That Devil's Madness (15 page)

Marius could well understand Louis' love of the land, and admired his ability to learn the different dialects and traditions of the area – a talent that had proven useful on many occasions. And he wasn't worried about the condemnations of some, that Louis was becoming more Berber than French. As far as Marius was concerned, that wasn't necessarily such a bad thing; he secretly believed Louis would benefit from exposure to both camps, as it were. The problem was that if Louis had his way, he'd avoid
all
contact with the
colons
, preferring to ride with Imez to the surrounding native villages instead.

This time, Marius insisted that Louis accept the invitation. He then had a quiet word to his friend Bertin. Out of respect for Marius, Bertin agreed to invite Imez to view the eclipse, but he drew the line at lunch.

Madame Bertin would not be joining them. She had left the previous week for a shopping trip in Algiers, and to bring her youngest child home from boarding school – she would be back later that afternoon.

They lunched on mushroom soup and stuffed rainbow trout, then helped Bertin carry the new telescope he had ordered from France for just this occasion to the turret above his office. Imez joined them, and they drank coffee and ate sweetmeats as they waited. Honoré Bertin was the most excited – at last he would be able to see the as-yet-undiscovered planet Vulcan, which everyone knew was too close to the sun to be seen at any time except during a total eclipse.

They watched the first development of the eclipse by its projection through the telescope onto a piece of cardboard. Within a matter of minutes the sky darkened to a deep purple. Birds stopped singing and sought the shelter of trees and bushes. A dog howled.

‘Now you can look,' Bertin said as he put the telescope to his eye. The sun became an eerie ring of fire. Somewhere a cock crowed. In the street below a woman screamed and cried out.

‘What did she say?' asked Marius.

‘She says the moon has swallowed the sun,' answered Imez. ‘She says we will all die.'

Bertin laughed and Imez scowled. Louis opened his mouth to comment but was silenced by a look from his father. The air became colder. Inside houses lights were lit.

‘But where is Vulcan?' asked Bertin. ‘I can't see Vulcan.'

In the street below some prayed and some wailed and some ran to hide. A horse whinnied. And those that understood what was happening gazed at the heavens in awe as the flames of the corona around the sun shimmered in a pearly glow and flared into the deep purple of the sky.

‘Here, you look,' said Bertin at last, disgusted at not finding Vulcan, and he moved to allow Marius access to the telescope. The moon slipped to the other side of the sun. A burst of light spread across the sky so that it looked like a mix between sunset and storm.

It was at that moment that Louis saw her. She was climbing to the turret, her long black hair and face lit by the eerie light. He thought she could be an apparition.

She looked at Louis and smiled.

‘Ah, Therèse, you're home then. Come and meet my guests. Marius, may I present Therèse, my daughter? Therèse, Monsieur de Dercou.'

Marius shook the young girl's hand. ‘My son Louis,' he said, and Louis looked at the girl but didn't shake her extended hand. He seemed to have forgotten his manners, and could only stare. ‘His friend Imez,' said Marius to cover up his son's presumed rudeness.

Imez bowed to Therèse, and she smiled at him and extended her hand for him to shake.

‘I couldn't find Vulcan,' said Bertin, oblivious to the mood around him. ‘Therèse, did you hear me? I couldn't see Vulcan.'

‘Never mind, Father.' She linked her arm through his. ‘Come, Mother wants to see you.'

Honoré and Marius went down the stairs of the turret. Therèse followed, turning to smile at Louis before disappearing. Louis stared at the stairwell long after Therèse had gone. Imez burst out laughing.

‘Now Mademoiselle Bertin will think you're a simpleton,' he said, still laughing.

Louis looked at him, horrified. ‘My God, she will!'

‘Well,' said Imez, leaning over the rails to look at the street below, ‘I guess it doesn't really matter.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘She's a child. What does it matter what a child thinks?'

‘She's not a child.'

‘She is a child. But I think that child has bewitched you.'

Louis looked down into the street. He felt such a fool. He wished he could undo the last few minutes, was sure Therèse Bertin must be laughing at him this very moment.

But the young Mademoiselle Bertin was not laughing at him; she was thinking that Monsieur de Dercou's son seemed to be very nice indeed.

#

It didn't take Marius long to realise Louis was totally infatuated with Therèse Bertin – never before had his son volunteered to go into Ampère quite so often, nor taken so much care of his appearance. But Louis was sixteen-years-old, and the girl was not yet thirteen. He'd have to realise she was much too young to court, and would soon be back riding with Imez.

Marius was wrong. Louis didn't forget Therèse Bertin, and each time he saw her, he thought her more beautiful. Shortly after meeting her the day of the eclipse, he'd visited Bertin on business for his father. Therèse had come into her father's office, unaware that Louis was there, and Louis had gathered up his courage and talked to her. It was only a
Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Bertin
, but she had smiled and answered
Good afternoon, Monsieur de Dercou
, and Louis had gone home happy. After that it had been easier.

He frequently visited his brother and sister-in-law's shop. It stocked clothing for ladies, hats and haberdashery, and was well patronized by the
grands colons
– the
petits colons
and the native population preferring to shop elsewhere. Sometimes Therèse would come into the shop, and Louis would take the opportunity to comment on the weather, the price of sheep, the developments of the town. And each time Therèse answered and added to the conversation, so that Louis soon lost his shyness, and they would casually mention the next day and time they thought to be at the shop, should the other also find reason to be there.

Honoré Bertin also noticed Louis' interest in his daughter, and her interest in Louis. He held Marius in high regard, and decided that if something developed between the two young people, so be it. Therèse could do a lot worse.

#

It was during the first week of autumn that, for the first time anyone could remember, old Merzoug did not appear in the fields. Marius found him still in his bed; he had died in his sleep. Gwafa and Imez came for the body, and wrapped it in the brown and white striped rug that was also his shroud, and took him to his village for burial. Marius and Louis went also, to show their respect for the old man who had helped them so much during their first years here. He was buried as was fitting, with his back to the ground, his head to the North and his feet to the South, and most importantly his face towards Mecca. Then Gwafa placed a single standing stone upon the grave to denote that here lay a man.

After the funeral, Marius sent Louis to Ampère to deposit money into the bank. Louis rode the Colonel, a horse that had been retired from the military, whose worse habit was to ignore its rider and join in military exercises every time it passed troops practicing their manoeuvres. Louis preferred this horse to all others – he felt the horse had retained a certain aloofness, an independence that separated him from the other horses they owned. And as he rode towards Ampère, he remembered Merzoug.

He thought about the rabbits the old man had caught for them when they'd first come to Algeria, and how he'd smiled that big toothless smile of his when Louis had mended the parasol that had torn against a branch. He'd only had black thread, and his clumsy sewing had stood out like a scar on the delicate fabric, but Merzoug had praised him like the finest seamstress in Paris might expect to be praised. He remembered the time he'd taken Louis to his village, and given him his first taste of couscous. He'd shown Louis how to eat it, using only the first two fingers and the thumb of the right hand, and had laughed when Louis had held the grains too tightly so that the little ball of food collapsed onto his clothes.

Alone on that long dusty road, Louis allowed himself to cry for the old man as he had not cried even on the death of his mother.

By the time he reached Ampère, Louis once again had control of his emotions. But Therèse was also at the bank, and when she saw Louis she guessed straight away something had happened. She convinced him to sit with her on the seat beneath the oaks in the square, and when Louis told her of Merzoug's death, she held his callused hands in her own gloved ones, and showed such sympathy, such understanding, that Louis almost lost control of his emotions once again. He decided instead that it was time he spoke to Bertin about his intentions to court his daughter.

#

Honoré Bertin looked at the young man standing before him, clinging to his hat in his hands, and hid a smile. He was enjoying this.

‘My daughter, young man, is much too young to think of marriage.'

‘My mother, Sir, married at fifteen.'

‘Yes, well, that may be. But Therèse may not be interested in you. Have you thought of that, young man? Hey? Have you thought of that?'

Louis looked down at his shoes and clutched his hat tighter – he hadn't considered that possibility. Had he misjudged Therèse's interest? Was she simply being polite when they met? No, it wasn't possible – he
knew
Therèse had feelings for him. He felt his face flush.

Honoré took a cigar from the humidor on his desk. Sniffed it. Rolled it between his fingers. He stole a glance towards Louis. The boy was looking decidedly uncomfortable. The clock on the mantel ticked, punctuating the seconds. He bit the end off the cigar and spat it across the room. Struck a match and put the flame to the tip, sucking loudly. He leaned back into his chair. Time to put the boy out of his misery.

‘You realise, of course, that my little Therèse is only thirteen?'

‘Yes, Sir. But fourteen next month.'

‘She's still thirteen. So you will understand when I say that I cannot allow her to even consider your interest until she is older.'

‘But—'

‘Hear me out, boy, hear me out. I'm not blind, you know. I've seen how Therèse reacts every time your name comes up in conversations. Oh yes, she thinks no one notices, but
I've
noticed. I'm no fool. And I have a lot of respect for your father. He's a good man. An honest man. And I think you're very much like him.'

‘Thank you, Sir.'

‘Yes, I think you're like him. So here's what I'll allow. You may visit Therèse, but only with a chaperone present. Get to know each other. But mind, a chaperone,
always
. Then, when she turns fifteen,
if
she is in agreement, you may ask me for her hand. But not a day before, mind. Not a day before.'

‘Yes Sir. I mean, no Sir.'

Honoré puffed on his cigar. ‘Of course, that won't mean you can marry. I'll insist on a year-long engagement. I will not approve of my little Therèse marrying before she is sixteen. Do you agree?'

‘Yes. Of course. Yes Sir, definitely.'

‘Good. Your father will be pleased. Good day, young man.'

‘Good afternoon, Sir.' Louis opened the office door, smiling.

‘Monsieur de Dercou.'

‘Sir?'

‘Remember what I said. Only with a chaperone.'

Honoré Bertin went home to tell his wife the news. He found her in bed, complaining of a fever. Within a week, she too had died.

#

Louis married his Therèse on her sixteenth birthday, with Imez at his side. Marius, who had never forgotten how sincerely the girl had extended her hand to Imez all those years ago, basked in the knowledge that this marriage would be good. As a wedding present, he gave Therèse the gold crucifix and chain that had belonged to his wife – he knew Pauline would have approved of this marriage. To Louis, he gave a chain for his fob watch that he'd had made to order, the links alternating in silver and gold.

Honoré Bertin had passed his half-century and was looking many years older since the death of his wife. He announced at the wedding that he was planning to return to France, and would pass on his businesses to his sons. Marius took him aside during the feast to discuss acquiring a number of properties Bertin intended selling.

A year later, Therèse gave birth to a son. They called him Gilbert. Marius celebrated by buying pure Arabian horses to establish his first haras – one stallion and two mares. Gwafa accompanied him, and showed him how to tell the purebred by counting the ribs, the Arab having one less set than all other breeds.

That same year, to celebrate Louis' twenty-first birthday, Marius visited a solicitor and made his youngest son equal partner in his ever-growing enterprises, and also made a will, leaving
Asif mellul
to Louis, with smaller bequests to his other sons.

They built a mill on their land, and the local people came to grind their grain. Marius and Louis' reputation continued to grow, and the next year Marius was asked to join the Municipal Council.

Therèse, meanwhile, had her own successes. Each year or so she would give Louis yet another son, and Louis would lament that what he really wanted was a little girl. But everyone knew that he was only teasing her – in Louis' eyes, Therèse could do no wrong, and he loved each of his children. By 1912, they had six boys and Marius had added another storey to the house, and acquired another 300 hectares of land. They had twenty-one people working for them – five in the house alone. Therèse started a small school for the local children and, ignoring the prevailing French idea that only Berbers were intelligent enough to educate, encouraged the Arab children of the area to attend as well. She worried about these children's state of health, and would start every day's lessons by serving them a large bowl of soup loaded with vegetables.