Part 9 (2/2)
”Why is that?”
”He has friends in nearby towns, and money and a truck.”
”A big truck?”
”Oui. A fairly large truck.”
He described the economy of the town. The corn, it seemed, was a major source of wealth in the jungle. The vegetable was more expensive than the beans and rice that were more frequent. Sam realized that Marcel had honored them by serving them corn, a valuable vegetable more often traded for goods and supplies.
The sky darkened outside and a brief thunderstorm crackled over the village. After the storm pa.s.sed, a pygmy girl bounded into the hut, speaking almost fluent French. She relayed a message that Marcel's guests were invited to Lord Devereaux's manor for a bottle of palm wine.
The manor was a house constructed of thick lumber standing among a village of bamboo thatch. The one-level home rested behind the fields of maize within the line of forest trees.
A truck sat off to one side, half-covered in giant leaves and vines. The vehicle was a red flatbed pick-up with one tire removed. A shed rested further back in the forest and all manner of rusty tools lay scattered about it. The scene reminded Sam of rural America.
A lamp burned inside, s.h.i.+ning its light through the windows, as the three approached. Marcel had insisted on leading them over himself. The worn porch was rotted and cracked, having seen its fair share of wet weather and insects. Sam half-expected her foot to break through the floorboards.
A screen door swung open and a man stuck his head out, a knotted mop of gray hair jutting from his scalp. His skin was tanned and weathered and his face looked like it had been shaven with a bowie knife. He wore a worn white s.h.i.+rt and black pants. He was barefoot, and Sam spotted dark hairs curling on his toes. As he peered at them, she wondered if he was drunk.
”Marcel? You have been avoiding me,” the man cried in French.
”I have not, Monsieur Devereaux.”
”You have,” Raoul cried, stepping onto the porch. ”What have you done with my pygmies?”
”I haven't done anything with them. I haven't seen them in many days.”
”Liar. I think you have stolen them! You've stolen my pygmies!”
”Why would I do such a thing?” Marcel said, laughing. ”They are more trouble than they are worth.”
Raoul Devereaux peered past Marcel, directly at Sam. ”Bonsoir Mademoiselle.” He clasped her hand gently in his.
”You must be the American,” he purred deeply.
She smirked and nodded, pointing toward Brandon. ”We are the Americans.”
”You are . . . husband and wife?”
”Yes. And Brandon's not being rude. He doesn't speak any French.”
Raoul grinned slyly, still holding her right hand gently between his. ”He does not speak French at all?”
When she shook her head he added, ”Then he cannot hear me say that when I gaze into your smoky eyes I am drawn to your beauty like a helpless moth to a flame.”
She flushed and struggled not to laugh. Brandon cleared his throat to her right, drawing Raoul's attention.
”You're sure he does not speak French? Because he seemed to understand that.”
She nodded rea.s.suringly. ”He's good at things like that.”
Raoul dropped her wrist then extended his hand to Brandon. ”Pardon me, Monsieur. It's just that it has been a long time since I've seen a beautiful woman. Or hair quite that color.”
”Do you speak English?” Brandon asked in English, which received no response from Raoul.
Instead the Frenchman spun around and marched toward the screen door. ”I would like to invite you both into my manor. I would be honored to have you as my guests for the evening.”
Sam smiled and gestured for Brandon to follow as she stepped toward the screen door. As they headed inside, Marcel remained on the porch, waving and wis.h.i.+ng them a good night. She thanked him, and he disappeared a moment later, hopping off the porch into the forest of maize.
The faint odor of dust and mildew hung in the air inside the house. The room they entered adjoined a small kitchen. The floors and walls were peeling and warped, and the chairs and tables were in the same condition of half-rot as the porch. A single hurricane lamp blazed in the corner lighting the room. A stove burned in the kitchen, giving off a little heat, but Sam guessed that the appliance was used mainly for cooking.
”Please. Sit,” Raoul insisted.
He helped her remove her pack, holding both straps so she could slip her arms out. He placed the pack neatly in the corner and then offered the same help to Brandon.
She walked over to the rotten table and sat down, hearing her seat creak underneath her. For a long second, she didn't put all of her weight down for fear that the chair would splinter underneath her. When she finally eased her weight into the chair she relaxed.
”Can you ask him about the plane?” Brandon asked, sitting next to her. ”Ask him if he knows anybody who can help us.”
”I will,” she replied, shus.h.i.+ng her husband.
Raoul crossed the room to a small cupboard and pulled out three gla.s.ses. He inspected the first gla.s.s, wiping it with a cloth. ”It is a little dusty,” he said sheepishly.
”Not used to guests?” she teased gently.
Raoul grinned. ”I'm used to drinking from the bottle.”
He placed freshly dusted gla.s.ses in front of them and poured a clear liquid into each gla.s.s. He raised his gla.s.s, and they drank. The wine was sour and a little sweet.
”How is it?” the Frenchman asked when Sam had put her gla.s.s down.
”It's very good, thank you,” she replied. Brandon nodded his approval.
”Some batches are too sweet,” he explained. ”I like it with a little bite.”
Raoul explained the method of distilling palm wine and the different phases that yield different flavors. He spoke of the liquid lovingly. He had a slightly glazed look in his eyes, and his very body exuded that slightly sour smell.
He asked Sam about her life in America, and he listened, fascinated, never pa.s.sing up the opportunity to throw in a compliment or a question. From there, the conversation turned to pop culture, music, and films. Sam began to sense that Raoul missed some of the trappings of civilization and the modern world. Every time she tried turning the conversation back to the jungle, he would sing a song or ask a question about recent news or current events.
As the conversation lulled, Brandon whispered to her, ”Ask him if he can help us get our plane.”
She nodded. She had been working up to that, but she didn't want to seem overly demanding to an already gracious host.
Before she could ask, Raoul said, ”I have an extra room the two of you may share if you please.”
”That's very kind of you.”
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