Dancing in the Baron's Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page A

with hope. Georges coughed and glanced at the old man.
    Jean-Jean lowered his voice. “I mean, I’ll see what I can do. But we will need a commitment from you, and a time frame.”
    Nicolas’s eyes sparkled with gratitude. He opened the gate and let the Citroen roll out. Everything was quiet and still, and as Georges drove away, Nicolas watched the sun fall behind the mountains.

THREE
    I n times like these, Raymond found himself taking stock of the differences between himself and his brother. Raymond, like any good farm kid, could always dig perfect trenches in the soil, find his way home by the position of the sun, and synchronize the harvest with the moon. Later, he learned how to hotwire cars and siphon out fuel or coolant. Nicolas, on the other hand, was the one who wrote letters for the illiterate villagers and whose teachers wrote him glowing letters of recommendation to medical school in Port-au-Prince. When he didn’t get in the Faculté de Médecine, other letters won him a spot in law school and he accepted the privilege. Today, at thirty-eight, Raymond was different from Nicolas in every way. And that was fine by him. He knew that his talents were God’s merciful gift. If it had been Nicolas at the wheel earlier today, he would have never been able to find his way out of a convoluted shantytown like Cité Simone, much less lose the Tonton Macoutes. Then again, his brother didn’t have to deal with people like Madame Simeus.
    â€œI’ll call the police,” his landlady threatened again as he hurried toward his little house. “And I’ll tell them your rent is past due.”
    Madame Simeus’s voice croaked in the night like an old crow’s. Raymond bit his tongue. This encounter was the last thing he needed. He took a closer look to make sure she wasn’t sleepwalking again. Alas, no.
    She extinguished her cigarette into a potted frangipani and blew plumes of smoke toward the garden. Her gold bracelets clamored around a bony wrist as she pressed the butt into the damp soil and hoisted herself up. When she moved into the light, he saw the bags under her eyes, her thin lips, her small body floating under a large housedress. She stood with her arms akimbo, like vulture wings.
    â€œI’ll have it for you.” Raymond sighed wearily.
    He was used to her threats. Madame Simeus regularly promised to call the police over late rent or his children making too much noise in the yard or when an item went missing in her home. He didn’t think she meant it, but he didn’t want to push his luck. Although perhaps the police would come and arrest Madame Simeus for wasting their time? He smiled at the idea.
    She lived alone and spent most of her time in the garden, escaping the loneliness of her empty home. Her husband and only son had both died of typhoid back in 1960, months before Raymond had moved in. Spending time outside also allowed her to spy on her tenants and her neighbors. It gave her something to do. She knew Raymond’s comings and goings, and frequently offered unsolicited opinions.
    â€œWith the curfews and all, money’s been tight,” Raymond added. “Not many people are hailing cabs these days.”
    â€œYou’re three days late,” she reminded him.
    â€œI’m good for it, Madame Simeus. You’ll have it. Good night, madame.”
    Raymond hurried toward the back of the house.
    â€œI don’t want to have to remind you again!” she shouted after him.
    The evening air was heavy, and as he reached his door, he could still smell her tobacco. As much as he disliked her harping, she was right. This was the sixth time he’d been late. He didn’t like it, and he couldn’t stall her with excuses. She wasn’t interested in others’ problems. “If you can’t pay, you can’t stay,” she’d say.
    When Raymond opened the door, two pairs of small arms threw themselves around his