Sugar Money by Jane Harris

Author:Jane Harris [Jane Harris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571336968
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2017-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Two

Behind the cabins, I almost collided with Saturnin. He was mighty displease, having retrace his steps to find me.

‘What are you doing?’ he muttered. ‘Hurry up.’

Léontine stood waiting at the edge of the provision ground. The driver led us around the perimeter of this vegetable patch until we had reach the cane-pieces that lay to the east. Here, the cane grew well above head height, the crop almost ready to cut. At one spot, at the edge of the field, Saturnin paused and spoke in a whisper:

‘LaFortune? Koté ou yé?’

From somewhere in the midst of the grasses came a reply:

‘Isidan chef.’

The voice of a boy, soft-soft.

‘You see anything?’ the driver hissed.

‘Non, chef, toupatou trantjil.’

‘Good. Stay there.’

I peered hard into the cane but no sign of this boy LaFortune. In my own mind, I made a solemn resolve to hide myself just as well as LaFortune when I reach my own spot.

We skirted the edge of the field, keeping in the star-shadow of the stalks, and soon stopped at a place with a clear view across the rows of produce. Over at the quarters a few children were running around and, just discernible by the light of the flambeaux, Old Raymond sat smoking his pipe near the smallest hut.

Once again, we had to wait whiles Saturnin stood listening, importantly. In the distance, somewheres inland, I could hear an ox lowing as if in agony. The sound pierce my soul for I did miss my cows, Victorine most of all. She made me laugh, the way she would on occasion rub her snout along the grass or – on cool days – gambol around the pasture for sheer joy, kicking up her heels. For true, I would have given my thumb to be back in St Pierre at that instant, stroking the velvety fur behind her ears.

I must have been lost in my reveries because next thing I knew Saturnin had grab me by the shoulder and shove me into a dense patch of cane at the edge of the field.

‘Stay there,’ he whispered, his breath in my face. ‘If you see any person go over to the quarters or any Béké man anywhere, sing out.’

‘Sing?’

He gave me a narrow look.

‘You were taught to signal, I suppose?’

In my own mind I said: ‘Better than you were, spud, for I have yet to hear you put your lips together and hoot.’ But I had prudence enough to maintain politesse.

‘Wi.’

‘Good. See him over there?’ The driver pointed with his whip to the old fellow near the small hut. ‘That’s Raymond. Now, if you see anybody, you give him a warning. He knows you’re here. Kompwan?’

‘Of course.’

Nothing incivil in that, yet Saturnin subjected me to a long, hard look, just to let me know he did not trust me entirely. Then he wagged his finger at me and whispered:

‘I see you looking at my whip. Let me tell you, it can tear skin from flesh, flesh from bone and leave you like a standing skeleton.

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