A Dangerous Friend by Ward Just Read Free Book Online

the train, lumbering now into the grimy suburbs of Toulouse, row upon row of brick factories and lifeless streets with their cafés and boulangeries. The streets were narrow and without charm. Sydney thought they were as peevish and exhausted as the continent itself. Toulouse was the end of the line, and he imagined Comminges one step beyond that, a region more of the nineteenth century than the twentieth. He wanted this visit over and done with so he could get on with the business at hand. He ran a little riff on the window with his fingernail, then rested his head on the seat back and dozed.

A Child in Such a Milieu
    M ISSY HAD NOT BEEN exaggerating when she described the charm of the Armands' stone house, a rambling affair with a flat tile roof and tiny windows set next to a second-century Roman wall, the wall damaged here and there but recognizably from antiquity. They were situated in a narrow valley overseen by towering hills, and a river was nearby. Monsieur Armand was as wide as a barrel with heavily muscled forearms and bowed legs. His wife was similarly built. They had greeted Missy with shouts and laughter; as if she were truly the fourth daughter. When she introduced Sydney they welcomed him cordially, happily accepting his gifts of smoked salmon and chocolate, purchased at the shop in the rue du Louvre. They insisted on showing him the house, each room including the wine cellar. The house was filled with heavy country furniture, crucifixes prominent in the bedrooms. Madame pointed out family pictures, her husband making jokes about the circumstances of the photography. Their English was poor and eventually they gave it up and spoke French, Missy translating when it was necessary.
    Because the night was warm they sat in the garden. Monsieur Armand poured red wine from a huge pitcher. Sydney sat back and listened to their animated conversation, first Missy's news—a promotion expected at the bank, a new carpet installed in the living room—and then the activities of the family Armand. The daughters had gone to Toulouse for the evening but would return the next day. There were frequent references to Abidjan and the oil business, apparently prospering. From time to time Missy turned to Sydney and translated, and he would respond with a question he hoped was intelligent and not too forward or intrusive.
    How long have your brother and his wife lived in Abidjan?
    Oh, many, many years.
    Twenty years, Madame Armand said. They have a bungalow on the beach and fortunately servants are plentiful. They like the hot weather and swimming in the ocean. They own a small boat—
    She had a face like a bun, pushed together, wrinkled and kindly. Her smile was beautiful to look at and she used it often. Sydney was beguiled despite his many reservations about the French and Europeans in general, often so resentful. Madame Armand turned to him frequently, making certain that his glass was full and that he was i)ot too estranged from the conversation. And he managed to pick up bits and pieces, his university French returning helter-skelter. He was not paying close attention. The night was warm and Monsieur's wine tasty. He soon lost the thread of whatever they were talking about; in any case, it was Monsieur Armand's monologue, soft in the night air. Madame Armand excused herself to go into the house to see about dinner. Sydney relaxed and listened to the incomprehensible conversation and the buzzing of small insects.
    Monsieur Armand suddenly leaned toward Missy and spoke rapidly, something about one of his brothers; and Sydney heard the words Xuan Loc, uttered with a discouraged shake of the head.
    Sydney pulled his chair forward with a show of interest.
    It's a town north of Saigon, Missy said.
    One of my brothers lives there, Monsieur Armand said in English. It's a pretty market town. Then, to Missy: Tell him about Claude.
    He's Papa's youngest brother; Missy said. He manages one of the rubber plantations in Xuan Loc