A muscle pulsed in the count’s jaw as he smiled, revealing to Jack a concerted effort on the dandy’s part to hold his anger in check. Jack could see the count was unaccustomed at being spoken to so directly—especially by one so young.
He could also see that Paul was determined to engage this egotist in a debate. Jack was vaguely aware that Paul was in trouble, but smitten as he was by the Latin beauty across from him, gave only a desultory kick to Paul’s shins when he felt he was being too brave.
“You speak of the truth as if it were your own special province.” The count, although still amused, seemed intent and much on guard. “I would say this to you, niño: you are too young to speak so frankly to me. But I am a man of patience and if you think I speak not the truth, I would only say I disapprove of what you think. But I would defend to the death your right to think it.”
The large party was slowly becoming aware of the contretemps starting toward the head of the table. Polite talk continued but people began ignoring their partners, intrigued by the match between the count and the upstart youngster.
“I don’t understand, sir.” Paul, sitting a little taller, squeezed Jack’s leg to get him to listen.
“A French writer whose name I have forgotten and is of little import,” the count smiled wickedly, “explained that he would defend to the death the people’s right to think as they please. To be more specific, you may think as you please, young sir. And I would defend it.” The count gained some in volume and, looking around him, proceeded to put a cap on the conversation. He cupped his hands to his mouth as if to whisper, “but keep it to yourself.”
The crowd laughed and applauded gently, seeming to relax.
Pilar’s untouched food was whisked away and replaced by fried plantain and dark rich coffee. Jack caught her staring dismally at her dessert.
When the dinner was finished, the men adjourned to the candlelit garden to smoke their cigars.
“I am surprised, sir.” Paul walked up to the count with Jack.
De Silva turned to confront this annoying youngster. “Is this a bee I see before me? Is this a wasp continuing to buzz? Surprised? I would think one so versed in the ways of life would be beyond surprise.”
The men gathered in the garden, savoring the prospect of the upcoming exchange.
“No, sir, I’m always surprised when learned men misquote to serve their own purposes. For you to dismiss Voltaire as ‘of little import’ is no mean surprise; but most shockingly, you incorrectly paraphrased one of the great men of letters. Voltaire wrote that he disagreed with what someone else had written. Not thought. But would defend his right to write it.”
Jack moved next to him, grinning benignly.
“Quite a difference, wouldn’t you say?” Paul continued. The count nodded imperceptibly, not in agreement, but more as if making a decision about someone’s fate. Pausing only briefly, Paul continued.
“If I’ve embarrassed you, sir, please forgive me. But getting back to my original question. I’m baffled at why you would use the term ‘foreign workers’ toiling this land when in fact it is a euphemism for slaves—pure and simple.”
The count stood calmly, fingering a small pendant hanging around his neck. There was a stirring; most of the men looked as if they would like to thrash Paul and could have done so quite easily. One of the count’s compadres moved swiftly in front of the young man.
“Your impudence, young man, is exceeded only by your tattered clothing,” the count said. “If you were just a bit older and larger, I’d cut an epitaph in your chest and send you home to your mamá.”
Paul seemed unperturbed, but Jack knew his friend was trapped. He could see Paul wanted to engage this man in a debate about which he felt deeply, but had succeeded only in making those around the count angry with him, to say nothing of the count himself. The fact that de Silva had misquoted a great author seemed of little consequence. Jack thought any further confrontation at this point might endanger his family’s relationship to the count. Maybe it was time to repair relations and call it an evening.
Paul may have come to the same conclusion. He smiled at his adversary and took a step back. “Count de Silva, may I just say the following: ‘Men of means who use their wealth well will have sown the harvest of prosperity for all.’ I am a guest in your home and I have been well served. Thank you and good night.”
Paul turned with Jack and they proceeded to leave the garden.
“Wait just a moment, little one.” The count lit his cigar and stood relaxed. “Who wrote that last quote? I’m not familiar with it.”
“Paul Le Maire. Cuba. Eighteen five,” Paul answered, without looking back.
Jack and Paul joined Ethan and Pilar.
At the end of the evening the count stationed himself at the door to bid farewell to his guests. As the O’Reillys approached, he bowed graciously.
“Would you be so kind as to wait just a few moments until the other guests have left? I’d have a word with you.” Jack observed the smoothness of the count’s manner. He was repulsed; there was little except his title to distinguish him from his father’s detractors in Hamden. But he could only stand patiently with his parents in the great hall, watching Paul make his way through the mass of people toward the count’s well-stocked library, adjacent to the hall.
The exit from de Silva’s villa seemed to be delayed by a young man, explaining to anyone who would listen how he was bringing ice in insulated ships into Cuba and other ports in the Caribbean. The guests were being polite, but most were anxious to leave.
Jack could see Paul still in the library; his back to him, hunched over what was probably some classic book. Jack called to him. Paul half turned and held up one finger to his mouth, then continued his quest. Finally, except for the O’Reillys, Paul, and the count, the great hall was empty.
“I’m so sorry to detain you like this, but something has arisen that is out of my control. There are many papers you will need to review and sign relating to your father’s estate,” the count said.
The O’Reillys stood waiting apprehensively.
“Normally they would take two or three days to facilitate. I’ve just received news that this will probably not be the case.”
“But what is it that would take longer?” Pilar interrupted. “We understood the papers were in order.”
“It seems it’s more complicated than that, and may take several weeks. There seems to be some question about the deeds to your land. Nothing to worry about. It is my suggestion that you stay in Habana until the papers are put right. You are welcome to stay in my home as long as you deem necessary.”
Paul rejoined them to overhear their last exchange. Had Paul gone too far in his baiting of the count, Jack wondered. It had been great fun, but there was still a lot to be settled between the count and his mother. Jack watched the count to see if the announcement of the delay was related in any way to the evening’s events; to Jack’s way of thinking it didn’t seem to be.
Jack could tell his parents were puzzled at the news. With a certain resignation, the two thanked the count but stood awkwardly, unwilling to leave. Jack’s unease about this man escalated, and he sensed his mother was wary, too. Although the nobleman appeared calm, Jack felt he was maneuvering them somehow.
“We are all pleased to accept your hospitality,” his mother said, “We would like to visit Matanzas Province tomorrow. I wish to see the land for myself. Would you arrange a carriage for us?”
The count seemed distracted as he walked them to the door. “Your carriage as the cock crows, señora?”