The Tale-Teller (13 page)

***

WHILE ESTHER BRANDEAU AND Madeleine Duplessis had been travelling the world through books, the real world outside was waking up. Each tree in Madame's old garden began to burst with buds the yellow-green of distilled sunlight. From minute to minute fresh life appeared. The very air shimmered as though it too had been frozen solid like the river. Released from bondage, it rippled and flexed glad muscles just as Esther did, running outside to examine the new foliage.

That bush that had flaunted brilliant red branches all winter against the snow — what was it? And the nondescript thing with impatient golden flowers that came before its leaves, and those tiny white blossoms that popped up here and there between rocks and even under the snow, thriving in the hardest conditions. Did they have the same flowers in France? She had paid scant attention to flowers before, her eyes fixed on the far horizon, longing to be somewhere else. But for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was happy to be where she was. She had a friend in Claire and a generous benefactor in Madame Duplessis. She was coming alive with the spring, the same way the garden was.

One afternoon as they took tea in the garden, enjoying the play of sunlight through the branches and the warm breeze caressing their faces, Madame Duplessis started to sing in a soft but melodious voice:

Onn'awtewa d'ki n'on, wandaskwaentak
on-nah-wah-teh-wah do-kee non-ywah-ndah-skwa-en-tak
Ennonchien skwatrihotat n'on, wandi, onrachatha
en-non-shyen skwah-tree-hotat non-ywa-ndee-yon-rah-shahthah.

“That is so beautiful!” Esther exclaimed. “What does it mean?”

“It means: ‘Behold, the spirit who kept us prisoners has fled. Do not listen to it, as it corrupts our minds.'” She turned to Esther. “I sang it for you, my dear Esther. I don't know what evil has been done to you in the past, but be sure it cannot reach you here.”

Esther smiled. She too was beginning to believe that she had found a home at last.

***

IT WAS ONLY WHEN Madame Lévesque came to visit that Esther was asked to tell one of her own tales of exotic places and perilous travels. As time went on she was finding this harder and harder to do, but she tried her best to please the lady who had made her present comfort and future hopes possible. This is the last tale she was able to tell her.

***

AS YOU KNOW, I spent many years at sea, first in the company of Spanish sailors and then with French ones. All this time I was forced to disguise myself, because superstition forbade the presence of women on board ship. Convinced as I was then — as I still am today — that women are capable of performing every nautical job, this exasperated me, but I continued to dress as a boy.

You may remember, Madame Lévesque, that the ship that rescued my fellow castaways and me was named
Le Lys
. At that time it was under the direction of Le Chevalier Alphonse de Pontevez, a famous French explorer, but he left the ship in Bordeaux. My new patron Monsieur Fourget and I enjoyed a few weeks of shore leave with the rest of the crew before furnishing ourselves with fresh garments and more medical supplies. Then we signed on with the same vessel again, this time to bring military supplies to the Indian port of Mahé and return home bearing the fabled silks and spices of the Orient.

I was thrilled at the prospect, as usual wanting to go to new places and see new things. We first headed back down the coast of Africa, stopping at Saint-Louis-du-Fort to take on a load of provisions and fresh water. A good many French traders from Bordeaux had settled in the town and married local women, and they all came to visit the ship, hoping to do business and receive news from home. On the third day after we arrived, a delegation of handsome Africans from the interior came looking for us. Apparently a great and learned Imam in the legendary city of Timbuktu was very ill and, all local healers having failed, a decision had been made to seek the assistance of Western medicine. Their spokesman begged our captain to help, promising him good fortune in this life and the next if he would send help back to Timbuktu with them. Reminding us that no white man had been invited to their sacred city before, the emissary recited a proverb that still thrills me strangely every time I think of it:

Salt comes from the north,
Gold comes from the south,
Money comes from the country of white people,
But the word of God
Can only be found in Timbuktu.

But our captain was unmoved. He insisted that he needed to keep his small store of medical supplies for the long and hazardous journey ahead; his first obligation was to his own crew, however much he grieved for the plight of the holy man and wished it were in his power to help him. The African pleaded most eloquently and then, when that failed, began to bargain. He brought forth a substantial amount of gold he had hidden about his person. When even his money was refused he began to call curses upon us.

I was worried about our safety but our captain insisted that we all return to our ordinary business. Unfortunately my fear proved prophetic, for later that night our ship was besieged by a heavily armed company of these same Africans, transformed from polite ambassadors to hostile soldiers. Our watch was overwhelmed, and forced to remain silent on pain of death as they led two of the invaders below to the cabin I shared with Monsieur Fourget, who was in charge of the infirmary. They roused us, compelled us to pack all our medical supplies, and hustled us off the ship, leaving behind men with flaming torches who threatened to set the vessel ablaze if anyone dared to pursue us.

It may seem strange that seafarers should be so afraid of fire, but often we had seen wooden ships burning too fast for the surrounding water to save them. So we went, unresistingly, with our captors; a few French soldiers lay portside with their throats cut and that grim sight made us glad we had decided to be docile. Under cover of darkness they made us march into the Sahel, the arid grasslands that border that town, reckoning that during the dry season, when sandstorms were prevalent, pursuit was unlikely. Although the sky blazed with millions of stars, the darkness below was complete and impenetrable. In the distance I heard a peculiar coughing noise, which I later learned was typical of camels, the beasts that were waiting for us. And off we went, from the ocean of water we knew to the ocean of sand that we knew not.

Fourget and I were mounted on a single camel, in the middle of a long column of such creatures heavily burdened with men, arms, water-skins, and bedding. Had we not been accustomed to the rocking of ships at sea we might well have found the undulating movement of these beasts unpleasant, but for us it was familiar and comforting. I was impressed by how tireless they were in the heat and dust of the desert, and reminded by them of how every place on earth is inhabited by creatures best adapted to it. For example, though camels at first appear bizarre, like hunchbacked horses badly drawn by children, they have beautiful eyes and eyelashes so long that any lady at Versailles might envy them. This feature protects the delicate organs of sight from irritation by blowing sand. For the same reason, they are able to close their nostrils with a special flap of skin, keeping their lungs free of dust. Most wonderfully of all, these creatures can store food in their humps for long treks when no food or water is to be found.

Soon enough we were to wish we had such humps ourselves. For the first few days we travelled along in almost complete silence, excited, in spite of our fear, to be going to Timbuktu. Timbuktu! The fabled land of gold and ancient wisdom no European had visited for centuries. Surely we were lucky to have been chosen for such an adventure? This at least is what we told each other, to keep our spirits up, at times when we thought we might not arrive there alive. We slept during the heat of the day and travelled mostly at night. Sometimes our captors talked quietly among themselves, sometimes they even sang, but we had little conversation except when they offered us food or directed us to mount or dismount, sleep, or rise. We had no idea where we were or where we were going, except in the direction of Timbuktu, north and east, further and further into the true desert.

Some time towards the end of the second week, when we were all sleeping in the sparse shade of an acacia tree — the plant upon which the whole wealth of that country is built, as from it they derive gum arabic — a sandstorm blew up so quickly that our captors were unable to secure us, and so violently that no one could see a thing. In the confusion of the moment, Fourget decided that we should escape. He grabbed my hand and pulled me with him the way he thought we had come. But it was impossible to have any idea at all of where we were going until the storm had abated. When it did, we were dismayed to find ourselves utterly lost, thirsty, and exhausted, and considerably worse off than we had been before. We were alone and on foot, without provisions or bedding.

After a hopeless attempt to orient ourselves in that flat and everlasting wasteland, we decided to look for shelter and conserve our energy until night came. We crawled under a rocky ledge and tried to rest. Sand had lodged in our eyes and nostrils and ears, in every crease of our fingers, under each nail. Our mouths were so dry that there was no saliva to swallow, and we were incapable of tears though we wept in our hearts.

I reflected that Fate had spared me from death on an island inappropriately described as “desert” only to maroon me in the true Sahara. In this mood of bitter resignation I fell in and out of delirium, hardly remembering who or where I was. I have no idea how much later it was when I heard a faint jingling of bells and that familiar coughing. Assuming our captors had finally found us and grateful for the prospect of life, even life in captivity, I forced my burning eyes open only to see an unfamiliar caravan, the camels much fresher than ours, all gaily decorated with silver and scarlet ornaments, each one carrying a bundle of bright blue cloth.

At first I thought I was hallucinating. But as the camels approached, a human form was discernible astride each beast: here a graceful brown hand, there a bare foot, and many pairs of eyes, neither friendly nor hostile, merely curious, staring out from under blue turbans, blue veils, and blue robes. Convinced that any travellers so completely shrouded must surely be bandits, I prodded Monsieur Fourget, afraid to confront this new and terrible danger all by myself. He was unconscious and breathing shallowly, but eventually I roused him from his stupor. He was at first unable to sit, but after I propped him up he waved one hand in a weak gesture of greeting to the strange people gathered before us. When the first rider raised his own hand in a courteous reply, I knew that we were saved.

We soon understood that we had been rescued by the blue men of the desert, known as Tuareg or “the God forsaken” among the Arabs but “the Noble People” among themselves. Their peculiar dress is well adapted to where they live; not being camels, they must protect their faces from the sand. Indeed, they keep their mouths and noses hidden at all times, even when there is no wind. But this custom only prevails among the men, who travel for long distances on caravan routes. The women, who stay home, go barefaced, simply covering their heads after marriage.

These people are greatly feared; they are fierce swordsmen, prone to raiding others for their cattle and taking slaves in battle. They could have taken us as slaves too but we were so strange to them, with our pale skin and alien language, that it didn't occur to them. We would have been of no use to anyone in the state we were in regardless; indeed Monsieur Fourget, being so much older than I, and excessively thin even before this ordeal, did not recover. He died soon after we were rescued, unable to swallow more than a mouthful of water though he was convulsing with fever. We buried him in a shallow grave somewhere in that immensity, where only wild beasts will visit his poor bones.

Though my heart grieved bitterly, my eyes were still too dry to shed tears when I said a prayer for his departing soul. I was so sick, and so frightened of my new captors, that I cannot remember how long it took to get to their village, but eventually we reached an oasis surrounded by date palms. Outside a circle of tents, goats and chickens browsed the grass; a few children ran up to greet us and then stopped, confused and perhaps even frightened at the sight of me. The leader of the caravan, a taciturn fellow named Az'ar, carried me into one of these dwellings where his wife promptly took charge of me. A plump woman named Faghizza, she was gaudily dressed, with silver ornaments hanging from her ears and neck. At first I was frightened of her but I soon perceived how kind and gentle she was and relaxed my vigilance.

First she stripped off my filthy garments, and then washed me as tenderly as if I had been her own daughter. This is when my tears, so long suppressed, were released. Soon her older sister, who was blind, joined us in the tent, singing the sweetest song I had ever heard in her beautiful voice. I didn't understand the words then, but I was to learn later that the song was intended to drive away evil spirits. And so with music and with love, I was welcomed into a new family.

***

“IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” Madame Duplessis inquired with concern. Esther looked as though she was about to cry.

“No, nothing,” Esther replied in a choked voice. “I was only thinking about the kindness of women … like you.”

“Have some more tea,” suggested Madame Lévesque.

“Thank you,” said Esther, gratefully. The women waited while she drained her cup and composed herself. But she was not given the chance to resume her narrative, as Claire burst into the room in great distress.

“Monsieur Varin is here to see Mademoiselle Esther on official business from the King. He says she is to come with him at once. He even has soldiers with him!”

Esther turned pale. Madame Lévesque put her arms around her, thinking she was about to faint.

“Be brave, as you always are, dear girl,” she said.

Madame Duplessis kissed her on both cheeks, saying only, “May God continue to protect you.”

With that, Esther left the second of her Quebec homes, never to return.