The Boiling Season (26 page)

“Thank you.”

“It's nothing, Alexandre,” Paul said as the car pulled away. “That's what friends are for.”

There was no question but that he meant every word.

T
hat night the wind blew in steadily from the bay, and just like the night before—though for a different reason—the faintest creaking of the trees was all it took for my eyes to spring open. I worried about whether I could really protect myself, and whether it would have been wiser to call the police than to let Georges and the other men get away with what they had done. But then again, the police had a way of simply compounding one's problems. I could never afford what it would have cost to convince them to care about what had happened. And for all I knew, Georges had already bought their favor.

I
t was dawn when the men Paul had sent arrived, and I had been awake for hours.

No more than twenty years old, both were confident and strong. They stood at the gate totally unself-conscious, thoroughly unimpressed with anything they could see beyond the wall.

The taller of the two caught my eye first. He was dressed in a wrinkled linen suit that had once been white. The cut and the collar reminded me of the one M. Swallows had once worn, but this one had to be half the size. The poor tourist who had lost it had at least been allowed to keep his shirt, or so I guessed by the fact that the young man wore nothing but a gold chain with a crucifix under the jacket. But there was something else too. An immense tattoo covered him from neck to navel. Not wanting to stare, I failed to make out what it was.

The other young man wore jeans and a T-shirt. So broad-shouldered was he that the sleeves of his shirt barely reached his armpits.

Between the two young men, more than a foot shorter, stood Hector, wearing his usual smile.

“This is my brother,” Hector said, pointing to the young man in the linen suit. “You can call him Dragon Guy.”

I could see the resemblance now, the long drawn-out mouth, the ears that appeared almost pinned back. But everything on Dragon Guy's face was firm and stern.

“Hello,” I said.

Dragon Guy stared straight through me.

“And this is Black Max,” Hector said, gesturing to the young man on his right. Black Max had a short, blunt nose and sunken cheeks and upward-slanted eyebrows. His skin was extremely dark, his name barely an exaggeration of his actual color. He nodded slightly when I shook his hand.

“And I believe you already know this man,” Dragon Guy said. His voice was surprisingly soft, almost sweet. He stepped aside, and only then did I see the body leaning up against the tree behind him. The man was partly slumped over, his chin dangling at his chest. I could not see his face, but his clothes were filthy and torn.

“Go on,” Black Max said, moving toward the man. “Say hello.” He reached down and put his hand under the man's chin. Receiving no response, he jerked the man's head back suddenly, making it strike the tree with a horrible thud.

The beaten, bloody face barely winced. One of the man's eyes was swollen shut and the other seemed almost to have rolled back into his head. I knew he was alive only because I could hear his shallow breathing. It would have been impossible for anyone to recognize him.

“Show monsieur what you brought him,” Black Max said. He moved his hand to the side of the man's head and pushed him into the dirt. Hector went around behind the tree and came back dragging several enormous sacks too big for him to carry.

“I understand this belongs to you,” Dragon Guy said. Hector set the sacks down at my feet. “And this is for you as well.” Dragon Guy reached down into his pants, pulling out something wrapped in an oily rag. He made it seem light, but my arm dropped under the weight.

“Do you know how to use it?” he asked.

For a moment I found myself afraid to admit that I even knew what it was. “No.”

“Hector will show you.”

Hector nodded gravely, as if hoping I might forget he was a child.

Squatting down, Black Max raised the arm of the beaten man, who now lay sprawled in the dirt. The arm waved grotesquely, flopping at the wrist.

I was surprised by how faintly the sight upset me. He looked even worse than the man I had watched Paul beat unconscious all those years ago. My tolerance for blood had never been great, but I had come to understand why such things were sometimes necessary. I had no desire to be ruthless, but neither could I afford to be meek.

“Say good-bye,” Black Max said. “Say good-bye, Georges. Good-bye, monsieur.” Still gripping the same arm, Black Max yanked Georges up. In one swift movement he threw the body over his shoulder, as if it were a sack of rice.

“Good-bye, monsieur,” Dragon Guy said as he turned to leave. “And please let us know if you have any more difficulties. Any friend of Paul's is a friend of ours.”

At the tree he joined his companion, and together they sauntered down the road back toward Cité Verd, Georges's body hanging lifelessly down Black Max's back.

“Come on.” Hector picked up the sacks. “I'll show you how it works.”

I was in no mood for company. “Later.” I gripped the gun by the barrel and walked back to the manor house alone.

T
hat afternoon, following lunch, I began the process of returning the items Dragon Guy had recovered to their rightful places. I knew exactly where each piece went. But I had been sorting through the sacks only a short time when I started to realize not everything had been accounted for. Several of the most precious pieces of crystal were missing. I looked everywhere, thinking I had perhaps misplaced one of the sacks. I went through every room, every closet, every cabinet. There was no trace.

I had Mona bring Hector to my office.

“Are you ready for your shooting lesson?” he said, flinging the door open. His preference was always for a grand entrance.

I said, “I want you to ask your brother if there was another sack he forgot to bring.”

Hector seemed taken aback. “There wasn't.”

“How do you know?”

“I know,” he said. “My brother can buy anything he wants. He doesn't need to steal.”

“I'm not accusing him of stealing,” I said, gesturing for him to remain calm. I was acutely aware in that moment of a desire somewhere inside me not to hurt the boy's feelings. Where did it come from, this peculiar instinct I had to protect him? “I'm simply saying there might be another sack somewhere.”

“There isn't.”

I was careful to maintain the same measured tone. “I want you to ask him anyway.”

Hector rose from his chair with a sigh. “Okay, but there isn't any other sack.”

As I watched him leave the room, I searched my mind for something more I should have said to convince him that he had done nothing wrong.

I
was sitting in the library reading, later that afternoon, when Mona came in to dust. She stood across the room with her back turned to me. “You're playing with fire, you know.”

A moment passed, and she said nothing more. She did not look at me. It was as if she were unwilling even to admit she had spoken. Why, I wondered, must we play these games? I considered turning the page and going on as if I had not heard her. But as Mona herself knew best, no one could beat her in a battle of wills.

“Are you talking to me?” I said.

She reached up to swat her duster across an upper shelf. “These are dangerous people.”

“I noticed,” I said. “If the gun didn't give it away, the beating they gave Georges certainly did.”

For the first time she turned around to look at me, and she made no effort to hide her disdain. “You don't know who they are, do you?”

“I know one of them is Hector's brother,” I said, but I could tell by the look on her face that that was not the correct answer.

“They call him Dragon Guy,” she said.

“I'm aware of that.”

“They call him Dragon Guy,” she said, “because he is fierce and because they think no one can kill him.”

She relayed this with an earnestness I had never before seen from her.

I nearly laughed. “Can he breathe fire, too?”

“What did you think?” she said. “That it was just a few foolish peasants with guns? That all of this would just go away?”

Never had she spoken to me in such a tone.

She raised her duster, and the air between us, lit by slants of sun breaking through the window, looked like an exploding universe. “It's an army,” she said. “There are hundreds of them, and it grows bigger every day. And all of them answer to Dragon Guy.”

“That's impossible,” I said.

“Why?”

“He's Hector's brother. He's barely more than a boy himself.”

“How old should he be?”

Was there not some minimum threshold below which such a thing was simply implausible? “But what does he know about fighting?”

“If someone attacks you, you fight back. What else is there to know?”

“He can't possibly win,” I said, fanning my book to part the cloud of dust.

“All I know,” she said, “is that when Dragon Guy gives the word, all of Cité Verd breathes fire. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I said, “but I cannot believe it.”

She turned to leave. “Have it your way.”

W
hen he returned that evening, Hector came to my office as instructed. But I could see in a glance that he was not happy to be there, that he was dreading the conversation to come. Knowing he felt that way made me even more anxious than I was already.

“There is no other sack,” he said sullenly. “Just like I told you.”

“I understand,” I said, trying to put him at ease. “It must have gotten lost. I'm grateful that your brother was able to recover what he did.”

Hector looked at me dubiously. Like a small child, he folded his legs beneath him on the seat.

“Your brother must be very busy,” I said. “I appreciate that he took the time to help me.”

Hector nodded warily.

“If not for the fact that you work here, perhaps he would not have been so willing to help.”

“He's a good brother.”

“I can see that,” I said, feeling as if we had finally found a place where both of us were comfortable. I was glad that we could pause, for it gave me a few seconds to ponder my way forward. As much as I might have liked to, I could not afford to dismiss this as just another instance of Mona looking for trouble where none existed. Although I trusted Hector more than I trusted just about anyone else, I could not afford to take chances.

“He seems like a very good brother,” I said. “And I understand he is quite powerful, too. That's why I'm a little surprised that you came here to work with us, instead of with him.”

Hector's feet began to press into the cushion. “I like it here,” he said.

“Why?”

“It's peaceful. And quiet. Nobody bothers you.”

As he spoke, I studied his scraped, scarred hands, his clear, steady eyes. Why should he not be here for precisely the same reasons I was?

“Does your brother mind?” I asked.

“Why would he mind?”

“People can resent it when you go off on your own. Even people who love you. Some people cannot understand that not everyone wants to lead the same kind of life.” With a smile I tried to show him that he had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. “We have more in common than you think,” I said.

“Oh.”

“Go get yourself some supper,” I said, reaching across to pat his small hand. I nearly rose to embrace him, but I knew that would be going too far. “I'll see you in the morning.”

T
he holes left by the missing crystal were impossible to hide. Madame could not help but notice. I had told her nothing about what had happened. It would have broken her heart to learn that people she had cared for and trusted had turned against her. But though I could think of no way around it, neither could I bring myself to write her the truth. Instead I filled my letters with news about everything else, in particular about how dry the weather continued to be. “We have closed all but the manor house pool and the pool at your villa,” I wrote.

The others will be easy enough to refill when the guests return. I see no reason to tax the springs any further than they already are. Of course, there is nothing to worry about. We have all the water we could need, but still it is better not to waste. After all, it is only a matter of time before the estate will be overrun with visitors again, and I intend to be ready. Toward that end we have been making steady progress. Of course, there is still a great deal to be done, but I feel everyone now understands their responsibilities. I have told you already about Raoul and Mona, but of late I have gotten the most help from a boy named Hector. He is only fifteen, but full of energy and enthusiasm. And most of all, he truly loves the estate, almost as much as you and I. I hope you can forgive my presumptuousness, but I think you will like him very much. He possesses precisely the kind of spirit I know you admire. All he needs is the proper education and training. I cannot wait until you have an opportunity to meet.

After all the flattering things I had to say about Hector, I could not bring myself to mention Dragon Guy. I knew Madame was aware of the fighting; she had alluded to it in more than one of her letters. But I did not believe she understood how bad it had become. In recent nights, it had truly begun to sound—as Mona had insisted—as if armies on both sides were squaring off for war. But for the first time since the fighting began, I was able to go to bed feeling secure that as long as Hector remained with us, Dragon Guy would keep us safe.

Chapter Twenty

T
he next morning, Hector did not come to the estate. In his place, I had to lend a hand to Raoul, who was trying to determine what was wrong with the fountain. Perhaps I should have been annoyed by the inconvenience, but I was more preoccupied with what Hector's absence meant. Never before had he failed to show up. I worried something had happened.

When it was time for lunch, we took a break. I hoped to find Hector waiting for us at the table, but Mona was there alone.

All day we worked without him, and neither did he appear for supper. It was not like him to miss a meal. Never had he disappeared without telling me.

“Have either of you heard anything from him?” I asked as I joined Mona and Raoul in the kitchen.

They both answered with silence.

“Where could he be?”

“If you find his brother,” Mona said as she gave the pot a few final stirs, “I'm sure you'll find him.”

“Hector is not his brother.” For Mona, everything was simple: Hector's brother was dangerous, and therefore Hector was, too. But there was more to the boy than she would ever understand. I had come to see that no one understood him as I did.

Mona dropped the pot on the table as if it were an unwieldy boulder. “If you know him so well, why are you asking us?”

“I apologize,” I said. “I made the mistake of thinking you might be concerned.”

What had happened, I wondered, as I watched her fill our bowls as if it were beneath her, that she suddenly felt she could treat me with such disrespect?

“I'll take supper in my office,” I said as I turned to go.

Mona pointed to my dish, as if to suggest I could carry it myself.

“Bring me coffee as well.”

I
do not know what time it was that night when the guns began their assault. There seemed to be no buildup, no first exchange. It was as if a single trip wire had triggered everyone at once. My nerves were triggered, too. Despite the distance between us and the battle in Cité Verd, I could feel each shot run through me like a charge. Sitting up in bed, I wondered how much the physical sensation owed to the darkness, which had a way of enveloping everything in a menacing kind of intimacy. Daylight could never produce this much terror.

President Duphay and his generals knew what they were doing, saving these incursions for the night. The choice had nothing to do with gaining tactical advantage. The only point was the effect it had on those of us who were merely observers, to be all the more thoroughly consumed with dread. Especially me, especially now, knowing Hector was caught in the middle of it, where I could not protect him.

As always, the guns faded as the darkness faded. By dawn it was over. But in my nerves the battle lingered. And my worry for the boy weighed even heavier on my heart. I wondered if my father had ever felt this way about me, if he ever lay awake at night fraught with worry. It was difficult to imagine. If anything, his hours were probably full of disappointment, tossing and turning as he despaired over the path I continued to follow. It was painful to consider how vindicated he would surely feel if he were to see me now.

I was still in bed, a short time later, when I heard banging on the gate. I did not waste time getting dressed. In my robe and slippers I hurried out of the manor house and up the drive. As I neared the top, I saw the flash of Hector's smile, and my knees nearly gave out beneath me. He stood with his feet on the bottom crossbar of the gate. With each hand clinging to one of the vertical bars, he swung happily back and forth, as if nothing could possibly be the matter.

“Where have you been?”

The smile dissolved from his face. Even I was a little surprised by the anger in my voice. But how could it not feel like a betrayal to see him behaving like this after having caused me such distress?

He hopped down from the crossbar. “I was busy.”

“Busy? Is that all you have to say? Don't you understand how sick I was with worry?”

Hector's throat constricted, but he did not speak.

“What exactly were you doing?”

Lowering his head, he toed aimlessly at the gravel. “Things.”

“You need to tell me when you're not going to come,” I said. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“I'm fine.”

As I went to open the gate, he stepped aside, and I happened to see the sparkle of something beneath his shirt.

“What is that?”

Hector took a step back and shrugged unconvincingly. “What?”

“Under your shirt.”

“Oh, that,” he said, grinning as if it were a special surprise.

He raised his shirt to show me the nickel-plated handle of a pistol poking out of his shorts, reflecting the morning sunlight like a mirror. The gun looked a lot like the one his brother had given me, but newer and cleaner.

“I thought you didn't want to be like your brother,” I said.

“I don't.”

Having just unlatched the gate, I quickly closed it again. “I won't allow weapons here.”

His eyes were sunk in dark circles. He, too, looked as if he had not slept. “What's the difference? You have one.”

“I have one for defense.”

“Mine's for defense too.”

“Mine is locked in a drawer,” I said.

Hector's hand traveled down to the band of his shorts. “I don't have a drawer.”

“If you want,” I said, offering my hand, “I'll gladly lock it in mine.”

He shook his head.

“The choice is yours,” I said. “You can come back when you change your mind.”

I felt miserable as I turned my back on him, but I knew I had no choice.

I was halfway to the manor house when I heard him call out.

“Monsieur.”

Somehow he had climbed up to the top of the gate. He hung there now with the crooks of his knees over the crossbar. Although his back faced the drive, he had wrenched his neck to look at me, and with a smile that seemed to be sliding away under the force of gravity, he pointed to his pistol lying in the gravel.

“Take it,” he said.

I rushed forward. “Give it to me,” I said, extending my hand. “And I will give you something in return.”

With astonishing speed Hector swung down from the gate.

“The room next to mine,” I said. “It has all the drawers you could ever need. And a bed.”

The smile spread all the way to his ears. If ever I had been in doubt, at that moment I knew for certain where his allegiances stood.