That Devil's Madness

THAT
DEVIL'S
MADNESS

THAT DEVIL'S MADNESS

DOMINIQUE WILSON

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA

www.transitlounge.com.au

First Published 2016

Transit Lounge Publishing

Copyright © 2016 Dominique Wilson

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be made to the publisher.

Cover image: ©David et Myrtille Paire & Vardelle/Trevillion Images
Cover and book design: Peter Lo

Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

A cataloguing-in-publication entry is available from the
National Library of Australia:
http://catalogue.nla.gov.au

ISBN: 978-0-9943957-0-2

The author acknowledges the support of Arts SA.

For Katie & For Leah

When we the workers all demand
‘What are we fighting for?'
Then, then we'll end that stupid crime
That Devil's Madness – War

‘Michael' – Robert William Service [1874-1958]

1

The man whipped his donkey up the tortuous road and cursed. He was late and the beast was slow under this noonday sun, but he couldn't afford to slow down. It was important to him to show his respect, for Pauline de Dercou had been a woman he'd admired. Born the same year in the little village of Sablières, their lives had been linked through their fathers, who'd travelled together to Lyon for work. As children, he and Pauline Orsat – as she was then – had been friends, and with each passing year his feelings for her had grown stronger, so that he never doubted they would eventually marry. But on her fifteenth birthday Pauline had married Marius de Dercou.

He had left the village that very day, swearing never to return.

And now, some twenty years later on this 15
^th
day of October 1896, Pauline de Dercou was being buried, and he was going back.

The man whipped his donkey harder but the stubborn beast only slowed its pace even more, then stopped. The man cursed once again.

When he'd left the outskirts of Privas at dawn the previous day, he'd hoped to reach Sablières that night, but his donkey had developed a limp that slowed his progress. As a result he'd missed the wake, and now he'd probably miss the funeral as well. In the distance he could see the first slate roofs of the village nestled amongst the golden leaves of the plane trees, high on the mountainside above desolate gorges. But it was of no use – when this obstinate creature stopped, there was nothing to do but wait until it decided to go again.

As he sat on a boulder to wait out his donkey's caprice, the knell of the village church bell reverberated deep in the gorges surrounding Sablières.

#

‘.…
lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace…
' The priest's voice droned on. Around the coffin stood Marius and his sons, caps in hand.

By a freshly dug mound of more rock than soil, Gustave
le sot
cried great body-shuddering sobs, but no one comforted him, even though those around the gravesite shared his pain and understood his grief at his mother's death. Gustave always cried thus, at every funeral – whether out of pity for the deceased, or because it was his job to dig the graves in this hard, stony ground, no one knew.

A small bird landed on the handle of the shovel stuck into the mound, fluffed its feathers then trilled briefly. Louis, the youngest son now twelve, became distracted from his own grief by the bird's song, and he watched it hop back and forth along the handle until a slap on the back of the head from Jean, his oldest brother, brought his attention back to the priest.

The day was unseasonably hot and the freshly cut wood of the simple pine coffin filled the air with its resinous smell. Marius ran a finger along the edge of his collarless shirt. Gustave sobbed louder and the bird flew off.

‘Anima ejus, et ánimæ ómnium fidélium defunctórum, per misericórdiam Dei requiéscant in pace…'

Louis became more alert, recognising the words that indicated the end of the graveside service. He glanced at Fernand, his favourite brother, and was reassured with a wink.

‘Aa-a-men…'
intoned the priest as he sprinkled holy water then incensed the coffin.

‘
Amen,'
came the responses, and the bell knelled.

Gustave stopped sobbing and wiped his eyes and nose with the back of his sleeve. He reached for the shovel.
‘Amen amen amen amen aaaaaamen!'
he sing-songed as his father and brothers moved away from the grave, and the bell knelled once more.

#

On the road leading up to the village, the donkey decided to move again. But the man from Privas heard the bell and knew that he was now too late. He turned the beast around and headed back down the mountainside, whilst within the village all became quiet again. The women of Sablières, and those few men too old to travel to Marseille or Nîmes or Lyon for work, had attended the wake the previous night and left at daybreak to ready for the day's labour. At this time of day the women would be out in the forest gathering the chestnuts that formed the main diet of the village. Children not in school would be sitting under the trees, freeing the nuts from their spiny husks and layering them between peat moss in wooden boxes for winter storage, and the old men of the village would be sitting under the shade of a tree dozing as they minded infants. And somewhere on the mountainside, the goatherd would be watching the few goats that provided the village with milk.

At the cemetery Gustave, having refilled the grave, sat beneath a tree to wait for the village stonemason who was bringing the simple headstone Marius had ordered.

#

In the semi-darkness of the cottage the air was cool, the thick stone walls providing shelter from the heat. Marius picked up the loaf of bread on the table, and with his knife traced the sign of the cross on the underside before cutting a thick slice for each of them. The coffee percolator boiled over and Louis ran to move it to the side of the range. Marius took a small paper-wrapped package and opened it – inside was a little earthenware pot not much bigger than an eggcup, filled with butter. He carefully divided this into five equal segments and placed a portion on each of his sons' plates, and one on his own.

‘That's Gustave's,' he said, pointing to the segment still in the little pot.

Louis poured everyone a coffee then quickly returned to his seat. For a moment everyone was silent as each concentrated on spreading this delicacy onto his bread before taking a savouring mouthful.

‘She makes good butter, the widow Boucher.'

Around the table three heads nodded in agreement. Outside the cottage only the cluck-clucking of a hen could be heard.

‘So, have you decided on a date?' Marius asked Fernand.

The young man sat a little straighter at the table. ‘We've decided to wait until early next spring, before the planting season. Jean can take some time off then, and we'd like him and Madeleine to be our witnesses. Bernadette's happy to wait.'

Marius nodded his approval. Fernand reminded him so much of himself at that age – he too had never wanted to leave Sablières, and he'd worked at two jobs in order to be able to buy this little farm before marrying Pauline, and though the village was poor, and their farm small, they had managed and been happy. But with the birth of each son, they'd begun to realise that what they had to pass on to them was really very little, so that when the French Government finally changed the requirements for land grants in Algeria from ‘single men only' to ‘large families', they had applied. It had taken many months, and in that time Pauline's health had deteriorated, so that now only he and Louis would make the journey. He wiped his mouth with his serviette and sat back in his chair.

‘It's settled then,' he said, looking around the table. ‘Fernand, you'll go on living here with Gustave – and Bernadette too, of course, once you're married. At least that way, if things don't work out in Algeria, we'll have something to come back to. With just the three of you, you should be able to manage on your earnings. Look after your brother, Fernand, for your mother's sake…'

Fernand nodded.

‘Jean,' Marius continued, ‘even though you live in Nîmes, as the eldest you'll be head of this family while I'm away – so keep an eye on your brothers. Louis, of course, will be with me…' He pushed back his chair and rose, suddenly old. ‘Wait here a moment,' he said as he walked to his bedroom and shut the door.

Louis looked at his brothers, but each was absorbed in his own thoughts. He could hear his father moving around the next room, then nothing. The minutes ticked by. Outside, the chicken clucked again. Louis sighed but was silenced by a frown from Fernand. He wriggled in his chair. A fly came in through the open door and buzzed around the butter pot. Louis watched it until Jean covered the little pot with his serviette. From the bedroom came the sound of Marius blowing his nose. Louis looked at Fernand, eyebrow raised; Fernand answered with a small shake of his head.

‘Amen amen amen!'
Gustave said as he entered the cottage. He stopped and looked at his brothers, and their serious expressions quietened him. He removed his cap and sat down.

‘Here, for you.' Louis cut a slice of bread and passed Gustave the butter. Marius came back into the room, older still and red-eyed. He sat back into his chair and opened his hand to reveal the wedding ring and the small gold crucifix on a slim gold chain that, until now, had been worn by his wife. He put them on the table and gently spread the chain out with his finger until it formed a perfect circle. No one spoke.