Impressions of Africa (French Literature Series) (14 page)

Urging her figures to hold absolutely still, like a photographer, Louise, posted near the plate, removed the lid with a sudden movement; then she again made her habitual detour to come oversee the pencil’s maneuvers from closer up.

The mechanism, renewed as well as modified by the action of the switch pushed on the sphere, gently moved the articulated arm to the left. The pencil began running from top to bottom over the white paper, following the same vertical paths previously forged by the brushes.

This time there was no detour toward the palette, no change of brush, and no mixing of pigments to complicate the task, which progressed rapidly. The same landscape appeared in the background, but its interest, now secondary, was eclipsed by the figures in the foreground. Their movements sketched from life, the well-defined
habitus
, the curiously amusing silhouettes, the strikingly lifelike faces—all had the desired expression, be it grave or joyful. One body, leaning slightly toward the ground, seemed endowed with great forward momentum; a beaming countenance expressed the pleasant surprise of a chance encounter.

The pencil, though often pulling away from the surface, glided nimbly over the sheet, which was filled in a matter of minutes. Louise, who had returned to her post in time, replaced the shutter on the plate, then called to her actors, who, glad to stretch their limbs after their prolonged immobility, came running to admire the new opus.

Despite the conflicting décor, the drawing gave the precise impression of a bustling city street. Everyone easily recognized himself amid the compact group, and the heartiest congratulations were showered on a moved and radiant Louise.

Norbert took charge of disassembling all the utensils and putting them back in the bag.

During this time, Sirdah notified Louise of the emperor’s complete satisfaction, the latter marveling at the perfect way the young woman had fulfilled all the conditions he had strictly imposed.

Ten minutes later we had all returned to Ejur.

Talou brought us to Trophy Square, where we saw Rao accompanied by a native warrior.

Before everyone, the emperor pointed at Carmichael, accompanying his gesture with a few words of commentary.

Immediately Rao went up to the young Marseillais, whom he led toward one of the sycamores near the red theater.

The warrior was posted as a sentry to watch over the poor detainee, who, standing face to the tree trunk, began the three hours of punishment during which he was to rehearse continually the same “Battle of the Tez” that he had misremembered the day before.

Taking the chair Juillard had used from the empty wings, I went to sit beneath the branches of the sycamore, offering to help Carmichael with his task. He immediately handed me a large sheet on which the barbarous pronunciation of the Ponukelean text was meticulously transcribed into French characters. Stimulated by the dread of another failure, he began reciting his bizarre lesson with full concentration, murmuring the song in a low voice, while I followed each line syllable by syllable, ready to point out the slightest error or prompt a forgotten word.

The crowd, deserting Trophy Square, had slowly spread into Ejur, and, hardly distracted by my purely mechanical chore, I could not help reflecting in the great morning silence on the many adventures that had occupied my life for the past three months.

T
HE PREVIOUS MARCH 15TH
, planning a certain long-term journey through the curious regions of South America, I had embarked in Marseille aboard the
Lynceus,
a huge, fast vessel setting sail for Buenos Aires.

The first days of the crossing were lovely and calm. With the familiarity born of shared meals, I lost no time in getting acquainted with a certain number of passengers, of whom I give here a brief annotated list:

1. The historian Juillard, a man of independent means who frequently took pleasure cruises, occasionally stopping to deliver scholarly lectures renowned for their witty and engaging lucidity.

2. The aging Livonian Olga Chervonenkhov, formerly a prima ballerina in Saint Petersburg, now obese and mustached. For the past fifteen years, having retired from the theater in her prime, Olga, surrounded by an abundance of animals that she cared for lovingly, lived a quiet, secluded life on a small property she had bought in Livonia, not far from her native village. Her two favorite charges were the elk Sladki and the she-ass Milenkaya, who both came at her slightest call and often followed her into her private suite. Not long before, one of the ex-dancer’s cousins, residing since childhood in the Republic of Argentina, had died and left behind a small fortune amassed by way of his coffee plantations. Olga was sole heir; notified of her good luck by the deceased’s lawyer, she resolved to go look after her interests personally. She left without delay, entrusting her menagerie to her neighbor, a zealously devoted woman; but at the last minute, unable to bear the painful separation, Olga bought two openwork crates for the elk and donkey, who were carefully settled among the cargo. At every stopover, this tenderhearted traveler visited the two prisoners with a solicitude that, as time passed on board, only increased.

3. Carmichael, a twenty-year-old native of Marseilles, already renowned for his prodigious falsetto that gave the perfect illusion of a woman’s voice. For the past two years, Carmichael had triumphed on cabaret stages throughout France, dressed in female attire and singing, with infinite suppleness and virtuosity, and in the appropriate tessitura, the most trying passages in the soprano repertoire. He had booked passage on the
Lynceus
after having accepted a splendid engagement in the new world.

4. Balbet, French sharpshooting and fencing champion, the popular favorite in an international marksmanship contest to be held in Buenos Aires.

5. La Billaudière-Maisonnial, maker of precision objects, looking to present at the same competition a mechanical foil capable of multiple transcendent feints.

6. Luxo, a pyrotechnics entrepreneur, who owned a huge plant in Courbevoie where all the great fireworks of Paris were manufactured. Three months before embarking, Luxo had received a visit from the young Baron Ballesteros, an inordinately wealthy Argentine, who for several years had been leading in France a wildly dissolute life of unbridled ostentation. Now ready to return home and be married, Ballesteros wanted, on the occasion of his nuptials, to set off a fireworks display worthy of royalty in the vast park of his castle near Buenos Aires; in addition to the agreed price, Luxo would receive a handsome bonus if he came to oversee the operation himself. The entrepreneur accepted the commission, which he promised to deliver personally to its destination. Before taking his leave, the young baron, whose reputation for his looks, while justified, had gone to his head, formulated a certain thought that betrayed a rather extravagant frame of mind, though not lacking in surprise or originality. For the grand finale, he wanted rockets that, upon exploding, would spread over the skies different aspects of his own image, in place of the traditional but hopelessly ordinary caterpillars and multicolored stars. Luxo deemed the project feasible and the next day received a voluminous packet of photographs, which, perfectly suited as models, depicted his improvident client in the most varied guises. One month before the wedding was to be celebrated, Luxo had departed with his entire cargo, not forgetting the famous finale wrapped separately with special care.

7. The great architect Chènevillot, summoned by the same Baron Ballesteros, who, wishing to effect some major renovations in his castle while he was on his honeymoon, had decided that only a French builder could do a satisfactory job. Chènevillot brought with him several of his best workmen to keep careful watch over the chores assigned to the local laborers.

8. The hypnotist Darriand, wishing to introduce to the new world certain mysterious plants whose hallucinatory properties he’d been able to fathom, and whose scent could enflame a subject’s faculties to the point of making him take for reality what were merely projections of finely colored film.

9. The chemist Bex, who for the past year had traveled through many lands with the sole, selfless aim of popularizing two marvelous scientific discoveries, the fruits of his ingenious and patient efforts.

10. The inventor Bedu, bringing to America a perfected loom that, placed over the currents of a river, could weave the richest fabrics automatically, thanks to a curious system of paddles. By installing the device built from his blueprints on the Rio de la Plata, the inventor expected to receive lucrative orders for similar looms from manufacturers throughout the country. Bedu personally drew and colored the various models of silkwear, damask, or Persian that he wished to obtain; once the movement of the countless paddles had been regulated to follow a master pattern, the machine could reproduce the same design indefinitely, without aid or supervision.

11. The sculptor Fuxier, who with great subtlety modeled numerous seductive images, which he placed in embryo in certain red lozenges of his own creation, so that they might blossom into smoke on contact with an open flame. Other lozenges, of a uniform bright blue, instantly dissolved in water to produce veritable bas-reliefs on the surface, resulting from the same interior preparation. Hoping to distribute his invention, Fuxier was bringing to Buenos Aires an ample provision of the two substances he’d concocted, so as to produce, on site and upon request, an evanescent tableau encased in a red lozenge, or else a liquid bas-relief contained in a blue lozenge. In a third variation, he used his process of instantaneously blooming sculptures to create delicate subjects inside grapes that could ripen in just minutes. For his experiments, Fuxier had taken along several vine-stocks in voluminous earthenware pots, scrupulously overseeing their watering and ventilation.

12. The associated bankers Hounsfield and Cerjat, whom various important matters called to the Argentine Republic, along with three of their clerks.

13. A large theatrical company heading for Buenos Aires to act in a series of operettas, among them the comic actor Soreau and the diva Jeanne Souze.

14. The ichthyologist Martignon, off to join a scientific expedition that, embarking in Montevideo on a small steam yacht, was going to conduct soundings in the southern oceans.

15. Leflaive, the ship’s doctor.

16. Adinolfa, the great Italian tragedienne, about to appear for the first time before an Argentine audience.

17. The Hungarian Skariovszki, a highly talented zither player, who performed prodigious feats on his instrument in gypsy garb, for which concert promoters on both sides of the ocean paid handsomely.

18. The Belgian Cuijper, who justifiably expected to earn astronomical fees with his beautiful tenor voice, which the use of a squeaker made of some mysterious metal rendered magical and remarkable.

19. A strange assortment of curiosities, trainers, and acrobats heading for a brilliant three-month engagement in a Buenos Aires circus. This odd assortment of personnel included the clown Whirligig; the equestrian Urbain, owner of the steed Romulus; Tancrède Boucharessas, an individual without arms or legs, accompanied by his five children, Hector, Tommy, Marius, Bob, and Stella; the singer Ludovic; the Breton Lelgoualch; Stéphane Alcott and his six sons; and the impresario Jenn with the dwarf Philippo.

For an entire week the journey remained peaceful and pleasant. But in the middle of the eighth night, a terrible hurricane broke out in mid-Atlantic. The propeller and rudder were snapped off by the violence of the waves, and after two days of aimless drifting, the
Lynceus
, shoved around like dead wreckage, ran aground on the coast of Africa.

No one was missing from roll call, but, examining the mangled ship, now carrying nothing more than staved-in lifeboats, we had to abandon all hope of heading back to sea.

Scarcely off the ship, we saw rushing toward us, with supple leaps, several hundred Negroes who surrounded us gaily, manifesting their joy with loud shouts. They were led by a young chief with an open, intelligent face, who, introducing himself by the name Seil-kor, surprised us profoundly by answering our initial questions in correct, fluent French.

In just a few words Seil-kor apprised us of his mission, which was to lead us to Ejur, capital of the emperor Talou VII, his master, who’d been awaiting for hours the inevitable wreck of our vessel that a native fisherman had alerted him to; Talou intended to keep us in his power until he was paid a sufficient ransom.

We had to bow before the strength of their numbers.

While the Negroes busied themselves with unloading the ship, Seil-kor, yielding to our entreaties, good-naturedly provided various details about our future residence.

Sitting on a narrow boulder in the shade of a tall cliff, the young orator began by recounting his own story to our attentive group, stretched out here and there in the soft sand.

At the age of ten, wandering about the same region where fate had just cast us, Seil-kor had met a French explorer named Laubé, who, no doubt seduced by the child’s bright expression, had decided to take him under his wing and bring this living souvenir of his journey back among his people.

Laubé, who had disembarked on the western coast of Africa, had sworn never to retrace his steps; accompanied by a valiant entourage, he forged onward far to the east, then, turning north, crossed the desert on camelback and finally reached Tripoli, his predetermined destination.

During the two years devoted to this voyage, Seil-kor had learned French by listening to his companions; struck by his facility with language, the explorer had pushed solicitude to the point of giving the child many fruitful lessons in reading, history, and geography.

In Tripoli, Laubé expected to rejoin his wife and daughter, who, following certain arrangements made at the time of their separation, should already have been at the Hôtel d’Angleterre for the past two months.

The explorer experienced a sweet delight on learning from the hotel porter that the two loved ones he’d left behind were indeed waiting for him, after such a long absence from his tender affections.

Seil-kor slipped out to explore the city, not wishing to intrude on those first joyful moments his protector had awaited so impatiently.

Returning after an hour, he saw Laubé in the vast main lobby; the explorer showed Seil-kor his room, located on the ground floor and brightly lit by a large open window looking out onto the hotel gardens.

Having already vaunted Seil-kor’s extraordinary learning, the explorer thought it best to run the child through a brief practice quiz before introducing him to his two new life companions.

A few questions about key historical events obtained satisfactory replies.

Next, broaching French geography, Laubé asked for the capitals of various regions cited at random.

Sitting opposite the window, Seil-kor had not made a single mistake in his almost mechanical recitation, when suddenly, as he was about to name the capital of La Corrèze, he felt faint; his eyes clouded up and his legs began to shake, while his heart thudded rapidly in his chest.

This disturbance was caused by the sight of a ravishing blonde child of about twelve, who had just entered the garden, and whose marvelous, deep blue gaze had for an instant met Seil-kor’s bedazzled eyes.

Meanwhile, Laubé, having noticed none of this, repeated impatiently: “The capital of La Corrèze…?”

The apparition had vanished, and Seil-kor regained his wits enough to murmur, “Tulle.”

For all eternity, the name of this town would remain linked in Seil-kor’s memory with the unsettling vision.

The quiz over, Laubé brought Seil-kor to meet his wife and daughter, Nina, in whom the ecstatic young Negro, with heavenly joy, recognized the blonde girl from the garden.

From that moment on, Seil-kor’s life was illuminated by Nina’s presence, for the two children, being of the same age, were constantly together for both play and study.

At the time of Nina’s birth, Laubé had been living in Crete with his wife, working on a voluminous tome called
Candia and Its Inhabitants
. It was thus on foreign soil that the girl had spent her first years, and there she was raised by a tenderhearted Candiote nurse who had imparted to her the soft, charming trace of an accent.

This accent delighted Seil-kor, whose love and devotion grew with each passing hour.

He dreamed of holding Nina in his arms for just a moment; in the depths of his imagination he envisioned her beset by a thousand dangers, from which he saved her with heroic ardor before the eyes of her anxious and grateful parents.

These fantasies would soon turn into a sudden reality.

One day, standing on a terrace of the hotel lapped by the sea, Seil-kor was fishing with his sweetheart, who looked ravishing in a navy blue dress that he adored.

Suddenly Nina shouted with joy upon seeing, at the end of her hook, which she had just lifted out of the water, a heavy, wiggling fish. Pulling the end of her line toward her, she gripped her catch forcefully in order to unhook it. But at the first touch she received a violent shock and collapsed in a dead faint. The fish, which looked like an inoffensive ray, was actually a
torpedo fish
, whose electric charge had caused this unexpected outcome.