Read Online The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe by Timothy Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Timothy Williams
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walking out can take three years. For three years I had this thing buzzing round my head and in the end, I knew it was either divorce or madness. I had to protect myself.” She shrugged. “Don’t try to understand—because you can’t.”
“He had other women?”
“I don’t need sympathy. I made my decision and I must live with it. Divorce or madness—or perhaps both.” A smoker’s laugh.
“Why did you leave your husband, Madame Théodore?”
“You need to know? That part of your job?”
“Since you’re talking about it …”
“All part of your not being curious?” She looked defiantly at Anne Marie.
“You’re not the only person who wants to do the right thing—and spends the rest of her time being plagued with remorse that only pretends to go away but’s always there, every night, lurking beneath the pillow.”
The sound of footfalls outside along the covered walkway, beyond the beige window shades. Passersby.
“Some things you cannot admit even to yourself.” Madame Théodore opened the lid of the packet that lay on the desk, and took another cigarette. She used a matchbook advertising CONTINENTAL COURIERS INC . The flame of the match danced at the end of the new cigarette.
“Another woman?”
“My ex-husband didn’t need women. If he did, perhaps I wouldn’t’ve felt the need to escape.”
“Why did you?”
“Escape from perfection.” She lit the cigarette. “He even washed the dishes, you know.”
“That’s when you got involved with Dugain?”
“Axel was perfect and he didn’t want fighting in front of his children. Not ours—his children. Ever the intellectual, he was determined to understand me. When what I most needed was his anger. Perhaps what I needed was violence. Anger’s a form of love, but instead Axel tried to understand. So cool, so detached, so wonderfully reasonable and he tried to analyze.”
“You left your husband for Dugain?”
“I thought I made myself clear.”
“There was an affair?”
“I’d love to know who told you I was his mistress.”
Anne Marie shrugged.
“This is a small island—and nothing goes unnoticed. A couple of times Rodolphe Dugain and I went to a restaurant together. He was married and so I could never be his mistress. There was never anything like that between us. Even if, like all the men here, he wanted to think he was irresistible to white women.”
“Your husband’s white?”
She nodded. “White—despite his skin. White, French and perfect. A marvelous, wonderful husband. That’s why I liked Dugain. He had his faults and perhaps I should have hated him. In many ways I did hate him.” She paused, breathed heavily on the cigarette. “But in his own way, Dugain was all right.” Again she made her rasping laughter. “You can understand that, can’t you? There was nothing about him that could’ve interested me.”
“Position and wealth? Power?”
“I wasn’t running away from one nightmare to get involved with another—from one father figure to another. At least Dugain was human. Egotistical, dishonest, an eye for the main chance—but human. With him, I never felt I had to be perfect.”
“Your husband’s older than you?”
She held Anne Marie’s glance. “He was born old.”
“How did you meet Dugain?”
“It doesn’t matter—suffice it to say that in his way he was nice to me. In his way.”
“In what way?”
“You’re no longer sneezing. I told you the vitamins were effective.”
“In what way did Dugain help you?” Anne Marie put the mug of coffee—weak and instant—down on the cluttered desk.
“He had friends—and I needed a place to be by myself and to do a lot of thinking. The kind of thinking I’d never had the time to do in thirteen years of marriage.”
“A long time, thirteen years.”
“You’re telling me?” The laugh in her throat caused the silk scarf to bob. “I married late—at thirty. I thought I wanted children.”
“And Dugain?”
“Through a
“He had other women?”
“I don’t need sympathy. I made my decision and I must live with it. Divorce or madness—or perhaps both.” A smoker’s laugh.
“Why did you leave your husband, Madame Théodore?”
“You need to know? That part of your job?”
“Since you’re talking about it …”
“All part of your not being curious?” She looked defiantly at Anne Marie.
“You’re not the only person who wants to do the right thing—and spends the rest of her time being plagued with remorse that only pretends to go away but’s always there, every night, lurking beneath the pillow.”
The sound of footfalls outside along the covered walkway, beyond the beige window shades. Passersby.
“Some things you cannot admit even to yourself.” Madame Théodore opened the lid of the packet that lay on the desk, and took another cigarette. She used a matchbook advertising CONTINENTAL COURIERS INC . The flame of the match danced at the end of the new cigarette.
“Another woman?”
“My ex-husband didn’t need women. If he did, perhaps I wouldn’t’ve felt the need to escape.”
“Why did you?”
“Escape from perfection.” She lit the cigarette. “He even washed the dishes, you know.”
“That’s when you got involved with Dugain?”
“Axel was perfect and he didn’t want fighting in front of his children. Not ours—his children. Ever the intellectual, he was determined to understand me. When what I most needed was his anger. Perhaps what I needed was violence. Anger’s a form of love, but instead Axel tried to understand. So cool, so detached, so wonderfully reasonable and he tried to analyze.”
“You left your husband for Dugain?”
“I thought I made myself clear.”
“There was an affair?”
“I’d love to know who told you I was his mistress.”
Anne Marie shrugged.
“This is a small island—and nothing goes unnoticed. A couple of times Rodolphe Dugain and I went to a restaurant together. He was married and so I could never be his mistress. There was never anything like that between us. Even if, like all the men here, he wanted to think he was irresistible to white women.”
“Your husband’s white?”
She nodded. “White—despite his skin. White, French and perfect. A marvelous, wonderful husband. That’s why I liked Dugain. He had his faults and perhaps I should have hated him. In many ways I did hate him.” She paused, breathed heavily on the cigarette. “But in his own way, Dugain was all right.” Again she made her rasping laughter. “You can understand that, can’t you? There was nothing about him that could’ve interested me.”
“Position and wealth? Power?”
“I wasn’t running away from one nightmare to get involved with another—from one father figure to another. At least Dugain was human. Egotistical, dishonest, an eye for the main chance—but human. With him, I never felt I had to be perfect.”
“Your husband’s older than you?”
She held Anne Marie’s glance. “He was born old.”
“How did you meet Dugain?”
“It doesn’t matter—suffice it to say that in his way he was nice to me. In his way.”
“In what way?”
“You’re no longer sneezing. I told you the vitamins were effective.”
“In what way did Dugain help you?” Anne Marie put the mug of coffee—weak and instant—down on the cluttered desk.
“He had friends—and I needed a place to be by myself and to do a lot of thinking. The kind of thinking I’d never had the time to do in thirteen years of marriage.”
“A long time, thirteen years.”
“You’re telling me?” The laugh in her throat caused the silk scarf to bob. “I married late—at thirty. I thought I wanted children.”
“And Dugain?”
“Through a
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