Queen of Angels (23 page)

mean they were opposed to fear? Yes! he exclaimed as if she had just expressed great disbelief. Colonel Sir has his enemies, and not just on the mainland. We must be watchful. That is part of our job too., We show a generosity to our enemies that would have been unheard of two generations past, Aide Lopez said with faint regret. Mary felt the room becoming hot though the building was air conditioned. Mouse in a box. Being helpless made her angry but she would no more show that anger than show her fear. You make my job very difficult, she said. As one policeman to two confreres, surely theres something you can do to help me. Aide Lopez furrowed her brow. If there is time you will meet with the Inspector General. I will try to arrange it for this morning or afternoon. Aide Soulavier will wait with you. Perhaps a walk on the beach, relaxation, something to eat. There is fine food on the beach. We always take our afternoon meal on the beach. Aide Lopez pushed back her ancient rolling chair and stood, matching Marys height and adding ten centimeters of high-peaked cap that suited neither her job nor her physique. Now Aide Lopez resembled a somber clown mocking police. Her expression was relaxed and unconcerned. She looked around the walls at her collection, turned back to Mary and said, These are my windows. Mary nodded. Very attractive. Valuable. Thousands of dollars, tens of thousands of gourdes. I inherited them from my mother. Many of these artists were her lovers. I do not choose artists for my lovers. They have no sense of propriety. Mary smiled ironically, then turned and followed Soulavier, who preceded her along the serpent tiles. Yes, he mused. It would be best for you to meet the Inspector General. You have a good point that we are all police together, with common goals. You should tell that to the Inspector General. Mary asked how long it might be before she could meet with Legar but decided that would be a small sign of weakness. Patience and no misstcpping. She might be on Hispaniola for a long time. The waters of the bay were brilliant blue green and sparkling clean; the beach was almost empty of tourists this early. A few young Haitians in civic sanitation uniforms fanned simple metal detectors over the sand. Soulavier purchased two fried pompano and two beers from a lone boardwalk vendor and spread out this feast on a blanket on the sand. Mary sat crosslegged and ate the delicious fish, sipping the native brew. She did not enjoy beer often but this was acceptable. Soulavier frowned pleasantly at the scavengers and their detectors. Hard to lose habits, he said. Hispaniolans are very economical and thrifty. We remember in our bones when every piece of scrap and every aluminum can was a wealth. These boys and girls and their mothers and fathers, they have employment. They might work in the hotels or casinos. They might have a papa or mama in the army. Maybe they are training for army themselves. Still they have economy and thriftiness. A lot has changed, Mary said. He has done so much for us. Because of him there is little prejudice on Hispaniola now. That is a true miracle. Marrons do not feel hatred for griffons or for noirs or les blancs. All are equal. My father told me once there were forty shades of recognized distinction. He shook his head in disbelief. Colonel Sir is a worker of miracles, Mademoiselle. Why the world hates him we do not know. Marys instinctive liking for Soulavier had been wrapped in tissue and quickly stored away upon discovering his true employment, but it had not been disposed of. He still seemed genuine and unaffected. im not very well informed on international politics, she said. I keep my eyes on Los Angeles. Thats world enough for me. It is a great city.. All the worlds people live there, go there. Twenty five millions! That is more than all Hispaniola. We would have more if it had not been for the plague. Mary nodded. We envy you your crime rate. True, it is very low. Hispaniolans have always known to share. Having nothing for so long makes a man generous. Mary smiled. It might make a Hispaniolan generous. Yes, I see, I see. Soulavier laughed. His every move was like a dance; his whole body flexed gracefully even when he sat with a half-eaten fish in his hands. We are a good people. My people have deserved so much for so long. You see why there is loyalty here. But why is there distrust and hatred outside? He was trying to draw her out. The conversation might after all be less than innocent. As I said, Im not very current on foreign affairs. Then tell me about Los Angeles. I have been taught a little. Someday perhaps I will go there but Hispaniolans seldom travel. Its a very complicated city, she said. You can find nearly anything human in Los Angeles, good and bad. I dont think it would be workable as a city without mental therapy. Ah, yes, therapy. There is none of that here. We regard our eccentrics as horses of the gods. We feed them and treat them well. They are not ill; just ridden hard. Mary inclined dubiously. We recognize a great many mental malfunctions. We have the means to correct them. A clear mind is the pathway to a free will. You have been therapied? I havent needed it, she said. But I wouldnt object if I did need it. How many tberapied in Los Angeles? About sixty five percent have had some form of therapy, however minor. Some therapy helps improve performance in difficult jobs. Socially oriented therapies help people work better with each other. And criminals? They are therapied? Yes, she said. Depending on the severity of their crime." Murderers? Whenever possible. Im not a therapist or a psychologist. I dont know all the details. What do you do with criminals who cannot be therapied? Theyre very rare. Theyre kept in institutions where they cant harm others. These institutions, are they also for punishment? No, Mary said. We believe in punishment here. Do you believe in punishment in the United States? Mary did not know how to answer that. I dont believe in punishment, she said, wondering if she spoke the complete truth. It doesnt seem very useful. But there are many in your country who do. Your President Raphkind. Hes dead, Mary said. She noticed Soulavier bad become less graceful and less mobile, more stern and intent. He was homing in on some point and she was not sure it would be pleasant. A man and a woman, they are responsible for their lives. In Hispaniola, especially in Haiti, we are very tolerant of what people do. But if they are bad, if they become the horses of bad godsand that is metaphor, Mademoiselle Choy... He paused. Vodoun is not widely practiced now. Not by my generation. But there is belief, and there is culture... If they become the horses of bad gods it is the individuals fault, too. You do them a favor by punishment. You alert their souls to error. That sounds like the Spanish Inquisition, she said. Soulavier shrugged. Colonel Sir is not a cruel man. He does not impose punishment on his people. He lets them choose in their own courts. We have a just system, but punishment not therapy is part of it. You cannot change a mans soul. That is white mans illusion. Perhaps in the United States you have lost the truth of these things. Mary did not argue the point. Soulaviers sternness passed and he smiled broadly. I appreciate conversation with people from outside. He touched his head. Sometimes we grow too used to where we live. Standing, brushing grains of sand from his black pants, he looked past the boardwalk to the police station. The Inspector General may be ready now.

One more skull on the pile Might knock the whole mountain down... Popular song lyric

42

You didnt sleep last night, Nadine said, puffy features betraying crossness, her own lack of sleep, her closeness to the edge. + It must be a strain looking after someone who acts crazy when that is ones own chosen mode. She sat on the bedroom chair with legs crossed and flimsy nightie pulled up over her knees. Im not making breakfast today. You didnt eat my dinner last night. Richard lay on the bed tracking with his eyes an anaent earthquake line through the ceiling plaster. I dreamed he escaped to Hispaniola, he said casually. Who, Goldsmith? I dreamed hes there now, and theyre putting him under a clamp. Why would they do that if Colonel Sir is his friend? That would be awful, Nadine said, fidgeting. But theres no way of knowing. Im connected with him, Richard said. I know. You couldnt know, she said softly. A mystical connection. He stared at her intently, without hostility. I know what hes all about. I can feel it. Thats silly, she said even more softly. He looked back to the ceiling. He wouldnt just leave us without a reason. Richard... Hes hiding from the pd. Richard shook his head, convinced otherwise. Hes where he always wanted to be, but theyve got a few surprises in store for him. He talked about Guinsometimes. Where the hens come from. Nadine laughed. It was a dream Africa. He thought Yardley was making the best spot on Earth. He thought Hispaniolans were the best people on Earth. He said they were sweet and kind and didnt deserve their history. The USA betrayed the black people there, just as they betrayed the black people here. Not I, Nadine said archly. Listen, Ill make breakfast. Were all responsible. We all need to break away from what we are, from our failures. Maybe war is a kind of breaking away, a nation becoming something else. Do you think so? No opinion, Nadine said. You must be hungry, Richard. Its been twenty four hours since you last ate. Lets eat and talk about your manuscript. He flung his band up as if tossing something. Gone. Worthless. I have it inside me but I cant express it. Emanuel wouldnt betray me. He meant me to learn something through our connection. To learn what it takes to triumph over our desperate histories. Nadine closed her eyes and pressed her temples with her knuckles. Why am I staying with you? she asked. I dont know, Richard said sharply, sitting upright with a jerk. She jumped in surprise. Please dont keep on. I dont need you. I need time to think. Richard, she beseeched, youre hungry. Youre not thinking straight. I know the Selector scared you. He scared me too. But they werent looking for you or me. They were looking for him. If they come back, well tell them hes in Hispaniola and they wont bother us anymore. He stretched deliberately, like an aging cat. His joints popped. Selectors are full of shit, he said calmly. Almost everybody I know is full of shit. Agreed, Nadine said. Maybe even we are full of shit. He disregarded that and stood as if about to make a pronouncement. She stood also. Juice? Some food? Ill make breakfast if you promise to eat it. He nodded. All right. Ill eat. From the kitchen Nadine said, Can you really feel a connection to him? Ive heard about that, you know. In twins. She laughed. You couldnt possibly be twins, could you? In the living room Richard watched the LitVid intently. There was no news on AXISs explorations. That was significant- Even the far stars showed the truth: things were out of balance. Something drastic bad to be done to set them back in order.

... those of us black people carried from Africa to other parts of the world, especiaLly to the United States, are known to be in total ignorance of many truths, including what we are really like, what iaw have been made into by slavey and/or colonialism, and above all, how to care for our lares and penates, our household gods. Katherine Dunham, Island Pauened

43

In an hour or so well give you the first vial of nanomachines, Margery said. Theyll take a few hours to work into your system. Youll be asleep. At first your brain activity will be electronically controlled and then the nano will take charge, bringing you down to a level of what we call neutral sleep. You wont be consciously aware of anything after that until we wake you up again. Do you have any questions? Goldsmith shook his head. Lets go. Is there anything more youd like to tell us? Anything you think is important? I dont know. Its all kind of scary now. Do you know what youll look for, what you might find? Youll learn whether or not Im deranged? We know that already, Erwin said. Youre not deranged in any biological sense. Within certain limits your brain and body functions are normal. I dont sleep as much as I used to, Goldsmith said. Yes. They knew that already. Is this my time to confess again? Im not sure what you want to know. If theres anything important youve left out, tell us, Erwin reiterated. Well, Jesus, bow can I know whats important? Is there any question we havent asked that you think we should? Expression of deep thought. You never asked what was thinking about while killing the friends, he said. (Did you catch that? Martin asked Carol in the observation chamber. No personal pronouns at all, Carol said. Admitting nothing, not really, damn him, Martin said. Wheres Albigoni? He was supposed to be here by nine hundred.) What were you thinking about? Margery asked. They refused to see the way really am. They wanted somebody else. Dont understand that, but its true. Defense. They were trying to kill. Is that why you killed them? Goldsmith shook his head stubbornly. Why not just put me to sleep now and lets get on with it. We have another fifty minutes, Margery said. Its all on schedule. Is there anything more youd like to tell us? Id like to tell you how miserable it is, Goldsmith said. I dont even feel as if Im alive now. I dont feel any guilt or responsibility. Ive tried to write poetry while being stuck in here and I cant. Im dead inside. Is this remorse? Youre psychologists. Can you tell me what Im feeling? Not yet, Erwin said. Lascal stood watching in the corner, saying nothing. He held his chin in one cupped hand, elbow resting in the other hand. You asked me who I am. Well, Ill tell you what Im not. Im not even a human being now. I have no sense of direction. Ive screwed up everything. Everything is gray. Its not uncommon when someone is under severe stress Margery began. But Im in no danger now. I trust Tom. I trust you folks. He wouldnt have hired you if you werent good. Erwin inclined with professional modesty. Thank you. Goldsmith looked around the room. Ive been stuck here for over a day now and I dont really care. I could stay here forever -and it wouldnt bother me. Am I being punished? Am I getting depressed? I dont think so, Erwin said. But Goldsmith held up his hand and leaned forward as if to confide. Killed them. Deserve some punishment. Not just this. Something much worse. Should have gone to the Selectors. I agreed with John Yardley all the way. What would he do now? If he was a friend, hed punish me. Goldsmiths voice did not rise in volume or tone. (Flat affect, Martin said, muffling his words with two liptapping fingers. He lifted the fingers away. Thats all for now. They can withdraw.) A signal light came on in Goldsmiths room. Margery and Erwin said good bye to Goldsmith, folded their slates shut and stepped through the open door. Lascal followed them. Martin and Carol continued watching for a few moments after Goldsmith was alone. He sat on the bed, hands dasping the edge of the mattress, one band slowly clenching and releasing. Then he stood up and began to exercise. Carol swiveled on her chair to face Martin. Any dues? Martin grimaced doubtfully. Clues in abundance, but they contradict. Were handicapped by not having studied multiple murderers before. I know the flat affect is meaningful. Im puzzled by his willingness to admit involvement in the murder, but to avoid using the personal pronoun. That might be protective evasion. Doesnt sound like a very specific diagnosis, Carol said. Lascal, Margery, and Erwin came into the observation room. Erwin laid his slate on the desk and stretched his arms over his head, sighing deeply. Lascal looked uncomfortable but said nothing. He folded his arms and stood near the door. Hes a glacier, Erwin said. If Id just murdered eight people Id be uno pica upset. That man is covered over by deep arctic ice. Margery agreed. She removed her lab coat and sat on the desktop beside Erwin. Only my love for science could keep me in the same room with that man, she said. We may have a trapdoor personality, Carol said. Someone in hiding. Its possible, Martin concurred. He addressed the room manager. Id like to i-un avid of Goldsmith taken several years ago. Vid library personal tape two. The wall display illuminated and a flat picture filled the screen: Goldsmith standing at a podium before a packed lecture hail. This was shot at UC Mendocino in 2045. His famous Yardley speech. Got him more publicity and sold more books than anything he had ever done before. Notice the mannerisms. Goldsmith smiled at the overflow audience, shuffled a small stack of papers on the podium and lifted his hand as if he were a conductor about to begin a piece of music. He nodded to himself and said, I am a man without a country. A poet who does not know where he lives. Now how did this come about? Black people are economically integrated in our society; I cannot say I face any more social discrimination for my race than a poet does for being a poet or a scientist for being a scientist. But until last year I have always known a deep feeling of spiritual isolation. If youve read my recent poems Pause vid, Martin said. Notice. Hes smooth, energetic, alive. He could be a different man from the one we have here. His face is active. Its thoughtful, worried and animated. Theres somebody at home. Carol nodded. Maybe we have a traumatized primary personality. Martin nodded. Now watch. Resume vid play. you've noticed my concern for a place that doesnt exist. I call it Guin just as my friends in Hispaniola do; its the home, the father and motherland none of us can return to, the Africa of our dreams. For blacks in the New World modern Africa bears no resemblance to the land we imagine. I dont know how it is for a caucasian or an oriental or even for other blacks but this dissociation, this cutting off of my mind from its home distresses me. You see, I believe that there was a beautiful place once called Africa, before the slavers came, no better perhaps than any other home, but where I would feel I belonged; a place with little industrialization, no machinery to speak of, a place of farmers and villagers, tribes and kings, nature religions, a place where gods came and spoke to the people directly through ones own mouth. The dream he now denies, Margery said. Martin agreed but held his finger to his lips and pointed to the screen. But I must say this dream is not clear to me all the time. Mostly when I think about living in such a place I am torn and bewildered. I wouldnt know how to live there. I was born in the real world of machines, a world where god never speaks to us, never makes us dance or act foolish, a land where religions must be sedate and solemn and inoffensive; where we pour our energies into monuments of intellect and architecture while neglecting the things we truly need: solace for our pain, a connection with the Earth, a feeling of belonging. And yet I do not belong in this world either. I have no home except for the one I describe in my poetry. Vid pause, Martin ordered. He glanced at the six in the room, eyebrows raised, soliciting comment. Lascal spoke. The man we have isnt Emanuel Goldsmith. He smiled sheepishly. Whatever that means. But he is, Carol said. Physically, Lascal said. Mr. Albigoni commented on this also. When Goldsmith first showed up after the murders and confessed it was as if he described something done by somebody else. But bes really changed. Granted, Martin said, the restless irritation growing. But were beating around the burning bush here. In the vid, he speaks of being possessed by gods. He speaks of Hispaniola. Now, Im not up on what the current state of vodoun is in Hispaniola, or the state of any other religion there sauce Yardley took over. But we all know the clinical origin of possession, whether it be by gods or devils. Either through acculturation or through some personal need, or both, a subpersonality is created, usually from an elevated talent or agent. The subpersonality assumes an unprecedented power over the primary personality, pushes it aside and takes control. During the possession the subpersonality cuts off the primary from all memory and sensorium. Now listen to this. Resume vid playback. Goldsmith looked across the sea of faces, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. Home is where a man knows who he is. If he sticks his finger in the earth he plugs into a circuit. The gods come up through the earth or out of the sky and take a seat in his head. His friends might speak with gods tongues. He might do so himself. All is connected. I believe there was once a time like this, a platinum age beyond gold, and believing this causes me enormous pain... Because I cannot return to that. The only gods speaking in me, if you can call it speaking, even when I write poetry, are large white gods, gods of science and technology, gods who ask questions and are skeptical about answers. I am a black man in skin only; my soul is white. I stick a finger into the earth and feel mud. I write poetry and it is a white man trying to write black poetry. He raised his hand to vocal protests from the audience. I know better than you. My people were ripped from the womb of Guinbefore they were mature. Slavers on the coast of souls severed their culture and scattered their nations and families. That jagged wound of the abortion of an entire people runs like a continental rift through all the generations before me. So now we are integrated, we are truly a part of this culture that grew out of the abortionists and slaves of centuries ago. We are one with our conquerors, killers and rapists... blood and. . . and soul. That is what I write about. The battle is over. We have been absorbed. So is there a black man on this continent who is not white in his soul? I went to Hispaniola, to Cuba, to Jamaica, to find men black through and through. I found a few. I did not go to Africa because the twentieth century turned it into a charnel house. Plague and war and famine... If Africa had ever had a chance of returning to that paradise called Guin the twentieth century killed that chance, and tens of millions of people with it. SO when I traveled to the Caribbean, what did I find? In Hispaniola, once also ravaged by plague and revolution, I found a white man like Dambalia who loved Erzulie, a man who had a soul that rightfully belonged to me, the soul of a true black. He could stick his finger into the earth and truthfully say he was home, that the current of Hispaniola flowed through him. His name is Colonel Sir john Yardley. When I faced him, I felt as if I stared at a photographic negative of myself, inside and outside. When be came to Hispaniola, after a few rugged and cruel years the island blossomed for him. He gave the people a sense of worth. So it is unjust to call him a white dictator or to question his political tactics. Now, in all he says and does, he comes from out of Guin& and he spreads the heritage of Guinto those who would never listen before. I have failed, but he has not. Vid off, Martin said. Friends, when Carol and I enter the Country were going to know only a few things but theyll be important. One, Emanuel Goldsmith has been a victim of internal personality warfare for at least the past decade. I would guess even longer. And two: hell have acquired a sub-personality substantially like that of John Yardley. Lord, I hope not, Karl Anderson said. Goldsmith seems w think Yardleys a saint. Hes anything but. Question not the logic of our souls, Carol quoted. Bhuwani. Mr. Lascal, tell Mr. Albigoni were going to inject nanomachines into Goldsmith forty five minutes from now, Martin said. He should be there. Were going to inject ourselves with nanomachines this evening. By early tomorrow morning we should be able to take a dip into the Country. Ill call him, Lascal said and left the room. The others departed to prepare the theater for the next step. Carol remained, lounging back in a swivel chair, legs crossed on the desktop. She regarded Martin steadily, lips pressed together, though her expression overall was speculative and even amused. Is he going to stick with us? Martin asked Carol, showing tus aggravation now. Who? Lascal? Albigoni. Martin, hes lost his daughter. Hes having a very rough crime. When we put those nanomachines in itll be difficult to oack off. I hope he understands that. Ill make that my concern. And whose concern will it be when were in the Country? Carol inclined. Ill talk to him before we inject just to .tiake sure.