Furthermore, we can assume that he was unhappy seeing his Victoire exhibited like a fairground attraction, gifted though she was. Consequently, he took his courage in both hands and informed Anne-Marie that it was causing too much expense. Just the drinks were exorbitant! He backed up his grievances by listing the cost of the brandy, aged rum, anisette from Bordeaux, and gin she gave to her guests. Cursing his miserliness, Anne-Marie, whose dowry, lest we forget, brought neither a bank account, property, nor country estate, had to accept.
The receptions came to an end. The operation, whose point was to crown Victoire with prestige, had failed. The recently created association of cooks did in fact offer her the honorary presidency. But she declined the offer, which was felt as an insult.
Pursuing my comparison, like many writers and artists, Victoire cared little for recognition by the Other. On the contrary, her shyness made her cherish her anonymity. Cooking was her way of satisfying an inner need.
I N THE MEANTIME , Jeanne was growing up.
She spoke Creole only with her mother, since Anne-Marie forbade speaking this jargon under her roof, even with the servants. They should be addressed in French. They would jabber as best they could in reply.
Ever since Jeanne was seven or eight, her skin had darkened to a deep brown, which was surprising if you think of Victoire’s color. Likewise, her hair, first curly then curled tight like an Arab shepherd’s, turned frizzy and kinky while remaining thick and long. In this color-obsessed society, did she suffer from being so different from her mother, from having come out the “wrong” color? I haven’t a clue. Throughout her life she made a point of despising the light-skinned
peaux-chappées,
rewriting in her manner the Song of Songs:
I am black and I am beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem,
Black as the tents of Kedar
As the curtains of Solomon.
Everyone concurred that she was cold, aloof, and not at all agreeable. She talked very little and smiled even less. Always impassive, she tolerated without blinking the strangest situations. At mealtimes, she would take her place at the oval table in the dining roomthat was covered in crystal, porcelain, and silverware. Meanwhile, her mother would be busy serving the meal before eating with her hands out of a calabash on her lap in the yard. Jeanne would wash in the children’s bathroom using perfumed soap, talcum powder, and lotion, whereas her mother rubbed her own body down with a clump of straw in the servants’ washhouse. Thanks to Anne-Marie, who once a quarter drew up a list of items to be ordered from the department stores in Paris, Jeanne wore dresses, shoes, and hats in the latest fashion, whereas her mother in headtie went barefoot or wore slippers and shapeless
golle
dresses. Since Anne-Marie disliked the promiscuity of school, although it was reserved for white children, the destitute widow of a former plantation owner, Mme. de Saunier du Val, came to teach Jeanne as well as Boniface Jr. the rudiments of reading and writing. What never ceases to surprise me is that mother and daughter didn’t make use of the occasion to share the same alphabet primer, Jeanne teaching Victoire the alphabet, both of them making mistakes, reciting and deciphering the letters together, and that Victoire remained illiterate as before. Was she ashamed of putting herself on the same level as her daughter? Was she afraid of Mme. Saunier du Val, hardly affable, like all those who have suffered a reversal of fortune? Whatever the case, she missed an opportunity to remedy a flaw that afflicted her throughout her life.
La bayè ba, sé là bèf ka janbé.
There where the fence is down, the bull jumps through. Creole proverb.
The servants who feared and were jealous of Victoire did not dare take it out on her. Instead, they took their revenge on her little girl. Flaminia burnt her on the shoulder with an iron. She bore this mark all her life.
The receptions came to an end. The operation, whose point was to crown Victoire with prestige, had failed. The recently created association of cooks did in fact offer her the honorary presidency. But she declined the offer, which was felt as an insult.
Pursuing my comparison, like many writers and artists, Victoire cared little for recognition by the Other. On the contrary, her shyness made her cherish her anonymity. Cooking was her way of satisfying an inner need.
I N THE MEANTIME , Jeanne was growing up.
She spoke Creole only with her mother, since Anne-Marie forbade speaking this jargon under her roof, even with the servants. They should be addressed in French. They would jabber as best they could in reply.
Ever since Jeanne was seven or eight, her skin had darkened to a deep brown, which was surprising if you think of Victoire’s color. Likewise, her hair, first curly then curled tight like an Arab shepherd’s, turned frizzy and kinky while remaining thick and long. In this color-obsessed society, did she suffer from being so different from her mother, from having come out the “wrong” color? I haven’t a clue. Throughout her life she made a point of despising the light-skinned
peaux-chappées,
rewriting in her manner the Song of Songs:
I am black and I am beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem,
Black as the tents of Kedar
As the curtains of Solomon.
Everyone concurred that she was cold, aloof, and not at all agreeable. She talked very little and smiled even less. Always impassive, she tolerated without blinking the strangest situations. At mealtimes, she would take her place at the oval table in the dining roomthat was covered in crystal, porcelain, and silverware. Meanwhile, her mother would be busy serving the meal before eating with her hands out of a calabash on her lap in the yard. Jeanne would wash in the children’s bathroom using perfumed soap, talcum powder, and lotion, whereas her mother rubbed her own body down with a clump of straw in the servants’ washhouse. Thanks to Anne-Marie, who once a quarter drew up a list of items to be ordered from the department stores in Paris, Jeanne wore dresses, shoes, and hats in the latest fashion, whereas her mother in headtie went barefoot or wore slippers and shapeless
golle
dresses. Since Anne-Marie disliked the promiscuity of school, although it was reserved for white children, the destitute widow of a former plantation owner, Mme. de Saunier du Val, came to teach Jeanne as well as Boniface Jr. the rudiments of reading and writing. What never ceases to surprise me is that mother and daughter didn’t make use of the occasion to share the same alphabet primer, Jeanne teaching Victoire the alphabet, both of them making mistakes, reciting and deciphering the letters together, and that Victoire remained illiterate as before. Was she ashamed of putting herself on the same level as her daughter? Was she afraid of Mme. Saunier du Val, hardly affable, like all those who have suffered a reversal of fortune? Whatever the case, she missed an opportunity to remedy a flaw that afflicted her throughout her life.
La bayè ba, sé là bèf ka janbé.
There where the fence is down, the bull jumps through. Creole proverb.
The servants who feared and were jealous of Victoire did not dare take it out on her. Instead, they took their revenge on her little girl. Flaminia burnt her on the shoulder with an iron. She bore this mark all her life.
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