The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (26 page)

Jo shook her head. “No, I’ve got work to do. Have fun and don’t get back too late. It’s a school night!”

Joséphine closed the front door and smiled.
I have to start writing right away
, she told herself.
I have to get this scene down and put it in the book. I’m not sure where it’ll fit, but it’s one of those moments where a character’s feelings drive the whole story forward.

In the meantime, Mylène had gone back to the room at the Ibis Courbevoie Hotel that Antoine had reserved in the name of M. and Mme Cortès. What would have thrilled Mylène a year earlier now left her cold. She was carrying so many packages she had trouble getting her room key into the lock. She had made the rounds—Monoprix, Sephora, Marionnaud, Carrefour, and Leclerc—hunting for cheap beauty products. In Kenya, she noticed that whenever she made herself up, the Chinese women would follow her, whispering among themselves. In broken English, they asked how to get those reds, greens, pinks, ochers, and “cocoa for the eyelashes.” She also noticed that they loved products labeled “Paris” or “Made in France.” This gave Mylène the idea of opening a beauty parlor in Croco Park. She could give facials and beauty treatments, and sell cosmetics from Paris. She’d just have to set her prices high enough to cover shipping and travel, and also make a profit.

She knew that she couldn’t count on Antoine anymore. He was gradually falling apart, had become a gentle, resigned
alcoholic. If she didn’t take things in hand, they’d soon be flat broke. Maybe seeing his wife and daughters would bring him to his senses.

Mylène undressed and went to bed. She was eager to go back to Kenya and open her beauty salon. She drifted off to sleep thinking up a name for her salon: Paris Beauty? Paris Chic? Vive Paris? Suddenly, she jerked awake.
My God, what if it doesn’t work, and I wind up stuck with all these cosmetics? I’ve spent everything in my savings account, and I don’t have anything left!
She groped around in the dark for some wood to knock on, then fell back asleep.

A black marker in hand, Joséphine studied her kitchen calendar and crossed out the next two weeks.
Today is April 15
, she thought;
the girls will be back on the thirtieth. That means I have two weeks to devote to my book. Two weeks, meaning fourteen days of ten hours of writing a day. Twelve, maybe, if I drink a lot of coffee.

When Antoine had suggested taking the girls for Easter vacation, she had hesitated. The idea of their going off with him to Kenya with only Mylène to keep an eye on them made her very nervous. What if the girls got too close to the crocodiles? But Shirley’d said she and Gary could go along. “I love traveling and adventures, and I can take off for two weeks,” she said. “I don’t have any classes at the conservatory, and I don’t have any big orders to fill.”

Jo had dropped everyone off at Roissy–Charles de Gaulle the night before.

Now I need to set myself a schedule
, she thought,
and stick to it. Eat meals between chapters. Spread out my books and my notes, and write and write . . .

Joséphine decided to start by concentrating on her novel’s setting, a village in the south of France, near Montpellier.

In the twelfth century, there are 12 million people living in France, and only 1.8 million in England. France is split between the Plantagenet kingdom, headed by Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, and that of Louis VII. Trade is expanding through markets and fairs. Money has replaced barter as the preferred medium of exchange. In the towns, Jews are tolerated but shunned. Because Christians are forbidden from lending money at interest, the Jews are bankers, and often usurers. They are seen as profiting from others’ hardship, and despised. They are forced to wear the yellow star.

In high society, a woman is valued only for the virginity she offers up on her wedding day. Her future husband thinks of her as a womb to impregnate—with boys. He is not supposed to show love for her. Under church law a man who loves his wife too passionately is guilty of adultery. For this reason, many women dream of retiring to a convent. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, convents proliferate.

Florine understands all this. She doesn’t want to be one of those women who are led to marriage like a lamb to the slaughter. She would rather give herself up to God.

For Jo, Florine was beginning to come to life. She is tall, blond, and shapely. She has a slender neck and almond-shaped green eyes with long lashes. Her skin is clear, her lips full, and
her cheeks red. She wears an embroidered headband above a high, rounded forehead, and blond tresses cascade down around her face. She has long, soft hands the color of ivory; the hands of an aristocrat.

Not like mine
, thought Joséphine, glancing with dismay at her scabby fingers and nails.

Florine’s parents are bankrupt nobles who live in a drafty house with a leaking roof. They dream of regaining their past glory by marrying off their only daughter.

The story begins one evening . . .

The whole family—grandparents, children, grandchildren, and cousins—is gathered around the fire when word reaches them that Guillaume, the rich and handsome count of Castelnau, has just returned from the Crusades. He has decided to marry, and everyone wonders who the future countess will be. This is the evening Florine plans to tell her parents that she wants to observe the Rule of Saint Benedict and enter a convent.

Florine’s mother is an ambitious, hard-hearted woman who dominates Florine’s kindly father.

Florine tries to get her father’s attention and join the conversation, but in vain. Children are allowed to speak only when spoken to, so she waits for the moment when she can speak up. At long last the master of the house asks his daughter to bring him his pipe.

Florine fills the clay pipe with his favorite hemp blend, and announces her plan. Her mother cries out that a convent is out of the question. Florine is to marry the count of Castelnau!

Florine stands up to them, declaring that God is her intended.
Her father orders her to her room, to meditate on God’s commandment to honor thy father and thy mother.

Now I describe Florine’s room
, thought Jo,
with its chests, tapestries, icons, benches and footstools, and of course, her bed.
Florine’s chests and sideboards all have locks, and having the keys to so many locks is a sign of status in the household. After everyone has gone, Florine can overhear her parents in the next room. They’re talking about her, and her duties as a daughter. A daughter from a good family bakes bread, makes the beds, washes, cooks, takes care of all the linens and sewing, and embroiders purses.

“She’ll marry Guillaume,” insists her mother, “and that’s all there is to it!”

Her father remains silent.

When Florine walks into the kitchen the next morning, her wet nurse sees her and faints. Hearing the commotion, her mother runs in—and promptly faints as well!

Florine has completely shaved her head.

“I won’t marry Guillaume,” she says. “I want to enter a convent.”

Her mother comes to and locks Florine in her room. General hysteria. Threats and accusations rain down. She loses her keys and her freedom, and is put to work as a scullion in the kitchen.

Word of Florine’s reputation reaches Guillaume, and he demands to see her. Her mother covers her shaved head with an embroidered wimple hung with jewels.

The presentation takes place. Guillaume is captivated by Florine’s silent beauty and by her slender white hands. He asks her
to marry him. Florine must obey. She decides that this will be her first degree of humility.

Guillaume wants a big wedding. He builds a stage big enough for five hundred people to spend a week in feasting. It is adorned with tapestries, expensive furniture, armor, and fabrics brought back from the Orient. Florine keeps her eyes downcast on the wedding day. She has obeyed. She has promised God to be a good wife. She will keep her word.

Now I get to describe Florine’s first night with Guillaume
, thought Joséphine.
Those medieval wedding nights must have been horrible, with child brides handed over to drunken brutes.

During his marriage to Florine, Guillaume becomes very wealthy.
How does he do that?
Jo wondered.
I’ll have to think about it. And later, her second husband—

Just then, the doorbell rang. She tiptoed over and looked out the peephole. It was Iris. Reluctantly, she opened the door.

“Hi, Jo! I thought I’d drop by to see how things were coming with my book. How’s our Florine doing?”

“Well, she shaved her head,” Joséphine retorted, wishing she could do the same to her sister.

“I want to read all about it!”

“I don’t know, Iris. I’m right in the middle of—”

“I won’t stay long, I promise. Just a quick peek.”

They went into the kitchen and began to read on the computer screen.

Iris’s cell phone rang, and she answered it.

“No, no, you’re not interrupting anything. I’m at my sister’s. Yes, in Courbevoie! Can you believe it? I had to take a compass
and bring my passport! Ha, ha! . . . Really? Are you serious? Go on, tell me about it!”

Joséphine could feel her blood boiling. She snatched the laptop from Iris and glared at her.

“Uh-oh, I’m going to have to call you back. Joséphine is giving me the hairy eyeball.”

Iris shut her phone.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes, I am! First you show up without warning, you interrupt me when I’m working, and then you spend the time making fun of me to some stupid society bitch! If you’re not interested in what I’m writing, don’t come bothering me, okay?”

“All right, all right! Calm down! Can I at least read a little bit of it?”

“Only if you turn off your phone.”

Iris agreed, and Jo handed her the computer back.

Iris read for a moment in silence. When she looked up, she looked hard at her sister and said, “This is good. It’s really good.”

Jo didn’t answer.

“Do you want me to leave now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I’m happy to go. I’m delighted you’re taking this so seriously.” Iris grabbed her purse and phone and left, trailing a cloud of perfume.

Joséphine slumped against the front door for a moment, then took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen. She’d completely lost her train of thought!

Raging, she screamed and yanked open the refrigerator door.

“D
addy, will the crocodiles eat me up?”

Antoine squeezed Zoé’s little hand and assured her that they wouldn’t.

He remembered Joséphine’s advice. “Be sure to spend some time alone with Zoé, one on one. Don’t let Hortense monopolize you.”

Shirley, Gary, and the girls had arrived the night before, exhausted from the trip and the heat, but excited at the thought of being in Kenya and seeing Croco Park, the lagoons, and the coral reefs.

Mylène was delighted to have company, and Antoine felt happy for the first time since moving to Kenya. He was happy to have his daughters with him, happy to have a family. Mylène and Hortense seemed to get along really well. Hortense promised to help sell her beauty products.