When around ten o’clock in the evening Celanire made her entrance, the buzz of conversation abruptly stopped. Those who had a cutlass handy thought of using it. But she had such a gentle look about her, they had second thoughts. She avoided making any sign of the cross or genuflection that might shock these heathens and remained standing, head lowered, in front of the children’s bodies. Then, using the widow Desrussie as interpreter, she asked to go and join the women. To do so she had to walk past Koffi Ndizi, spilling out of his armchair, and she nodded her head in respect while the king, seeing her for the first time, stared, openmouthed. Hakim was the only one who believed Celanire had come to thumb her nose at them and see how good she was at getting them to change their minds. For those who had quickly badmouthed her behind her back now retracted and spoke highly of her beauty. Koffi Ndizi even declared that the fetish priests had been wrong and such a lovely individual could never be the “horse” of the aawabo, the evil spirits. Some daydreamed out loud and wondered whether she would agree to marry an African. After all, she was as black as they were! However hard a group of elders recalled that a woman’s beauty is a man’s misfortune, nobody paid attention to these sayings of another age. When Celanire emerged from the women’s quarters, Koffi Ndizi ordered Hakim to accompany her home, seeing how late it was.
The night crackled with the cries of insects. The moon had hidden her face behind a crepe of clouds. In the darkness Celanire laid her hand on Hakim’s arm, which immediately became burning hot from her touch. It was as if he were standing next to a fire. She spoke to him in a mellow voice: That wake reminded her of Guadeloupe. There too, death was highly respected. At All Saints the flames of the candles stretched over the graves like a diamond necklace. Oh, sometimes she felt like ditching everything and going back home. But did she have a home? A home is a maman and a papa waiting for you with open arms. Those who had adopted her now slept in the shade of the casuarinas. And then seven years, seven long years, had elapsed since leaving Guadeloupe. When you’re separated from a place for such a long time, you lose it forever: everything changes, nothing is the same. Listening to her sugary words, Hakim thought it was a good thing Governor Alix Pol-Roger was coming back soon. If he had any sense, neither Thomas de Brabant nor Celanire would be welcome much longer in Adjame-Santey.
Back at Betti Bouah’s, the racket had grown louder. According to tradition, the wake had to continue for the remainder of the night and part of the following day. When they finally got around to thinking of the burial, Thomas de Brabant’s guards rushed in. Governor Alix Pol-Roger was dead!
Dead? From what? How?
On his way back to Adjame-Santey he had stopped at the encampment of Tentona. It was well known for its abundant water supply and cool air, since it was situated on an escarpment fed by two rivers. While he was eating lunch, under the very eyes of his escort, he had been attacked by man-eating lions, those thick-maned black lions from Mourga, the very ones described by Amadou Hampate Ba. They had burst into the camp and without looking left or right had pounced straight on him, knocked him over, trampled and devoured him, leaving nothing behind but a pool of blood, a few bones, and a pair of legs still standing in tall, brown leather boots.
These unfortunate events brought together two men who up till then had had little contact with each other: Betti Bouah and Hakim. Betti Bouah was the opposite of his cousin Koffi Ndizi, as athletic and muscular as the other was potbellied. He spoke French to perfection and could read and write fluently. He was always prepared to discuss the eighteenth-century philosophers, especially Diderot, his favorite. In spite of the saying that the white man’s leader is the Englishman, Betti Bouah had sided with the French. He had lent them his support on every occasion; he had lodged Binger under his roof during his 1889 expedition. He hadn’t done all that only to have two of his sons mowed down by militia in the pay of the French. Following these dramatic events, he began to think twice about colonization and came to the conclusion that the Africans should join forces to kick the French out as quickly as possible and take their place. During his games of chess with Hakim, he laid out his plans. Since Hakim lent his fervent support, he offered him a job in his factories. The wages he proposed were three times higher than the mission’s. Hakim couldn’t believe his ears. To be rid of that mud-brick school, suffocating during the dry season, flooded during the rainy season! Of his dim-witted, fingers-all-thumbs pupils! Say good-bye to those hypocritical and finicky missionaries. Moreover, his cohabitation with Kwame Aniedo was becoming unbearable. He could no longer put up with hearing the prince noisily take his pleasure with his mistresses or bumping into him, quite naked, his pipe stuffed with Bahia tobacco wedged between his teeth. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Koffi Ndizi seemed to have lapsed into second childhood. Ever since he had set eyes on her at the wake for Senanou and Dabla, he had become infatuated with Celanire. He now only had one idea in his head: to invite her to his house. But when he looked around, he was ashamed at what he saw. He would never dare entertain someone so sophisticated in such a place. So he endeavored to imitate Betti Bouah and ordered armchairs, beds, dishes, glasses, and even a set of kitchen utensils from Grand-Bassam. Since Hakim had spoken highly of the Muslim art of living, he had rugs and wall coverings shipped from Tiassalé. Oh, how he would have liked to speak French, a language that up till then had always stuck in his throat! One afternoon, Hakim paid Koffi Ndizi a visit. The king had just received four crates of dishes from Grand-Bassam. He was inspecting plates and blue-stemmed glasses identical to his cousin’s, and frantically inquired of his visitor, What did he think? Would Celanire be impressed? At a time when the atmosphere in the colony was loaded with tension, such fickleness exasperated Hakim. He ran to Kwame Aniedo’s, collected his meager belongings, and took his leave without saying good-bye to anyone.