Read Online Who Slashed Celanire's Throat? by Maryse Condé - Free Book Online Page A

picture of harmony. At Bingerville the administrative buildings were massive and devoid of grace. Who was the inspired architect who had designed this marvel? What gardener had laid out these flower beds, pruned these bushes, and grafted these trees? At the same time she had the feeling that a thousand pairs of eyes hidden in the nooks and crannies of the doors and windows were watching her. She thought she saw a window open on the second floor. A shape leaned out. A hand motioned to her to come closer. It was her, it was her! Galvanized into action, she ran to the front door and vigorously rang the bell. After a very long wait, the door finally opened.
    Â 
    A search party was organized to look for Charlotte.
    In the night soaked with water, torches were lit by the soldiers, the militia, and the askaris . Some searched the length and breadth of the treacherous lagoon that had swallowed up so many human lives. Others marched down to the slime of the mangrove and the swamps, stubbing their feet on the mangrove trees and twisting their ankles against the buttress roots. Another group roamed the villages around the lagoon, flattening the huts with their rifle butts, terrifying the inhabitants, who imagined the slave trade had started up again. Some hacked a path through the forest with axes and cutlasses, only to face the sea. Others searched deep into the pale green savanna rippling to infinity.
    Racked by remorse, Thomas directed the search operations. His sweet, gentle Charlotte! Why had he neglected her in such a fashion? It was beyond understanding; as if Celanire had bewitched him. The feelings he felt in his heart for his wife were not to blame. It was his body, that wretched shroud of flesh, that had betrayed him.
    His eyes brimming with tears, he recalled how they had got carried away dancing to the “Blue Danube” that summer they had first met; how, strolling through the English garden, he had described to her his life in Africa. She was not impressed: she would have preferred a senator or a banker for a husband, somebody more reassuring. But love had won the day, and they got married at the church of Saint-Philippe-du-Roule.
    The search lasted for four days and four nights. Despondency had gripped every heart. At the mission, Charlotte was given up for a case of suicide. Africa can give you a nervous breakdown! Especially for women like her who cannot find comfort in God. She was never to be seen at confession or at communion. But in his grief and guilty conscience Thomas refused to give up, fretted and fumed, ran in all directions and gave contradictory orders left and right.
    In the end they found Charlotte’s body in the semidarkness of the forest not far from the village of Tiegaba. Straight and smooth, a Bassam mahogany tree was watching over her. One wondered how she had managed to travel so many miles without guide or tipoye in this impenetrable, stifling vegetation inhabited by monkeys, leopards, and wildcats. Twice she must have crossed rivers infested with caymans and crocodiles, without stepping-stones, bridge, or ferry. The guards who made the macabre discovery backed away to vomit in the mud. The sight was horrible. It was as if wild beasts, eaters of human flesh and drinkers of fresh blood, had done her in. All around the body the earth had been clawed into ruts. Yet no lion had been reported in the region. They covered Charlotte with branches. They loaded her onto a makeshift stretcher, and the cortege set off for Bingerville. Spontaneously, mourners from Tiegaba now switched their tears and vociferations from the deceased scepter bearer, Adueli Kabanlan, and made a terrible din all the way back to the palace. Exhausted, the governor, who had not slept a wink for three nights, was taking an afternoon nap. He emerged in his shirt-sleeves and almost fainted, seeing what was left of his beloved. But his grief made the entire colony shrug its shoulders. What? A cheat, a liar, and an adulterer