Queen of Angels (19 page)

the hours of simply being not who I am but what 1 am. Postures assumed every day even when there are no visitors. It creeps into my poetry as well; a dullness like a poorly soldered joint. Thats it; I cannot connect with the proper influx of current, for I am badly joined to this life, and the join is crumbling every day.

Poetry as current, Yermak said under his breath. Good, good. Richard could not tell whether he was being sarcastic; with Yermak it hardly mattered. What be liked he despised for being likable. Welsh raised an eyebrow at the youth and Yermak returned an acquiescing smile. Richard read to the end, lowered the slate and pages, mumbled something about not quite having it right and needing suggestions. Looked around the circle with his wounded eagle eyes. Yermak stared at him with a shocked expression but said nothing. This is truly you, Welsh said. Its very odd, Mind said from behind the bar. What are you going to do with it? What I mean to say is this must be you, its certainly not Goldsmith, Welsh continued. Im Richard stopped himself. + Work must stand alone. Its good, Yermak said. Richard felt a rush of warmth toward the youth; perhaps there was something in him worthwhile after all. It clicks and slims as fable. Id wrap it in a longer work, a litbio. Yermak raised his hands to paint a scene, staring up at his spread fingers with reverence. Rio of a nonwriter, struggling violently to understand. Richard saw the blow coming but could not withdraw fast enough. Yermak turned to him and said, Youve given me great insight. Now I scope. I know how your type thinks, R Fettle. Patrons Miniel said. Youre a lobe sod at heart. Youve hidden too long in the shadow of his wings, Yermak said. Please be kind, Welsh instructed without conviction. Goldsmiths wings are dusty and lice ridden, but they still fly. You have never flown. Look at yourselfwriting on paper! An ostentation, an affectation. You cant afford sufficient paper to write anything significant, but you write on it anywayknowing youll never write much. No soaring. Hes right there, Welsh said. The others did not participate; this was dogfight not litcrit and they found it amusing but repellent. When Goldsmith falls to Earth, you have to stand outside his shadow, see the sun for the first time, and it dazzles you. Yermaks tone was almost sympathetic. I scope you, R Fettle. Dammit, I scope us all through you. What an affected and ignorant posse of lobe sods we all are. Thank you for this insight. But I ask you, in all sinceritydo you insee Goldsmith as slaughtering to improve his poetry? Richard looked away from him. + Back home. Lie down and rest. I can almost believe that, Yermak concluded, badger faced. Goldsmith might be that cranked. Why did you bring this for us to hear? Welsh asked softly, touching Fettles arm solicitously. Are you truly that roughed? Mind must have prodded some warning button, for now Mr. Pacifico himself came down the rear stairs, saw Yermak and Welsh. Frowned. Looked further and saw Fettle. Whats be doing here? Mr. Pacifico inquired, pointing to Yermak. I told you he wasnt welcome here anymore. Miriel squirmed. He came in while Mr. Fettle was reading. I didnt want to interrupt. Youre bad for business, Yermak, Mr. Pacifico said. Did you bring him with you, Richard? Fettle did not reply, stunned. He still with you, Welsh? He goes where he wills, Welsh said. Balls. All three of you, out. Mr. Fetde Mitiel began. Hes a born victim. Look at him. God damn it, he attracted Yermak in here like a wasp to bad flesh. Out out out. Fettle picked up the papers and slate, inclined around the circle with as much dignity as he could manage and walked to the door to return to the street. Miriel said good bye; the others watched with silent pity. Welsh and Yermak followed and parted ways with him at the door saying not another word, smiling grim satisfaction. + They are right. Too right. He discarded the papers and the slate into a gutter on the corner and waited for a bus at a whim stop, the cool wind blowing his gray hair into his eyes. Gina, he said. Dear Gina. Someone touched his elbow. He turned with a nervous leap and saw Nadine dressed in long green coat and turban wrapped wool scarf. I thought you might come here, she said. Richard, I thought I was the crazy one. What are you doing? Did you show them? Yes, he said. + To kill the self. Thats why Emanuel did it. To be rid of someone he did not like; himself. If I have not the courage to kill my body, I could kill others and condemn the self just as surely. Nadine took his arm. Lets go home. Your home, she said. Honestly, Richard, youre making me look positively therapied.

The Countrie-men called the hand of Hzspaniola, Ayti and Quisqueya, which signifyeth Roughnesse, anda great Count rw... Antonio de Herrera, quoted in Purcha.c has Pilgrzmes

38

Hispaniola required two international airports and had three, the third reflecting an early overestimation of tourism by Colonel Sir John Yardleyor the requirements of his mercenary army. There was an oceanport in Golfe de Ia Gonave. five kilometers of floating liftways; a smaller oceanport ten kilometers offshore from Puerto Plata on the northeast, and a massive land terminal HIS in the southeast at Santo Domingo. HIS took most scramjet traffic. Mary Choy came awake at dusk and saw a lovely sunset making rich golden orange the rugged hills of the Cordillera Orientale. The scramjet descended smoothly to a few hundred meters above the dark purple Antilles Sea, gave up its whisper quiet to a roar of vertical lift, pushed in over white sand beaches and cliffs and then bare hectares of concrete, dropped gently, landed with no discernible impact. The seatback screen showed the scramjets intimate parts beneath the fuselage thick white pillars ending in arrays of gray-black wheels, spectral gray paving luminous in the shade. Doors in the concrete opened and elevator shafts rose from the underground serviceways. In the lower righthand corner of the screen, outside temperature was shown to be 25 degrees Celsius, local time 17:21. Welcome to Hispaniola, the cabin speakers announced. You have arrived at Estimnternational Airport on lift cirde 4A. You will travel by underground train to the Santo Domingo traffic hub. All your luggage is now being removed from the airliner and will accompany you automatically to the hub or to your pre-chosen final destination. There are no customs regulations for inbound travelers, nothing to delay your pleasure. Enjoy your stay in bountiful Hispaniola. She stood, gathered up her personals and followed three tired looking longsuited men. About two hundred passengers filed slowly to the rear elevator. Within a few minutes she disembarked from the flower patterned interior of the airport train into the Santo Domingo central city hub. All was bedecked in tropical flowers. Huge black vases filled with unlikely jungles of rainbow variety lined the hub travelways. Waterfalls emptied into ponds fdled with beautiful fish from Antilles sea gardensmost natural, some products of the recombiners art. Shifting curtains of prochine sculpture hung from the dome of the atrium at hub center, spilling light and perfume down onto Hispaniolas new guests. Hispaniola had little nano industrythese were early art pieces imported from the USA, quite useless for other than their intended purpose. Projected guides in splendid uniforms addressed curious travelers in a dozen open theaters around the penstyle. Deadsound guided the flow of noise precisely, leaving a pleasant low bum gently surmounted by native music. Picked out of the crowd of arriving passengers by a sharp eyed coffee brown woman livened in green and white, Mary was directed to a VIP reception lounge. Walled off from the rest of the atrium by walls of glass, the lounge was empty but for a tail man dressed in antique diplomatic coat and tails and two brasstone arbeiters of uncertain utility. The tall man extended his band, bowing slightly, and Mary shook it. May I welcome you to the Republic of Hispaniola. Inspector Mary Choy? His dazzling smile sported two front incisors the color of red coral. I have been appointed your avocat and general guide. My name is Henri Soulavier. Mary inclined and smiled pleasantly. Merci. Do you speak French, Spanish, or perhaps Creole, Mademoiselle Choy? Im sorry, only California Spanish. Soulavier spread his hands. That is not a problem. Every-body speaks English on Hispaniola. It is our Colonel Sirs native tongue. And it is all the worlds second language, if not the first, no? But I will also act as translator. I have been told your time is limited and that you wish to consult with our police immediately. I could have something to eat first, she said, smiling again. Someone had chosen Soulavier well; his manner was direct and charming. She had read that often about Hispaniola; forgetting the sad history and the present dubious economic arrangements, here were the friendliest people on Earth. Of course. There will be dinner in your quarters. We will be there within the hour. At any rate, those with whom you would speak are now getting off work, and the offices are dosing. Tomorrow will be very good for meeting them. Besides, we are told your colleagues will be arriving in.. He checked his watch. Two more hours. I will greet them here; no need for you to trouble yourself. With your permission, I will accompany you to your rooms in the quartiers diplomatiques in Port-au-Prince. Then the evening is your own. You may work or relax as you wish. Dinner in my quarters will be fine, she said. As you doubtless know, all official travelers in Hispaniola are isoles, to avoid the distractions of our tourist industry, which might not suit their necessities, no? The lefthand arbeiter moved forward on three wheels and extended an arm to take her personals. She declined with a smile, deciding it would be best to keep her slate away from possible debriefing. Soulavier seemed amused by her caution. This way, please. We will use behind the scenes corridors. Much easier. The train to Port-au-Prince was empty but for them. Black velvet seat cushions bore the arms of Colonel Sir: rhinoceros and oak beneath star speckled heavens. They pulled out of the Santo Domingo hub and quickly emerged on aboveground suspended tracks to cross broad open plains and hills greened by recent rains. Evening had settled quickly over the island, casting everything in a magical sapphire twilight. The great spine of the Cordillera Centrale dominated the north, its peaks still fiery with sunset, glooming foothills covered with black bands of new forest and the lights of terraced farm resorts. Mary had been led by her sources to expect beautyshe did not expect anything quite so breathtakingly idyllic. How could such a place have such a history? But then Hispaniola had not been so beautiful before Colonel Sir. His government had united the island in an almost bloodless series of coups, dispatching democratically elected leaders and tyrants alike to exile in Paris and China. He had overwhelmed all competing internal interests, nationalized all foreign industry, discovered and developed the southern offshore petroleum reserves with the help of the Brazilian underworld and used this seed money to set up a unique economyselling the services of mercenaries and terrorists to select customers worldwide. The industrialized nations of the world had discovered in the early twenty first century that some of the more brutal aspects of statecraft did not suit the tastes of their citizens. Colonel Sir had leaped into this vacuum with enthusiasm. His successes in fielding highly trained armies of Hispaniolan youths had brought in the finest currencies of the world to brace the almost valueless Haitian gourde and the failing Dominican peso. Ten years into his rule be had begun replanting the long-ago denuded forests of Hispaniola, importing the best recombiners and agricultural experts to return the island to at least a semblance of its preColumbian youth. Small well lighted whitewashed towns passed by on either side, details blurred by speed. She could only make out hints of wooden buildings and concrete apartment complexes for Hispaniolans; these were towns not generally open to tourists, towns where soldiers were raised and returned to live and bring more sons and daughters into the world to be soldiers. Hispaniolas armies, according to what she had read, numbered some one hundred and fifty thousand men. At several hours notice scramjets or suborbital transports could lift tens of thousands from one or another of the international airfieldstemporarily closed to incoming flightsand send them anywhere in the world. Seated across from her, Soulavier watched the fields and towns whisk by. Alas, the world is peaceful lately, he said. Your government does not do much business with Cap Haltien or Santo Domingo anymore. Colonel Sir is most unhappy about this. You still have tourism and your petroleum and farms, Mary said. Soulavier lifted his hands, rubbed thumb and three fingers together on one palm signifying money and clapped the other hand over it as if to smother. Petroleumeasier to make from your garbage mines, he said. Every country on Earth can grow enough food. Tourism has suffered. We have been called many nasty words. It makes us sad. He sighed and shrugged as if to cast off the unpleasant subject, smiled again. We still have the beauty. And we have ourselves. If our children do not go off to die for others, then that is well, too. No mention was made of the manufacture and export of hellcrowns. Perhaps Soulavier had nothing to do with that. She rather hoped that he didnt. The train passed through long tunnels and emerged onto a low desert shadowed by curve armed saguaro cactus and islands of dust colored bushes barely visible in the light from the train windows. Stars stood out stark and steady above the mountains. They passed into another tunnel. We have the variety of a continent, Soulavier said wistfully. You ask perhaps, who could come here and still have an evil temper? Mary nodded; the central puzzle of Hispaniolan history. I have studied our leaders. They start out good men, but within a few years, or sometimes as little as a few weeks, something changes in them. They begin to get angry. They fear strange forces. Like zealous old gods, they torture us and murder. In the end, before they die or are exiled, they are like little children. . . They are contrite and puzzled by what has happened to them. They smile into the camera eyes, How could I have done this? I am a good man. It was not me. It was somebody else. Mary was astonished to find such candor, but Soulavier continued: All this before Colonel Sir. He has been here thirty years, as long as Papa Dcc last century, with none of Papa Dccs abiding cruelty. We owe much to Colonel Sir. Honest and sincere; Soulavier did not seem capable of hiding his true feelings. But they were certainly being hidden. He must know what she knew; the secret to Colonel Sirs stability. Hispaniola had been graced with twenty years of extraordinary prosperity and comparatively gentle self government. If there was a possessing demon of pain and death on Hispaniola, Colonel Sir had subdued its effects on the islands inhabitants by shipping its influence elsewhere. But I am not here to sell our island to you, am I? Soulavier said with a chuckle. Your business is official and has little to do with us. You are here to find a murderer. Straightforward work. Perhaps later you can return to Hispaniola to see us as we truly are, to relax and enjoy yourself. Beyond the tunnel gleamed the lights of Port-au-Prince, caught between the dark Caribbean and the mountains. Ah, Soulavier said, twisting to look across the aisle and out the opposite windows. Mary noted this motion; not the studied grace of a diplomat but of a quick unselfconscious athlete or street urchin. We are here. As the train slowed, coasting the last few kilometers into the depot, Soulavier pointed out the major tourist hotels government buildings museums, all solid early twenty first century glass walled stone and steel and concrete. Clean and well lighted. Just before the depot they hummed through a broad quarter called the Vieux Carrhat preserved preColonel Sir architectureingenious wood and cracked concrete with tile and corrugated tin roofing. In the Vieux Carrhe buildings were studiously shabby and seldom more than a single story. Soulavier preceded her onto the covered platform and for the first time she had direct contact with the air of Hispaniola. It was warm and balmy and blew gently through the station carrying the scent of flowers and cooking. Trailed by the arbeiters they walked past stainless steel carts where vendors sold fried fish and boiled crab, peanut butter seasoned with peppers, cold Hispaniolan beer. The train station contained only a few dozen tourists and the vendors avidly competed for their dollars. Soulaviers presence kept them away from Mary. Alas, Soulavier said, indicating the dearth of tourists with widespread arms. Now they say nasty words about us. A government limousine waited for them, parked in a white strip. Gasoline and electric taxis and gaily decorated taptaps had been pushed aside and parked at decent intervals on both sides, their drivers lounging, eating, reading. Three men and two women in red shirts and denims danced around the cart of a beverage vendor, flickering their hands gaily at Soulavier and Mary. Soulavier bowed to the dancers, smiling apologetically as if to say, Alas, I cannot dance, I am at serious work. The limousine was no more than ten years old and automatic. It drove them at a stately pace through the streets to the quartiers diplomatiques. Soulavier had become quite subdued. They approached a brick walled compound and passed through a gate guarded by soldiers in black uniforms and chrome helmets. The soldiers watched them with narrow eyed suspicious dignity. The car did not stop. Within the walls lay a pleasant neighborhood of simple uniformly colored bungalows with prominent front porches and trellises covered by everblooming bougainvillea. The car stopped before one such bungalow and swung its door open. Soulavier leaned forward, suddenly assumed a puzzled expression and said, Inspector Choy, I am arranging for a meeting with Colonel Sir himself. Tomorrow, perhaps late. You will start with our police in the morning, but you will have lunch or dinner with Colonel Sir. Mary was surprised by the offer. But then Colonel Sir had approved her entry in the first place and would naturally be curious about his friends fate... Or at least would wish to put on such a front. Id be honored, she said. She got out of the limousine and saw a man and a woman in dark gray livery standing at the base of the bungalow steps. They smiled congenially. Soulavier introduced them: jean-Claude and Roseile. I realize Americans are not used to servants, he said, but all diplomats and officials from outside have them. Jean-Claude and Roseile bowed. We are well paid, Mademoiselle, Roselle said. Do not be embarrassed. Until tomorrow, Soulavier said. He returned to the limousine. Your luggage is already inside, jean-Claude informed her. There is a shower or a fine bathtub available, and there is pure apple vinegar, should you wish to use it. Mary regarded the man blankly for a moment, taken aback by this intimate knowledge of her needs. Your design is very beautiful, Inspector Choy, Roselle said. Thank you. We especially approve of your skin color, jean-Claude added, eyes twinkling. The bungalows interior was well furnished with solid mahogany, obviously handcrafted; the joins were not perfect, but the carvings and hand polish were magnificent. Excuse me,