He refuses to obey and vehemently shakes his head. I dip the spoon into the dishes and make Jacques drink some syrup. Then I run to the wall.
They are here indeed. Myriads. They have invaded Grand-rue. All the houses are lit up. Movement behind Cécile’s curtains. Their helmets glowing. Red boots kicking up dust on the road. They’ve set ladders against the balconies and are climbing up. The hour of battle tolls. I can’t back out anymore.
“What’s going on?” André asks me.
“They’re here!”
“Ah!”
He’s trembling, his teeth knocking together.
“I want to get out of here,” Jacques yells.
He frees himself from André’s grip and twists and twitches as if he were possessed.
“It’s the syrup,” André says, frightened.
Jacques suddenly vomits and hits his head against the floor.
“I want to get out of here. I want to get out of here,” he begs.
Red! Black! Gold! Are they going to climb up Cécile’s balcony? Flames rise up several houses away from hers. Immense flames crackling up and falling down in sparks. The cries and screams begin again. Jacques is still writhing at my feet, hitting his head against the floor. I see Marcia, Cécile’s maid, come out. She runs to the side street and then throws herself to the ground and crawls. Is she going to crawl to my house with a note from Cécile? I just lost sight of her. Cécile is calling me to her rescue! That must be it.
I’m waiting, all my senses wide awake. Dawn has drunk up the night in one gulp and the sun is pointing its head, very slowly, very discreetly, as it turns its eyes toward the burning house. The devils are scurrying back down the ladders, fleeing at the sight of it now. Ah! Ah! Ah!
“They’re backing off! They’re backing off!”
Cowering Jacques suddenly goes slack.
“I feel sick,” he says in a weak voice.
“It’s the syrup,” André repeats.
“Let’s give him a sip of damn”
We lift his head and pour some clairin in his mouth.
“I’m feeling better,” he says.
I return to the wall. The trees are standing again. The lake with the corpse swimming in it has disappeared. All that’s left is a little smoke coming from the house next to Cécile’s.
“What are they doing?” André asks me.
“Who?”
“The devils.”
“They’ve disappeared. Everything is calm. Too calm even. They went to dig themselves in somewhere but they’ll be back, that’s for sure. Their attack is always unexpected.”
“We’re going to stay locked up?” Jacques asks.
“We have no choice. The streets are deserted. Listen to how quiet it is!… In any case, last night I discovered their weakness: they are afraid of the sun. The execution in broad daylight was just a ruse. They will only attack us at night.”
“I always knew it,” André says. “My mother used to say devils only leave hell at night.”
We hear a knock at the door, startling all three of us at the same time.
“God almighty God almighty God!” a voice thunders, “are you going to open this door or not?”
“It’s Simon,” Jacques exclaims.
We pull away the barricade and Simon enters.
“Hell and damnation!” he yells. “What were you waiting for to open the door, you bloody bastards?”
He slaps us heartily on the back, practically toppling us over. Tall and bearded, he fills up the entire room.
“So, you’ve locked yourselves up to drink without me? You abandoned your buddy Simon in the claws of his black vampire woman?”
He hugs us and helps put back the barricade. He gets tangled up in the furniture like a disjointed marionette.
“All right, wise guys! Where’s the bottle?”
“You’ve managed to make it here in one piece?” Jacques asks.
“It took some doing my friend, let me tell you. I basically ran here from home.”
“Shh!” André motions cautiously.
“You’re right. They’ll track us down. Bugger me!”
He grabs the bottle again and drinks.
“Jungle-juice,” he says, “but it lights a fire in your ass.”
Jacques wrings his hands and plugs his ears.
“Shh!” I whisper. “He’s just had an episode. We need to take it easy with him.”
He looks at Jacques and says:
“Son, you look as sick as a dog. You got to eat, I’ve said so before.”
“We got no grub.”
“You’re imitating Simon,” Jacques pronounces with conviction.
“Leave me alone, you,” I cry impatiently.
“What’s going on?” Simon asks.
“He thinks I imitate you when I speak.”
“Bah!” says Simon. “So you got no dough, eh?”
He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a gourde.
“I swiped it from Germaine before I ran off! Bitch. She doesn’t often leave money lying around.”
“What’s happening now?” André asks him.
“Oh, it’s dead calm. Torrential rain, a fire, that was plenty. You saw it from here?”
“What?”
“The fire.”
“Don’t talk about it, or else Jacques will…”
“He was that scared?”
“But we were all scared,” André confesses, “weren’t you?”
“I saw plenty worse during the war in 1940. It’s easier to go up a ladder to rescue a little girl from a burning house than it is to deal with German bombs, I can tell you that much.”
“You rescued a little girl?” Jacques asks, lifting himself on an elbow, eyes shining with curiosity.
“They lost their heads and were all climbing at once. So, I screamed, ‘You bunch of morons, can’t you see the ladder’s about to collapse?’ And they jumped to the ground. The little girl, the Bérenger girl, you know her? She was on the balcony, crying and holding out her arms, and her parents, who were at a party at Madame Fanfreluche’s, were running like mad, their fat bellies bouncing up and down. So, I climbed up and got their daughter down for them…”
“I’m feeling sick,” Jacques suddenly says.
His black face has turned ashen.
“He’s sick again,” André says, panicking.
“You probably gave him too much to drink,” Simon declares, “and what’s more, it stinks in here. What’s in the chamber pot?”
“What you generally find in a chamber pot,” I reply.
“Well, it really stinks. Let’s open the doors and tidy up a little.”
“What if they come!” André exclaims fearfully.
“Who?” Simon asks.
“No, don’t open, don’t open anything,” Jacques begs.
And he crawls up to Simon and grabs his feet.
“What’s the matter?” Simon asks.
“He’s afraid,” André answers, “and so am I. René’s the only brave one. He even made Jacques drink the syrup.”
“What is he talking about?” Simon asks me.
“He’s reproaching me for not having respected the syrup left as an offering to the loas”
“What rubbish! My poor André! You who’ve read so many books!”
“What do books have to do with the gods of black folk?”
He shivers, his teeth chattering.
“So, are we going to open these doors or not?”
“No, no,” Jacques implores.
He clasps both of Simon’s feet, lifts his head and collapses.
“For the love of God!” Simon cries out. “Now he’s passed out.”
He picks up Jacques and slowly rolls him on his back.
“He needs air. Let’s get some fresh air in the house while he’s out of it.”
“No,” André begs in turn, “I’m cold. Jacques hasn’t lost consciousness. He’s sleeping. I know him. He’s my brother, isn’t he?”
“Ah, well then, deal with this yourself. What are the three of you plotting? No politics for us, that was our vow and we should respect it… Lordy! Either you look like a bunch of conspirators or I don’t know what I’m talking about.”