Two Testaments (58 page)

Moustafa closed his hand softly around the back of the boy’s neck. These words were not rehearsed. They rang true, coming up from the deepest part of his soul.

“It’s okay, Hussein. Everything is okay.”

Pronouncing the words, Moustafa looked away, out the window. At fourteen he had run through the orange groves with Anne-Marie. He had dreamed of an impossibility and followed it all his life. And today his stubborn hope had paid off. He had a feeling it was not at all his hope so much as that little phrase that both David and Ophélie had used. An answer to prayer.

Compassion welled up within and warmed him, like a gulp of hot mint tea going down his throat. Maybe this boy deserved a chance too. He had hardly had time to dream in his short lifetime.

“I forgive you, Hussein.”

The letter from Hussein could not have arrived at a better time. On this, the fourth of August, Ben Bella took his position as head of state in Algeria. He immediately began in his charismatic way to put into place the socialist government he had planned for the newly independent state. Ali’s hopes for his own future seemed secure. And today he also had news from Hussein.

Ali ripped open the envelope and perused the letter, nodding with satisfaction. “Ha, it is no more, this orphanage! No more.”

He frowned to read of Hussein’s planned suicide. Why would the boy choose that? He had other plans for him. A moment of doubt registered on Ali’s face. Where were the newspaper articles attesting to the explosions, the deaths? Why had Hussein neglected to send proof?

It frustrated him that his satisfaction could not be certain and therefore complete. The urge for power and the need for revenge were in conflict now, and Ali had to choose. To push forward or to remain in the past. To trust the letter of an adolescent boy and put it out of his mind or to find someone else to carry out his anger and revenge. He wondered why he could never find the blessed peace that came from being totally satisfied.

The craving for power gnawed at him. Perhaps if he climbed high enough, became truly important to the new Algeria, perhaps then he would fill the shoes that his father had left empty so abruptly. Nothing could be sure in this life, he reasoned. He tore the letter into small pieces.

“Father, you are avenged. Quiet now, my soul.” He held the torn pieces in his clutched fists as tears ran down his cheeks. “You are avenged, Father!” He spoke loudly now, almost shouting. “Avenged!”

He limped pitifully to a trash can, deposited the letter, and threw in a match.

“Good-bye, Father. Good-bye, Hussein.”

He watched the paper curl and turn red and then black. Still the pain gnawed at him. Still he cried. He fell back into his chair, grasping his head in his hands.

“Is there no peace?” he cried out. “Is there no peace?”

Algeria was free, but a war still raged inside Ali. He swore to himself that he would spend the rest of his life trying to find peace.

33

It seemed perfectly appropriate that their wedding have a mixture of European and American flair. The simple ceremony was to take place in the chapel of St. Joseph at four o’clock; later that evening, in true French fashion, the reception would be a seven-course meal in the refectory that lasted all night. Gabriella insisted on bridesmaids, an American tradition, choosing her sisters and Anne-Marie, with Ophélie as flower girl. But she also insisted that David’s deux chevaux be covered, not with tin cans and toilet paper, but with carnations as she had seen so often in wedding processions in France.

“You’re a bundle of nerves, Gab.” Jessica laughed as she helped her sister with the buttons on the back of her wedding gown.

Gabriella bit her lip. “I know it. I can’t believe I’m marrying David today!”

Mme Leclerc’s apartment had been transformed into a bride’s parlor with Henrietta, Jessica, Anne-Marie, and Ophélie busily putting on the pastel Provençal print dresses that Gabriella’s mother had made. They crowded around the one small mirror over the sink in Gabriella’s room until Mme Leclerc came in and saw them pinching their cheeks and trying to apply makeup.

“For goodness’ sakes, girls! Come back to my room. I have a proper mirror, the whole length of the armoire.”

Gabriella and her mother were left in the room alone, as Mother plaited a small strand of Gabriella’s hair, interlacing it with baby’s breath. The wedding gown fit Gabriella like a glove.

“You’re glowing!” her mother attested.

Gabriella hugged her tightly. “Oh, Mother! Do I really look all right?”

“Perfect, sweetheart. Perfect.”

Gabriella took a deep breath. “Well, then, I guess I’m ready!”

Yvette watched the women leave for the chapel. “
Ooh là là! Ma fille!
” she exclaimed, kissing Gabriella’s cheek. “There’s never been a prettier bride.”

When the apartment was empty, she scurried around, putting on her fanciest dress and pinning her hat with the lace veil in place. She grabbed her purse and hurried into the street toward Monique’s apartment.

The two friends had returned from their vacation three days ago to find the town abuzz with news. The orphanage was staying open, the exchange program would continue also, the Madisons were still in Castelnau, and best of all, Gabriella and David were getting married. Imagine! Two Americans getting married right here in Castelnau. And she and Monique were invited to the meal after the ceremony. She hummed to herself. Such excitement!

“Do you think they’ll want to stay here with me?” she had asked her friend. “I mean, they will need a place to live, the young couple.”

“With you, Yvette! Nonsense. M. Hoffmann has already arranged everything. While they’re gone on their honeymoon, the fathers of the young couple are going to give Mother Griolet’s apartment a fresh coat of paint. Mrs. Madison will make curtains and the like. Oh, they’re turning it into a little love nest. No, don’t you worry! At least they’ll have a little bit of privacy.” Monique rolled her eyes, then continued.

“And M. Hoffmann assures me that enrollment for the new year is not down. We’ll both have new boarders. He says, that sly M. Hoffmann, that he expects the enrollment to double once the young ladies hear that a wedding took place after a couple met at St. Joseph!”

They laughed merrily, then took turns pinning a corsage on each other’s dress. “For the groom’s beloved landlady,” Yvette said, giggling.

“And for the bride’s adoring
proprietaire
,” Monique cooed. “Just as we predicted. Now we really are practically related!”

The bride was indeed radiant as she walked down the aisle beside her father. She nodded to the small group of family and friends gathered in the chapel as she slowly walked past them: Pierre and Denise Cabrol, Madeleine de Saléon, Henri Krugler, Edouard Auguste, Joseph and Emeline Cohen, Moustafa’s mother and sisters, Mme Leclerc and Mme Pons, Eliane and Rémi with their three children, Sister Rosaline and Sister Isabelle and all the orphans. Her mother sat in the front row.

At the altar stood her bridesmaids, Jessica, Henrietta, and Anne-Marie, beaming back at her. Ophélie clutched a small woven basket filled with real rose petals from the bushes in the courtyard. From Mme Pons’s old phonograph played Purcell’s “Trumpet Tune.”

And mostly, there was David, tall and erect, smiling at her with that vulnerable look on his face, a look of awe and fascination and love. He wore a black pin-striped suit that matched his eyes. Beside him stood his father, Jean-Louis, and Moustafa.

Gabriella’s father presided over the ceremony. Having walked her down the aisle, he placed her hand in David’s and turned to face the congregation. “Marriage is a solemn ceremony and a joyful celebration. It is the first sacrament prescribed by God in the Bible. ‘Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall be one flesh.’” He paused to clear his throat.

Gabriella looked up at David. He seemed so serious, stiff, staring intently at her father. She squeezed his hand, and his eyes met hers. She raised one eyebrow to remind him that it was she he should be focusing on. He squeezed her hand back, and throughout the rest of the ceremony, his shining black eyes never left hers.

When at last Gabriella’s father pronounced the happy couple husband and wife, David lifted Gabriella’s veil and kissed her a long moment. She was almost sure she heard little Christophe whispering “Yuck” from the first row, and then the whole audience broke into applause as the couple walked down the aisle and out into the bright August sun.

Each course in the meal was followed by a dance or some type of light entertainment. David and Gabriella were amazed at the silly skits and poems their friends and family came up with during the evening. The refectory had been transformed into a celebration hall, all the tables adorned with flowers and candles.

Halfway through the meal, at ten o’clock, the Dramchini women hurried the children off to bed to dream of the beautiful bride and her dashing groom. As they left, the boys sent a vast array of paper airplanes floating toward David’s plate. The girls came and sprinkled rose petals onto Gabriella’s white dress. Then Ophélie climbed into David’s lap.

“I’m so happy for you, Papa. And you too, Bribri.” She hugged them tightly and whispered, “This is even better than I imagined!”

David held his daughter closely. He looked to Gabriella so tender and mature, so kind. The cocky allure was no longer evident. He had changed so much in this short year. She ached inside, watching him with Ophélie. Could it truly be that he was her husband? It took her breath away.

It was four in the morning when the meal was finished and the good-byes said. Her mother caught Gabriella in a long embrace. “God be with you, my dear. And have a wonderful time!”

She wondered in that moment if her mother had been afraid when she had married her father. It was not exactly fear. It was anticipation.

David’s father drove the young couple to a secluded inn amid the vineyards in a small village outside of Montpellier.

“Have a delightful honeymoon,” he said. “Congratulations! You’ve made an excellent choice, Son, if I do say so myself!” He kissed Gabriella on the cheek, got back in the car, and drove off.

Gabriella’s eyes were shining as David registered with the night clerk, who led them to a gracious suite overlooking the swimming pool. The door was barely closed when they fell, laughing, into each other’s arms.

“Mrs. Hoffmann,” David said with a whistle. “My, but you look exquisite!” He twirled her around him, admiring her. “But don’t you want to get into something a little more comfortable?”