surfboard, his vacation from university would soon be over, then how long would it be before she saw him again, would they always be close, not like Christainsen and Nora's son, always in flight, she'd have been very apprehensive to see Jerome go off like that, does our child need to love books the way his father does, is it even that important, her husband even declined to read his friends' novels, she'd have to point out to him it seemed rude, honestly, you've got to read the novels your friends write, the poets too, we've got quite few among our friends, what are you going to talk about when you meet them and haven't read their work, he'd scowl back, only history interests me, what we've been and what we are, that's concrete and irrefutable, the very life we're made of, this whiff of lemon under the trees, a splendid party, Esther had said, modestly adding, I really don't think I deserve all this when you consider the world as it is, my dear Chuan, oh why think about it all the time, came the answer as Chuan cast a limpid eye on Mère, as long as you're alive, it's only today that matters, these night even, as far as I'm concerned, Esther, there is you, that's all, you and the friends I want to see around you, and if I thought any differently, I suppose I'd already be with the things that are laid waste, and that's not what I want, no, absolutely not, come dance with me, do you think I'm not too stiff for that, Mère asked, I won't let you have time to hesitate, Chuan said, see, here we go you and I, and Mère had danced with Chuan's son holding her by the shoulders, so they all laughed, Chuan, Esther and Jermaine, all three dancing together, definitely a wonderful party, Esther said, and Chuan, despite being tired but also a little tipsy, smiled with joy, perhaps it was the smell of the acacias, the African lilies, the lemon-trees, and all that wonderful champagne they had drunk, though she'd forgotten to eat some of the wonderful things at the banquet, so busy she'd been with her guests that night that she hadn't noticed the time go by, and she'd danced so much, shaking, eyes closed when she danced alone, closed to fleeting electrical sensations, though she enjoyed their density, as though dancing had inflamed every one of her senses, leaving no room for stiffness or for rest, Chuan simply had too much to do for that, a demanding husband, a bit tyrannical and demanding, she thought, her career as a designer, of course, he wouldn't mind her visiting him in the cabin, well perhaps just a little, he'd be morose at first, but almost tender afterwards, she'd place her hands on his head, and he'd say, you know, Jermaine has larger, stronger hands than mine, but you've got hands like a little girl, where does he get them from, that smell of acacias was what made Chuan feel so good, just a little tipsy perhaps, very little, but as Mère had said, the party was a huge success, a triumph, they did say that Chuan could pull anything off, Mai felt she'd wet her pyjamas again, not having woken up at cock-crow as she often did, in daylight everything shows, her nanny would say as she took her to the bathroom to strip, in daylight everything shows, Marie-Sylvie de la Toussaint would say, where's Mama, thought Mai, of course it's always me that has to clean up and fix things, Marie-Sylvie would say as she pushed Mai toward the bathtub, this can't go on, no, it can't, are you still a baby, Mai, the boy with the hat came into my room and I got afraid, Mai would say, what boy with a hat, oh no, this is not going to go on, I'll have to tell your mother, this time I will, it's got to stop, I'm going to have to wash your behind and your back, you ought to be ashamed, Marie-Sylvie would say, what would happen if I weren't there, and Mai whimpered with sadness and shame, the boy with the hat came into my bed, she'd say, the soap and the blue foam mixing with her tears in the bathtub under Marie-Sylvie's rough hand, clean but dressed in shame, Mai would say through her tears, he got into my bed and wanted to sit on me as he always does, but because he was heavy . . . stop lying, Marie-Sylvie would cut her off, you have to look good for your parents, this time I won't tell them, don't you ever do it again, I told you, when you hear the cock crowing, you need to get up right away, Mama, where is she, when all at once Marie Sylvie asked, it isn't true is it, this story about a boy with a hat, it's just one of your fantasies, isn't it, she couldn't dismiss the fear that her crazed brother had come back again, He-who-never-sleeps and his Mexican sombrero, tell the truth, you're making it up, aren't you, she would say, shaking Mai hard with her bony hands, but get no answer, nothing from Mai, too bad she wasn't a boy like Augustino, she'd have beaten adults, especially this nanny Marie-Sylvie who didn't even like her, thrown her out, put her back in her boat out onto the ocean, right to the bottom, for Mai recalled what her father had said, you must share, share Marie-Sylvie with Vincent, but I don't want to, I don't want anything chopped up, I want it all, she'd sighed, not to share my fruit ice-cream with Emilio, though he was so brown and so cute when they played on the beach together, that was a few years ago when they were both only three, the Cuban Emilio and his father, athletic and brown himself, with a sudden white flash of teeth, like Emilio himself and like a mystery solved on both their faces, Emilio, pensive and looking for seashells while his father played volleyball, the most agile of the six players reaching for the ball over the net, Emilio's father and Emilio, Mai said, he's the one, he's my father, will you play with me, the best volleyball player in Cuba, and your father plays volleyball too, right, no, I don't want to play with you, Mai had answered Emilio, ashamed all at once of her father as the man on the restaurant terrace in white shorts, looking distinguished and writing outside in a notebook or on a sheet of paper, everywhere, as though seeing him write all day around the house were not enough, or going off on some solitary retreat in Europe, saying, I'm off to write, as though it were not already unbearable for Mai to be forbidden to touch his papers or his computer, even when he took Mai to the seaside, he skipped away to do some writing, forever writing, then suddenly her father's voice would ring out, come on over here, I've got ice cream, both of you come on, and Mai had thought, why not two ice creams, because there's Emilio and me, two ice creams, but Papa had said just one, and when it was time to have some fruit-flavoured ice cream, Papa had said, here are two spoons, but there's only one ice cream, Mai had complained, two spoons and one ice cream, I want mine all to myself, Papa, and he had said, that's so you share, that's why there's only one, understand, Mai, you have to share, that's the very first lesson in life, by which time Emilio had swallowed the whole thing himself so fast it hurt him and he made a face, I said share, her father had said again, I hate that word, she said, look Papa, Emilio's eaten it all, and Emilio, recovering his breath, said, I can eat it all by myself because my father's the best volleyball player in Cuba, I don't like that word share, Mai told her father, although she had long ago pardoned Emilio when she saw him on the beach with his father, he's the one she'd have liked to lick all over like an ice cream, him and his salt-water-and-sand smell, his brown torso, almost naked, while Mai had to put on a dress for dinner, she'd have liked to be encrusted under the salt on his skin, winnow through the envelope of his muscles in the sunlight, hold between her fingers the shells he took home in the evening when the sun sank on the sea, or was it home, when night fell on the net and on the players, and the swings stopped in the children's park on the other side of the street where the cars still went by in a cloud of sand, or was it home, sharing Emilio, dividing him up, no he was hers, all hers alone, she told her father, my Emilio, just mine, well, he won't be if you don't stop biting his ears, her father told her, be kind to him, you have to share him with others, what others, Mai asked, Emilio's all for me, that word, share, when she thought about it, was really awful, Papa said it often, in fact that's all he seemed to say, maybe, though, Marie-Sylvie would be easier-going and say to Mai playfully the way she talked to Vincent, don't worry about it, these things happen, don't think about it anymore, it was going to be a fine day, and Mai could go to the beach and play with Emilio, both of them wearing trunks so the sun would burn her chest, and the pyjama would end up in the laundry, and Marie-Sylvie would talk to her the way she would to Vincent, don't think about it anymore, I won't tell your mother, go play now, your father's waiting in the car to take you to the ocean and see Emilio, no, Chuan thought she wouldn't want her son always up there in those planes like Nora's son, nor have him learn to fly like those young people flying a light plane with only a few seats along the Connecticut coastline in the thickening fog, then suddenly losing control and crashing into the sea, the precious human cargo scattered over the water, whether princes or children adulated in glory, each one suddenly the poorest of all, drowned and without fortune or baggage, whose fresh flesh was suddenly corruptible and reduced to tatters by sharks, good thing Jermaine was the practical type, feet on the ground, Chuan thought, when you realize how quickly disaster can strike in our lives, whatever it might be, no telling, before Chuan had been born, how many mothers, parents, lovers like her and Olivier, had waited for their daughters and sons to come home from school in Hiroshima, wondering, will he come back alive in this August heat like an oven, when a black fog rose to the heavens with bodies awash, will Jermaine come back alive, but imagining those horrors from before Chuan was born was to slip over to the side of desolation, never to know calm again, never be peaceful or pacified, Chuan claimed for herself and for all victims of that August day in what was once her country, Japan, peace, pacification for herself or for Olivier, no, she thought, it was for Jermaine, anything for the present in this life, Jermaine, the only line of pacification amid the extent of desolation, if one dared to look, but Chuan did not dare anymore, simply rejoicing in the success of that night's celebration, Chuan in her red dress was smiling in satisfaction and joy, now all that remained was to hope Olivier was in a pleasant mood, not uneasy or anxious, that arrangement of green apples in a crystal vase would certainly please him, she'd also decorate his office with orchids, when she told him, Olivier, maybe it would be a good idea to join our friends on the beach, it will soon be time for the flotilla to sail past, yes, it would be spectacular, haven't you worked too much all night as it is, you know it was a big success, this party for Esther's eightieth birthday, really, and he would grumble in a neutral voice, being elsewhere, oh yes, it was fine, just fine, and Chuan would be a bit disappointed but say nothing, putting everything into the pretty arrangement of green apples and orchids she would use to brighten up her husband's office, and on the quay, the silhouettes of people out strolling and cyclists barely seemed to move when seen from afar, from where Mère and Nora walked side-by-side on the beach, these silhouettes in the distilled light of dawn on the water seemed
almost motionless, I'm not the man you want, Timo was saying to Petites Cendres, I use, but mostly to make the customers feel good, rich folks are into that, you'd be better off going to Bogotà, you're not going to survive Bahama Street, besides you're so badly got-up with that corset over your jeans, it's really ugly, I told you before, Ashley, appearance is everything for customers, it's my top, Petites Cendres said, you know I can never quit Bahama Street, no choice, Petites Cendres thought, in an hour I've got a date with the old sadist, and he'll say, be a dog, lie down in front of me, and I'll hit you a few times, I love seeing your stinking kind suffer, you'll do anything for a little stuff, won't you, a brutal, low-down kind of guy he is, and Timo was smoking with the cigarette dangling between his lips, you look like a banker, Petites Cendres said sadly, I'm just the way the Lord made me, even if the street-girls laugh at me at night, high-heel divas, he said, I know you don't hang out with them, especially for the flotilla, they're going to get themselves up as pink flamingos and swans, Timo said with a note of disdain, my going with men too is just coincidental, and I don't choose just anyone, right, Petites Cendres said, I saw Reverend Ézéchielle in her church, and she said, pray little man and you'll be saved, I heard her singing voice say, I bear you in my heart's faith, if you are downtrodden and nobody's son, think of Ézéchielle, the pastor of your church who bears the unfortunate that you are in her heart's faith, take the hands of the people to the right and the left of you, for in my church, all are equal, and we sang hymns, Ézéchielle said, blessed be you, can you not hear the sound of trumpets in the sky or the voice of angels, for I've come to this church to tell you about the land of blessings from which all suffering is banished, and she held me to her huge bosom, Petites Cendres said, and she exclaimed, blessed are those like you, Petites Cendres, the forgotten of the world, for you will see God before I do, for I, Reverend Ézéchielle may have the sin of pride in me as I go everywhere preaching, and your heart may be humbler than mine, for every day you are in the mire, and I am honoured as the pastor of the church you come to, whoever you may be, blessed be you, Petites Cendres, you, rejected of men, how can you believe that crap, said Timo, condescending, religion's a fraud, that's what I've always thought, every Sunday I go to the temple at the Cité du Corail, and I pray, and dance with the Reverend Ézéchielle, that's how they put the miserable people to sleep, Timo said, you'd better go meet your client at the hotel, I am expecting someone, another pusher, no one shoud see us together, better get going Petites Cendres, Timo said with his cigarette between his lips, I don't want to play doggy for that filthy creature, thought Petites Cendres, I don't want him to order me, let me mount you like a horse, nigger, I picked you up in that hotel once, and you were going around the hallways with a trolley of soiled sheets, I said come in here to my room for a minute, take those sheets off my bed, and I practically grabbed you by the throat to kiss you, pathetic, they only let you do the lowest jobs in that hotel, hierarchically inferior, as they say, you and the other negroes, I told you, give up on dignity, and I'll give you all the money you want, you obeyed, because you knew I was stronger, then said that thing that earned you a slap, I think all the men who put up flaming crosses in front of black houses and the huts they live in the South, where I come from, haven't been put in jail, like you, the Ku Klux Klansmen are still out there free, yeah, you're still free with your torches and your guns, I give up, I'm through, but one day you'll get your punishment, you had the nerve to talk to me that way, Ashley, Petites Cendres, and I told you you'll regret it, I can make you spit blood if I want, you despise me, well watch out, I could make a sacrifice out of you and leave you in a garbage bag, your life means nothing to me, I can fix you good, so you'd better give up, I don't want to see this guy who humiliates me, Petites Cendres thought, it'll be pathetic, I know, and suddenly Petites Cendres felt better thinking of the round-cheeked boy, a vision of paradise, he held onto his dignity, even between two policemen, yellow cap on his head, upright, hiding the handcuffs under his cotton shirt, proud and dignified, and he'd been freed so quickly he was already in the arms of another lover, leaving for New York, or about to this morning, he was the immersion of love and had smiled at Petites Cendres as if to say, patience my friend, I'll be back, patience, I'm thinking of you, a vision of paradise in this pale light of day on the ocean, thinking about him, Petites Cendres marvelled, Timo said, I told you, leave me alone, that's how it was, Timo slapped him on the back, there was nothing left but for Petites Cendres to go back to the hotel and the man who was waiting for him, dragging his sandalled feet to the moorish-styled hotel amid coconut-trees and palms, he knew all about the basements under that imposing façade, for a long time his shadow had inhabited those subterranean places among the sheets and bed linens, transporting them from one floor to another in heavy, grey canvas bags on trolleys, that's how he had met the perverted stranger, he thought, and started losing his soul, because that's what happened when you were a slave to a master and his perversions, still sometimes he had no choice, he thought, he'd probably die without his powder in the morning, and I also had this dream, said Caroline, standing on a rock out in the ocean, I saw Charly set fire with her cigarillo to the letter I had given her for Jean-Mathieu before he left for Italy, though it was a dream, it was very detailed and fantastic, so exact I'd have thought it was true, I could smell the smoke from the cigarillo as it burned the paper and those words where I told Jean-Mathieu, I beg you, my friend, come back and see me, I admitted my feelings for him, it was all there, stopped by flames, and I even felt myself burning, I too was damaged and altered by fire, it was torture, is it possible this crime really was committed against Jean-Mathieu and me, that Charly was actually insane enough to burn that letter I gave her for him, in my dream, I asked her, and she answered insolently, I had no choice, it was Jean-Mathieu or me, what's done is done, and then yesterday in the mail you placed on my table, there was a letter from Cyril, saying, if Charles has decided to go back to Frédéric, it's because of you, your friends and you are the cause of our break-up, you think you had a right to interfere and split us apart, what can you know of our relationship in your little circle of snobs looking down their noses at what isn't theirs, what Charles was escaping from with me, Charles, whose extreme sensitivity you know well, would have loved to have your approval, but we didn't get that, did we, because to you I was unworthy of him and his genius and his aristocratic air, I was nothing but an actor, maybe even a mediocre one, because you never saw me act in the theatre, did you, as I read this letter, I felt flung to earth, the earth of conflicts in words where no one is ever right or wrong, Cyril, the young man in anger, was confusing me with one of my friends, maybe Adrien, who had hurt him with some ill-advised remark, for Adrien had said to Charles, you'll stop writing with this boy around, do you even know who he is, do be careful my dear Charles, but I did know who Cyril was and had actually seen him act in a theatre where he was both actor and director, but it's as though for a long time I hesitated to see him as vulnerable as myself since he'd fallen in love with Charles, I blamed myself for having let Charly make me vulnerable too, it was time, old age that played against me unfairly, I told myself, how could this ardent young man, arrogant and awkward, have felt his dignity hurt? Nevertheless it was true, he was persecuted within that famous circle of friends who subtly, almost imperceptibly, held him at arm's length, but Cyril quickly felt brushed aside, maybe I was the only one to invite both Charles and Cyril to my villa, a new couple, misunderstood and about to feel personally devastated like me, no one tried the way I did to love them, but I couldn't figure out how, everything I did seemed awkward because I was thinking about Frédéric at the same time, and I had to be loyal to him, so Cyril and I got into the muck of word-conflict, odd places, often on comfortless theatre sets, he'd produced