Augustino and the Choir of Destruction (22 page)

Unchain My Heart
, it'll be carnage with that guy, you'll come out of there all bloody, God help you, son, just go your own way, I got to sweep now, then as he got close to the imposing pink façade of the hotel, Petites Cendres felt tears on his cheeks, why am I playing doggie for this bastard again, he thought, why am I going to let him spit on me again, where was that vision of paradise, the round-cheeked kid who'd smiled at him, he'd have given anything to see him again, he had nothing to give, even that selfish Timo hadn't given him a cigarette, yeah, but wasn't today the day the cruiseship came into port with fifteen hundred sailors, deckhands and crew, red and yellow balloons going up, a regular deluge of visitors in town from Germany, Scandinavia, the world, under their collars handsome, muscular and bare-chested, and at the temple, Reverend Ézéchielle had said to Ashley, Petites Cendres, halleluliah, eternity is for the poor, the beaten down and the oppressed like you, Ashley, next to God, you'll never be alone, and in that eternity there will always be powder, Petites Cendres thought to himself, and I'll have my boy, he won't be going off to see his silk merchant in New York, it'll soon be time for the temples and churches to open their doors, the tears trailed down his cheeks as he dragged his sandalled feet toward the hotel with its imposing pink façade, do come down, Mère had written to Renata, we'd so love to see you, and it was aboard a flight like this one, Renata reflected, that ill-fated Flight 491 after it stopped over in New York, that all those kids in the French class had died so pitilessly on the Honduran mountain, who could tell why little girls in taffeta dresses, whose parents were waiting for them at the airport, had to disappear in the thick fog over the treetops that day, when Renata, getting off in New York for an international conference on the death penalty, would be spared their cruel fate, not thrown from a plane and robbed of her life, a life that already seemed long to her, while these little girls were not yet ten, of course nothing was fair in life, she thought, those who were spared were often incredulous that the life taken from the young and fresh could be turned over to themselves for a longer time still, is this really how it was, or was there some other tragedy still to come, Esther, who claimed to be a distant cousin of Renata's, nor Mélanie her daughter, nor the grown children, and the youngest, Mai, whom Renata still didn't know, none of them knew Renata would soon be coming to see them and telling Esther she wanted to surprise her for her eightieth birthday, the family was so small, the pretext would be a holiday by the sea with her husband, or maybe no pretext at all, just the wish to see them all again very briefly, not making a grand entrance like before in a satin vest revealing her tanned and naked skin, just to be that distant relation discreetly reaching out her hand before embracing each one, almost melting into Esther's timid silhouette among the pink laurels around the entrance, saying, here I am, Esther, I know you weren't expecting me, but I wanted to see you because it allows me to rekindle respect for the past, I remember our Polish cousins, Daniel's father Joseph, it's time to commemorate every one of you, your blood is mine, even if I don't feel that I actually belong to anyone in particular, I know you see me as a little haughty and perhaps brusque, I know, I know, you're not pleased that your daughter Mélanie is so close to me, but we have so much in common, or perhaps Renata would simply say nothing, they would all notice she'd started smoking again, though very little, they'd be aware of her old gesture when she fished out her gold cigarette case, though less ostentatiously than in the past, yet still the same defiant look, they'd be indignant, Esther especially had little tolerance, I'm not in convalescence any more, Renata would say, I'm entitled to life's pleasures now, and I do control how often I do it, she most of all wanted to speak with Mélanie and relieve herself of some of the weight of her judicial responsibilities, Mélanie was an influential female leader also working with justice, especially with regard to women and children, but there were others like Nathanaël, narrowly spared a life sentence after being convicted at fifteen of the murder of a small boy when he was eleven, the clemency of a governor, whose own delinquent son avoided prison, had saved Nathanaël from too harsh a sentence and allowed him to be supervised in a juvenile detention centre, but what was going to happen to Nathanaël in future, and what about all the other accused minors, considered incorrigible by the judges who oversaw the support to their upbringing, applied the law, and incriminated them like adults for the damnable things they had done, and they were evil acts, Renata thought, but the perpetrators were children whose minds were not yet formed, how Nathanaël had wept when the judge said his actions were not just childish mistakes that got out of hand playing with a younger, more fragile child, a little girl defenceless against the strength of a teenager, no, they were acts of indescribable cynicism and brutality, when Nathanaël had acted without really knowing what he was doing, and with the multiplied strength of a boy his size, Nathanaël and his parents had cried, knowing he had killed by accident with sudden and exaggerated out-of-control force, what would happen in future to Nathanaël with no governor to take pity on him, and to his brothers facing down the judges in court, Mélanie, a delicate soul, would understand that Renata was one of the harassed and scrupulous judges, and was relying on her to help put things in perspective, what would she do as a woman and a mother, how would she judge Nathanaël and the kids from underprivileged backgrounds, born to the oppression and misery of the ghettos, later, at the open window of her room looking out at the Caribbean Sea, Renata was to recall the execution of a black by lethal injection in a Texas prison, it was so long ago, but she'd always been convinced of his innocence, since proved by DNA, so she'd not been wrong, and thousands of innocent people had mistakenly been executed by lethal injection or the electric chair, she'd realized that day that no court could ever come to grips with these crimes of negligence, crimes of a justice system designed not to see, what tears were in store for Nathanaël's parents, Renata thought, how many poor people who had committed no crimes would be subjected to the death penalty, what tears, Renata thought, and Caroline asked again for her chair to be brought closer to the window so she could see the sunrise over the water, no, it won't be night, and I won't wear that black outfit you ironed for me this morning, you know, Harriet, Jean-Mathieu and I will be replaced by others, that's the way it is, the friends I use to have over, Bernard, Valérie, Chistiansen and his charming wife Nora . . . Christiansen, a Nordic god, it was so good to have them around, all of them, writers and humanists, Valérie in particular, the philosopher-novelist who knows all about the drama of living; Nora's a mysterious, secretive painter; Bernard and Christiansen are so full of learning and humanism, and the friendship that unites them all, life and the friendship that enlightens their painstaking work, yes, they will supplant us, Jean-Mathieu and I, and it's good that it should be so, if I'm stepping out onto the bridge now, standing upright before the crossing, yes, if I have to . . . leave, then I'd like them all to come and live here in my villa, write and eat at my table, and you must always be ready to welcome them, Harriet, and where will Frédéric, Charles and I go, what will happen to Charles now that he's let Cyril go, tell me, where are we all going to go now we're being replaced, but you have to believe it's for the best, and it is for the best, but tell me the truth just this once, Charly's in the house, isn't she, you just didn't let her get near me, did you, but she is here, isn't she, just behind the door, be truthful with me, I heard her footsteps and her voice saying, Caroline, now we're even, out of each other's debt, let me back in to take care of you, lay my head in your lap like when I pretended to serve you, though I lied to you and didn't really, Caroline, it's true I burned your letter to Jean-Mathieu like in your dream, please let me back in, Caroline, I heard her, she was there, Caroline said, and you told her, shut up liar, get out, we don't want you here, where are my hat and gloves, I've got to go out, they're all expecting me, Adrien, Suzanne, Frédéric, and as for dear Charles, why take Cyril away from him, his life, there he is alone at dawn to write, he describes it as he lives it, dawn and his fountains to quench all thirsts, beyond the Gates of Hell that Botticelli painted as if he were right here with us, the living through an immense fall, tumbling one on top of another from the walls that were supposed to shelter us, to a death they know nothing about, and Charles will write and write, heart-struck with these spiritual torments that Botticelli and Dante in his violent poetry shared, he will write, and why take Cyril away from him, the dawn and the rivers to slake all thirsts, and I even know how Charly was dressed, Caroline said, even if you won't tell me, Harriett, she was like those characters of Newton's, impenetrable and sophisticated in their indolence, did she show up in her black evening jacket with purple nails, the way she did when she went out dancing with her friends night after night till she dropped, tell me now, is that how she looked when you saw her, and Harriett — Miss Harriett — answered with cautious slowness, yes, she was wearing her black evening jacket, she came, but I didn't let her in, I couldn't, she would have hurt you, in fact, I escorted her back out into the street, and do you know what I saw, a beautiful new car and a frail elderly man waiting for her, she's a chauffeur again, that girl is evil through-and-through, said Miss Désirée, she's going to abuse that old man the same as you, Caroline, you were so good to her, oh no, I wasn't, Caroline said, I wasn't all that good to her, but perhaps I could be if she agreed to see me again, I'd be another woman, but I've got to get my best things on, someone's waiting for me on the bridge, who knows, maybe it's her, not that sordid, lame old woman who's waving to me, how dare she call me, they'll all come and live in my house, and you'll make them welcome, won't you, choose the best wines for Bernard and Valérie, for every thirst must be satisfied, and that will be your role, Harriett, when I'm no longer there, I'm sure it's time to go toward the bridge while the sun is still out to find my way, then, when night falls, remember, the birds of prey will return, is it already the hour of the predators, Harriett, Miss Désirée, when no one, not even you, my faithful nurse, can watch over this child of yours, is it already the pale hour when I must go to the bridge? Even you, most faithful Harriett, Miss Désirée, cannot follow me, Adrien, burning hot under his hat and annoyed by all the sand in his shoes, was saying to Daniel, you really do walk fast, I know you're used to running several hours each day, I used to do it once too, isn't this the wharf where your wife is supposed to meet us, oh yes, about your book
Strange Years
,I still wanted to say this, believe me, I'm speaking in all honesty as a friend, in all this illuminated foraging there is very little echo of hope, you call Andy Warhol one of the most amazing portraitists of our time in his obsessive multiplicity of portraits and self-portraits, but why, what is the point of soup cans and his self-portrayal as a bourgeois woman, I have to admit he has a fine hand for plasticity, but as a pop artist he might have more of the attitude and aptitude on the counter-cultural scene he's so good on than actual talent, and do we really need to know that Stalin had a weakness for gangster and cowboy movies, perhaps out of prudery, to get away from anything sexual, or that he talked about literature during decadent banquets with his friends the torturers, all of them monsters as sentimental as himself, you remember what Dostoyevsky wrote about this sentimentality of the worst members of our species, I mean, what are you getting at, that even those who gave rise to the Great Terrors in this world can fall victim to this revolting sentimentality that moves them to tears in a gangster movie, while they can kill ten million Ukrainians with famine and not shed a single tear, well, yes, that's partly it, said Daniel, suddenly seeming impersonal beneath glasses reflecting the sea, for he'd not been listening to Adrien for the past few moments, where is Mélanie, he asked with concern, weren't we supposed to meet here by the wharf, over there, I can see her, said Suzanne, it's going to be a magnificent day, and look at the boats all lined up on the horizon, oh it's too bad Caroline can't get out to join us, I still think of Jean-Mathieu each morning when I re-read his books, the most important thing is that we think about one another, that's eternity, isn't it, Daniel dear, it's the only way not to die, I've always said to Adrien, I'm a believer in death, Daleth, a door opening out onto the bay, and the light like this morning, and Mère said to Nora, I remember now what it was Augustino wrote at the very beginning of his book, or at least he said it would be a book, he often writes all through the night, which drives his parents crazy, not me, though, I'm not bothered by it, he wrote, we might get up some morning and recognize nothing around us, wonder if this country is our country, and even if it is still there, we might get up some morning and think, where is the familiar terrain, where is Cleveland or Cincinnati, where are our cities by the Pacific Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico, where would we go if we had no cities or houses or fire or bread, where would we go, and who would open the door to us, one morning as we get up, we could discover that we had nothing, and say to people around us, will you open your doors to us, and if nobody does, because they're afraid we'll steal the little that remains of their cities and houses and bread and fire, then what will happen to us, and Mère fell silent, for the sky was hot and shining, it seemed so sweet to be alive that she forgot the increased trembling in her right hand, Nora was kneeling by the water, it was a sublime summer day, and she said, I'm going back to Africa soon, touching the green water with her hand and refreshing her eyelids and her brow, an accomplished life would surely be one like Nora's or Marie Curie's, Mère thought, an unknown adventure ahead of one, or would it be existence in the face of uncertainty and hope for happiness, or all of this together, it would soon be time to go back up to the house and see Marie-Sylvie, Augustino and Mai, it would soon be time, thought Mère, and Mélanie was starting up the jeep, pressing the accelerator, Mai, where was Mai, but why was she so nervous, Marie-Sylvie had asked, she's on the swing in the garden with her cats, I scolded her a little bit, look, there she is, not even washed or combed, and she's ignoring me, and Mélanie hugged Mai, saying, why do you always have to scare me, you didn't go back to the stadium, did you, you know Papa and I told you not to, I don't want him to come back, Mai said definitely, though her face looked pathetic and frowning, I don't want Vincent to came back, no one talks about anyone but him, I'm the baby, not Vincent, and Marie-Sylvie's just going to spoil him again, but Papa and I love you every bit as much as Vincent, said Mélanie, thrown into confusion by Mai's words, it isn't true, Mai replied with the same assurance that so disarmed her mother, it isn't true, you're all lying, except Augustino, he doesn't, but he says I'm too young to be his friend, he's afraid I might wreck his books, Mélanie took her daughter in her arms, now, now, she said, caressing her hair, why don't you go play on the beach with Emilio and forget about all this, it's a little early, but do you want me to take you over to his house, now Mélanie and her daughter were headed for the beach in the jeep, and the radio was playing Britten's