The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe by Timothy Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

if you think you can influence me, I’m afraid—”
    “I’m not trying to influence anybody.” He held out a silver case. “A cigarette?”
    “I must be going, Eric.”
    “I need to talk to you.”
    “We’ve already talked.”
    “Anne Marie, you’re not making this easy for me.”
    She looked at her watch. A Kelton, nearly twelve years old, but with the new strap, it was now quite fashionable. Very retro, very
tendance
.
    “Why so aggressive? We may no longer be family, Anne Marie, in the strict sense of the word …”
    She bit her lip. “I’m not sure men know the strict sense of the word family.”
    “We’re friends.” His hand touched hers.
    “I’m never friends with a married man.”
    His laughter surprised her. It also surprised several other diners who turned their heads. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?”
    “Where’s your wife?”
    “In Paris.” He lit the cigarette. The flame of the lighter flickered. “She’s in Paris with the children.”
    “And you’re getting divorced?”
    Eric made a gesture, lowering his hand. “Keep your voice down.” He glanced at the other diners before shaking his head. “We’ve decided on a short separation to get things into perspective.”
    “You want perspective? Go to the art gallery.” She made a sound of irritation. “Perspective’s what you wanted to see me about?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Eric, I must be going—there are things I’ve got to do.”
    His eyes carefully scrutinizing her face. “You know I’m going into politics?”

15
de Gaulle
    “That surprise you?”
    “Politics? And the Office of Tourism, Eric?”
    “I’m hoping to get onto the Conseil Général. For way too long it’s been a fief of the Socialists and the Communists. What the
département
needs is a modern, capitalist approach to our problems.”
    “You want to give up your job?”
    Eric ignored the question. “The left’s held sway for too long; they’ve stifled any enterprise. If this island’s to get anywhere, it must stop turning to France for handouts. Since Hurricane Hugo, things’ve only gotten worse. We’re like whores, always asking for more money—but at least whores work. They put in the mileage even if they are lying on their backs. They earn their keep while we overseas French, we do nothing other than fret over our mixed identity. Are we blacks or are we French? We’re spoilt children, always asking for pocket money for our champagne habit and trips to Paris. Except we’re no longer children and it’s up to us to produce our own pocket money. Thirteen percent, Anne Marie—that’s how much our exports cover our imports. Thirteen percent—and the Socialists begging for more money. It’s time we assumed responsibility.”
    “You know of a politician who doesn’t want greater local responsibility?”
    He shook his head. “You don’t have much respect for politicians?”
    “I’ve worked with them.”
    “We must run our own island.”
    “You mean independence?”
    “I never said that,” he retorted. “Without France, Guadeloupe’s not going to achieve anything. Certainly not yet. We haven’t got the know-how, we haven’t got the managerial experience.” He ran the point of his tongue along his lips. “I’m a Gaullist; there’s no alternative to being French. But at the same time …”
    Anne Marie shook her head. “You really did invite me here to talk politics.”
    Realizing his mouth was still open, he put his hand to his face and rubbed his chin before asking, “Why are you so aggressive?” Eric André had difficulty in concealing his irritation. “I wanted to see you, Anne Marie, because perhaps there are some things you don’t fully appreciate …”
    “About de Gaulle, Eric? I grew up in Algeria, remember.”
    “Things you don’t completely understand. That you could …”
    Anne Marie was smiling. “Yes?”
    “You could put yourself in a situation that would be far from