Who Slashed Celanire's Throat? by Maryse Condé

was its vocation. She proposed he work for her and teach the senior pupils. She would take care of the juniors. The girls she had trained would look after the tots. Hakim hesitated, looking for an answer that would not be taken as an insult, when her little paw, drawing atrail of fire, began to crawl up the inside of his leg. He sat petrified while she reached her objective. They looked at each other straight in the eyes, she visibly surprised by his lack of response. She stroked harder. In vain. Ashamed, he stood up, adjusted his clothing, and ran for the exit. Outside, the light brought him back to earth. He sensed that Celanire would never forgive him such an affront. When he got back home, overcome with nausea, he washed and soaped himself from head to toe. Then he slipped on a pair of shorts and a freshly starched cotton drill shirt and went upstairs to join Betti Bouah. The latter frowned on seeing him home so early, but managed to hide his feelings and told him the latest gossip. Thomas de Brabant had just had his appointment confirmed as governor of the colony, and consequently the lucky fellow was going to be the first to occupy the new palace. A grandiose building. The juicy bit was that his wife, Charlotte, was arriving from France with their daughter. Everybody was wondering what would become of his affair with Celanire, for it was an open secret they slept together. He was so besotted with her, he blindly obeyed her every wish. He had recently authorized her to make the Home a refuge for girls running away from husbands and suitors. What next would she do? Lovesick, Karamanlis the Greek had tried to drown himself in the lagoon on several occasions. Every time they had dragged him back to the shore alive. As for Koffi Ndizi, he had repudiated his thirty-nine wives and concubines, keeping only his first love, Queen Tadjo, provided she too “converted.” He was taking catechism classes and was preparing to become a Christian, to the great joy of the mission, since conversions by a chief were exceptionally rare. The Church only attracted wretches lured by a pair of shorts and an undershirt that the priests gave to the baptized. What did Koffi Ndizi expect from such a foolish act?

    The following morning Hakim was scarcely awake when the widow Desrussie, bundled up in a wrapper against the cool morning mist, brought him a letter from Celanire. It was written on pretty yellow stationery, well phrased and sober given the circumstances. Celanire apologized for having betrayed a fondness for him that he obviously did not share. As for her job offer, it still stood. She was especially keen on having him, as she knew he could work miracles. Wasn’t he preparing that good-for-nothing Kwame Aniedo to compete for the French administration examination? Likewise, he would know how to transform the Africans into responsible men of their times. As for the love angle, he could sleep safe and sound, she would no longer bother him. The trivial adventure was over! Hakim retained only one thing from this epistle. It was no coincidence that Celanire had mentioned the name of Kwame Aniedo. She had seen right through him. She knew about his feelings for the prince. In actual fact, this apparently innocuous letter constituted a threat.
    In a state of frenzy, he set out for the landing stage on the other side of Bingerville. A mob of small traders carrying calabashes and makeshift basins brimming with unrefined palm oil was already laying siege to the warehouse. The smell of grease mingled with that of the decomposing mud and humus. All around, the banks appeared strewn with bones, in actual fact dead tree trunks bleached by the sun and the brine. Hakim seated himself in the outboard. Bordered by dense foliage, the blackish waters of the lagoon lapped threateningly against the landing stage. He had always been scared of water. As a child, after his papa had left him, he had only to close his eyes to imagine himself slipping