had, but probably better as a mother to them all, perhaps a better mother than she’d been to her own children, six-month-old Amos for instance, little N’zuzi, who but her looking desperately for a vein to transfuse just as their little eyes closed and the lids froze, just a vein to get this life-giving fluid into them, but too late, much too late she
thought, that’s what days without food had done to them, and whenever she thought about her family she saw them too, above all Amos and N’zuzi whom she’d bathed and tried to feed when they were no longer able, shooing flies away from the bottles, Ugandan and Rwandan children, Amos, N’zuzi, and so many others all dying the same way in countries she never should have left, she knew that now, but what on earth were all those voices on her doorstep thought Mère, Marie-Sylvie came in having forgotten to close the blinds, better if they all stayed outside because the room was now filled with fog and damp circling her bed and that wouldn’t be g
ood for Vincent’s asthma, nothing mattered more to Mère than her grandson’s health and future, what was it they were saying, Manuel’s father had been arrested during the night for corrupting minors and the house was swarming with police, Manuel saw his father led away in handcuffs, at least Mélanie and Daniel’s daughter was not drugged and asleep on the beach and what a relief that was, probably off with Tammy somewhere, no wait here she was on the veranda with them, back before midnight for her grandmother’s goodnight kiss and now hugs from her parents too, not the scolding she’d get any other time, tears and kisses from them instead, still crying they went softly up the steps, her father holding her mother by the hand, okay I’ll wait till tomorrow when you come Tammy had texted her, the pact’s off thought Mai, the stoic and princely pair with flaming hair and a single white glove melting like wax were not for tonight, such horror averted thought Mai, Tammy’s parents, not knowing their own children or even wanting to, had no conception of anything like this, their library, books, their whole house and maybe even themselves going up in flames with the children, there it was again, her grandmother’s music drifting through the window as the fog wound its way through the trees, then the cocks crowing too reminding them of a daybreak like any other, soon the timid warmth of February would thin out this fog without dismissing the lingering chill, the tropical spring and riot of vegetation would have to wait just a bit longer, yes better for Vincent not to get too close thought Mère, it’s so close in this room she might not even make him out anyway, not Vincent or Samuel or Mélanie or any of them, when oh when would it dissipate so she could see daylight Esther wondered, and when would her old familiar voice return so they’d know how very much she loved them, so very much, and now here’s our very own muzhik yelled Herman as Robbie left the stage almost bowing under the weight of all his synthetic furs, you know what you need said Herman, you need Jamie to get his snow machine and have it come down on you from the roof in great big flakes, course on the sidewalk it sort of turns into dirty puddles we’d slip and slide in, then he went on to complain about the cold that wouldn’t quit, that and the icy fog that wound its way along the contours of the shore, so rare that hardly anyone believed their eyes, and bit by bit the limos brought everyone back to the warmth of the smoky bar and Robbie’s dark eyes sparkled beneath his fur hat and heavy lashes as he glad-handed all the girls, cautiously ushering them to the bar, okay girls he said, drink up, it’s on me tonight, this was a relaxing time for Petites Cendres, just before dawn, he felt the comfort of all these friendly bodies pushed up against him, people he knew he could trust if he had to, bodies fighting any number of germs and viruses, no matter if some hid themselves beneath Yinn’s makeup or tucked their chins into fur collars, barely able to breathe in coats way too big for them but big enough to cover the lesions like Petites Cendres, and what did their frailty or his own matter, right now for the moment they were together, alive and joyous, his and everyone’s celebration thoughtfully put together by Yinn, and when the cocks raised a racket in the fog, he shepherded each of them home through it to their apartments or to Dr. Dieudonné’s clinic, where they still tried to maintain some appearance of a normal life just as Fatalité had in his place that echoed all night long bathed in glaring light, Petites Cendres thought Herman still hadn’t realized Fabian was part of their group as Jamie said later, so wrecked he could barely climb the stairs and Jamie almost took him in his arms and put him to bed but Fabian wanted none of it, he just worked away at it, holding on to the handrail with Jamie holding him as tight as he could and sighing adieu, adieu brother of mine, now not a word to dear Herman, all right adieu brother adieu, and that sent Jamie running back to the limo with tears running down his face and that was how the night ended for Fabian thought Petites Cendres, sad and how else could it be, the other girls lingered at the bar till dawn, their laughter thready and thin and Robbie by far the funniest in all those furs, his brother was in town from Puerto Rico so he’d let him have his room, he was a club singer too, and where are you going to sleep asked Herman, oh the sofa in the corridor at Yinn and Jason’s, the warmest family I know, right said Herman, kind of your universal family aren’t they, Yinn’s utopia would be for everyone to sleep at their place, all between those yellow wooden walls, a warm inner sunshine for all those abandoned in the night Herman laughed, hey not only does she love Jason but she’s sorry he can’t have his two daughters with him, hey why not, why not, I bet if it weren’t for Yinn’s mother raising a fuss they’d all be there, but she threatened to join a convent if he did that, being an agnostic she sure surprised Yinn with that one, she’s not even Buddhist like me he said, so what are you going to do in a convent, I mean isn’t part of our tradition that parents not grow old alone but surrounded by their children Mama, well then I’ll go live with your brothers she answered, besides she figures Yinn needs her as a moderating influence on those modern ideas of his, all this garbage about universal love, love without borders, nope Yinn needs her, besides she’s a sewing whiz and he’d never get his costumes done on time without her, I mean think about it, 350 costumes a year, he’ll wear his eyes out but what she really worries about is him wearing out his heart loving Jason and everyone else, no she’s just gotta be there with that love of his spilling out all over the place in universal empathy, and now Robbie’s got his brother there too and for how long, let him sleep out in the hall on that sofa no way, Robbie’d never sleep properly on that thing but neither was she going to give up her room, I mean there’s quite a breeze out there in that hallway, yep Robbie told the girls at the bar, with Yinn and her mother, Jason, Geisha, and Cobra we’ve got a real family and that’s what really counts in life, Petites Cendres overheard this and worried that Robbie would ask him where he spent the night, maybe he’d invite him in like the brother so close to Yinn it was a torment, but Robbie had to get back onstage for the closing show though it made him shiver just to think about taking off his furs to perform, already on the stairs he started to sing
I love gold and red and green
and the sweet, sweet air as the smoke piled up in the bar, and Petites Cendres longed for the night to end and for them all to leave after that spectacular parade in Jamie’s limos, now he was ready to fall onto the red sofa and weave a web of dreams but he’d have to wait till Andrés shut down the bar and settled the ticket-counting with Yinn the star of the show who was also fighting off the cold, by then he’d be a boy again in grey pants and a jacket, simple elegance just like that, black shoulder-length hair and now just the odd-job man, humble as ever like when Petites Cendres saw him bent under a black laundry bag, somehow that stirred Petites Cendres even more, it was both moving and tempting for, whether dressed to the nines as a woman or in simple elegance as a man with something woollen or leather to ward off the cold, the sweetness of her went straight through Petites Cendres even though it was impersonal and disinterested on Yinn’s part, straight through him like on those boiling nights at the bar or in the sauna at the Porte du Baiser with the frenzied rise of sexual excitement in the customers, was this really the rough and ready crowd Yinn sang and danced for every night then left afterwards in the early morning calm and blasé, even contemptuous of all the promiscuity, oh yes Petites Cendres read it on her face in the exhaustion of the night as she smoked and drank her cocktails through a straw, dark hair let down over her shoulders, to Petites Cendres’ eyes this was the languid Eurasian woman that Jason had fallen for at first sight and told everyone so, was it all this nighttime rumba that made Yinn want to retire at thirty-three, that’s what Petites Cendres now overheard Yinn whispering to Andrés, and she’d say it to them again tomorrow, prophesying that she was made for change, made to adapt over and over, that’s what an artist is first and foremost, a living metamorphosis, a creature of revolution, that’s what he’d say to Petites Cendres tomorrow and it would leave him ruthlessly alone, but now absorbed in the accounts with Andrés in the Indian tunic and silk scarves that kept him warm but saying nothing, even after the night’s happening thought Petites Cendres, nothing said, nothing foretold or prophesied like a sentence brought down on Petites Cendres, none of that just yet. Let them leave me alone, those were Marie Curie’s last words thought Mère, yes leave her alone, no one at her bedside, especially not Marie-Sylvie de la Toussaint spreading her shadow over the mosquito net, how many times had she asked if Mère wanted Justin your friend in the linen suit to come in, he’d never worn it before though nor the hat, to which Mère repeatedly answered that’s not Justin, he never dresses like that and he isn’t pallid like that either, but perhaps he’s changed and you don’t recognize him the servant retorted, he says he really must see you and he was in that street procession you watched from your window, the black group playing all those jazzy laments slow oh so slow, the drums remember them all the way to the cemetery, remember the drums, you didn’t like those did you, the gentleman really does want to see you and he says you’ve known each other for years and years, your family too, should I let them all in, but Mère said no I don’t want to see anyone in this dense fog and dampness, she’d forgotten about Justin and centred her mind solely on Augustino, would he come, oh what human misery he must have seen in Calcutta when he began his second book, his father hadn’t approved of his going so far alone and no one knew what he was doing in that overcrowded and busy city, but Mère just kept on writing to him anyway though he never answered her, maybe he’d
gone to ground somewhere, and what exactly was it he was searching for Mère wondered, some dawning light or revelation or was it maybe to lick his wounds after Adrien’s devastating review of the first book, though Mère had told him this happened to the soul and thoughts of many men as they dried up, especially Adrien struggling with the loss of his wife and subsequent loneliness, above all Augustino should not take it personally, this was Adrien growing old and disillusioned and hateful, but he had told his friends no this was unacceptable, it made Adrien feel better when he delivered terse
condemnations of young writers, not just Augustino, they were all targets of his tight-lipped sarcasm and he’d done it for years Mère wrote to her grandson, surely he knew that as men age they get worse not better most of the time, what had overtaken Adrien was a repressed mean streak triggered by the loss of the woman he loved, yet he was still handsome and easily drawn to younger women, which might prove dangerous to him laughing and enjoying himself every day at the tennis court, did he even remember being offensive to Augustino, of course not she wrote, of course not with all these distractions and amusements, and so it was that his spirit dried up in him, and as for Justin no that wasn’t him, she was sure of it, no he was far different, a peaceful friend and son of a minister, brought up in China and now a prolific writer himself, he’d certainly respect her wish for peace and quiet, so who might this stranger be that Marie-Sylvie was talking about, linen suit and pale-looking skin under a white hat with upturned brim, oh she’d probably end up telling her to show him in anyway, besides surely daylight would work its way through the mist sooner or later, how nice that would be to see the window with the first rays of sun shining through the palms onto the frangipanis, the orange trees, and the lemon trees, Nora saw the red and purple line across the water on the horizon, it was early and no one would see her driving too fast as usual undeterred by all the tickets she’d got, a young Cuban fellow had stopped her once when Christiensen touched base at home, but I have no papers on me, my husband has them all, and she felt a bit ashamed at having consigned all trace of her identity to her husband mostly because of the way the young officer frowned at her, a muddled sense of shame at virtually admitting she’d been a man’s possession even to the point of not wanting her own chequebook, not even for household expenses, with a certain detachment she would have said it’s not my role, that’s what she’d tell Christiensen as if ransoming her freedom and letting him take everything bothersome off her shoulders, material things just didn’t interest her, unlike other women who didn’t disdain to know how much their husbands earned, in fact it repelled her, still a muddled sense of shame she thought as she drove faster and faster along the deserted highway while pelicans and ibises took to the sky around her and out over the misty ocean, past it all that reddish purple horizon as the sun rose, faster she had to see him as soon as she could and feel him swing her up into the air, at last we’re together again my darling, my love. As he held the wheel and navigated toward the neighbouring island Ari hoped the egrets and blue herons would help soften Lou’s disposition and bring her closer to him, maybe even to say Papa love whoever you want, I’m a big girl now, in these pink shorts you can see how long my legs have grown like Mama’s, I can look out for myself now Ari, and he’d stretch out his arm and stroke the two heads in front of him, Rosie and Lou both fast asleep in the canvas chair near the rudder while the mist moistened their hair with droplets as though they’d just climbed out of the bathtub, oh if only things could always be like this Ari thought, Lou always my sweet little girl not bent on tormenting him, hey almost time for the Peace Dance, this time between father and daughter as the blue herons took off with the pelicans for the neighbouring island and did their own dance, and while he dreamed of peace with his daughter she opened her eyes under fog-entwined hair wondering what if he’s brought us here to some isolated beach to dump us on the dock so he can go and join that Noémie as fast as he can, what’ll we do alone on a strange beach Rosie and me, oh the waves are gently rocking the boat, better just go back to sleep and stop thinking about him, tomorrow she could sound him out before he tried to get her to pardon him once more by launching into that tired old story about the wild geese and their Peace Dance, better just sleep, he knew the sea and what he was doing and wouldn’t get them lost and he probably still loved his daughter too much to abandon her on some far-off beach, too much to just leave her there on the white sands of an island where no one lived except dolphins, blue herons, and pelicans, who knows if Ari . . . but she fell asleep as Mère saw Charles and Fréderic’s house once more shining in the night from chandeliers already visible from the porch, sounds of the party too with the stilted voice of Caroline at her elbow saying come my dear, you know this house all too well don’t you, here take my arm, they’re all waiting for you, and Mère would have gone along with her but she felt the dry hand of Marie-Sylvie burning hot on hers, should I let in the strange man that calls himself your friend Justin she asked, you know the linen suit and white hat, but Mère said this apparition sounds too pallid to be the real one, oh the day is dawning and at last I can see the sunlight on the trees in my garden, please Marie-Sylvie do let him in, I’m ready now the fog’