Another Sun by Timothy Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

coincidence?”
    “What coincidence?”
    “Like Calais.”
    Madame Suez-Panama was silent.
    “How old was the child?”
    “Two years old. The mother never cried. I remember because there was a phone call for me at the school, and in those days there weren’t many cars. We were all poor then, except for the Békés. I couldn’t wait for the bus. So I had to borrow a bicycle. And I cycled all the way from Pointe-Noire. The roads weren’t surfaced in those days. It took me almost a day to cycle to Sainte Marthe.” She allowed herself an amused grunt at the recollection. “Nothing that I could do. The little boy was already dead.”
    “Why kill her own child?”
    The old headmistress was lost in her memories. “I sat there through the night at the wake, and Hégésippe wept like a woman, burying his large head in his hands. Hégésippe who’d spent two years at Verdun—he wept like a silly woman. I can remember his hair was already turning white. If only I could have taken some of the pain. But that little métis woman.…”
    Madame Suez-Panama fell silent.
    “Please go on.”
    “Not one tear.”
    “She didn’t love her own little boy?” Anne Marie asked, her hand on her son’s head.
    A snort of ancient resentment. “I don’t think I ever saw her pray even though we lit candles and set them round that poor, cold little corpse. She was pleased with herself. That woman was pleased with herself. Woman? She wasn’t a woman. She was a devil.”
    The smell of rotting fruit in the market drifted through the blinds.
    “It was that witch who put a curse on Hégésippe Bray.”
    “You really believe in those things, Madame Suez-Panama?”
    “A spell on him and Hégésippe Bray became like a dog, with a chain around his neck.”
    “You’re an educated woman.”
    “She bewitched him. She ruined him.”
    “How could she do that?”
    “By getting him sent to that terrible place.”
    “Hégésippe murdered her—transportation to Cayenne was his punishment.”
    The woman nodded slowly. “I was in France—but if I’d been at the trial, Raymond Calais wouldn’t have got away with it. Old man Calais’ son—of course he wanted Hégésippe Bray out of the way so that he could get his hands on Hégésippe’s land. All Raymond Calais ever cared about was the land.”
    “So your half-brother had good reason to hate Raymond Calais?”
    “Anybody with any sense hated Calais.”
    “Who killed Raymond Calais?”
    The gentle hum of the evening traffic along the
route nationale
and the confused sound of the neighbor’s television. Fabrice tugged again at his mother’s arm.
    “Madame, who killed Raymond Calais?”
    A harsh noise. Anne Marie felt the cold finger of fear running down her back. And that debilitating sense of fear remained with her even once she realized that it was merely the sound of the old woman sobbing.
    Anne Marie hurriedly took her leave. She left, going down the creaking stairs with Fabrice pulling on her arm, urging her on, his face small and pale.
    “Send Hégésippe Bray back,” the voice called hoarsely from above. “Do you hear? Send him back before it is too late.”

12
Alfa Romeo
    Jean Michel’s Alfa Romeo was there.
    “Papa’s back,” Fabrice cried excitedly.
    The garage, with its series of unlit concrete compartments and the puddles in the ground smelled of urine and stagnant water. Somewhere a pipe was leaking. The sharp, unpleasant smell was compounded by that of the refuse bins overturned and scattered by foraging dogs.
    Anne Marie took the beach equipment from the Honda and walked toward the stairs. Fabrice pressed against her side.
    Light from a naked bulb overhead was reflected on the cream paint and the chrome of the Alfa Romeo.
    “Female intuition,” Anne Marie said and with the palm of her hand, she touched the car’s bonnet. It was still warm. She smiled grimly to herself.
    “What does intuition mean, Maman?” He did not expect an answer. Once out of the garage,