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2045) and a pitcher of water.
No courses; no ostentation. Just dinner. That suited her mood perfectly. She
wondered if the pair were mind readers. The fish was wonderfully flavorful,
flaky and moist; the sauce was mildly sweet and much more. Fiery, savory,
delicious.
She finished and thanked the pair yet again. As they cleared the table
Jean-Claude told her Colonel Sir was delivering a speech on the L Ouverture
net. There is a screen in the living room, Mademoiselle.
You ll tell me when my companions arrive? she asked.
Indeed yes.
She sat down before the small screen. A portable remote the size of her slate
controlled the lights and other appliances. She viewed a tiny tutorial on the
remote for a moment then entered the keypad control sequence to turn on the
screen, which automatically tuned to the island s vid net, named after Haitian
hero Toussaint
L Ouverture.
Idyllic scenes of this evening s sunset were being broadcast to soothing
strains of
Elgar; sun falling low over cactus forest and ocean dipping beyond the
Cul-de-Sac plain and Port-au-Prince, twilight in a mahogany grove, cruise
ships moored off Santo
Domingo, the Santo Domingo airport with perhaps her own scramjet dropping
slowly to a landing.
The music rose over one final spectacular view of Jean Christophe s La
Ferriere, ironically named after a blacksmith s bag: the immense fortress
built to repel the French, filled with blacksmith s scrap iron ancient cannon
that had never fired a shot.
What was it the exile had said two nights before, Christmas Eve... That
William
Raphkind should have killed himself with a silver bullet as Christophe bad,
over two centuries ago. A silver bullet fired from a golden pistol to kill a
supernatural being.
Raphkind had killed himself with poison.
A male announcer appeared in cameo over the virgin fortress. Good evening,
mesdames et messieurs. Colonel Sir John Yardley, President of Hispaniola, has
scheduled this time for a public address. The President speaks before the
parliament and the
National Council in the Court of Columbus in Cap Haitien.
Mary settled back, drowsy with food. She heard Roselle singing softly in the
kitchen in Creole.
Colonel Sir John Yardley appeared in closeup, tight full head of ashen hair,
long tanned face quite wrinkled but still sharp featured and handsome, full
lips held in a self assured half smile. He nodded to the unseen council and
members of the island parliament and without formalities began.
My friends, our situation this week is no better than last. Reserves in banks
domestic and foreign have fallen. Our credit is refused in twelve nations now
including the United States and Brazil, heretofore among our strongest allies.
We continue to tighten our belts and fortunately, Hispaniola has been
prosperous for long enough and we have enough reserves that we do not suffer.
Yardley retained a distinct British accent, but after thirty years it was
tempered by the precise singing diction of the islands.
But what lies in the future? In the past our children wandered around the
globe seeking education, and now we accept students who travel here to be
educated. Our island has come of age and we are mature enough to face
hardship. But what of our anger at being slighted yet again? Hispaniola is
well aware of the winds of history. Never has any spot on Earth suffered so
much at the hands of outsiders. The natives who first dwelled here in Paradise
were killed not just by Europeans, but by other Indians, the
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Carib, who in turn were massacred by Europeans... And then Africans were
brought here by the French, and they were slaughtered, and they turned around
and slaughtered their masters, and were slaughtered yet more; and then blacks
slaughtered each other and mulattoes slaughtered blacks and blacks slaughtered
mulattaes. Into this century the slaughters continued as we labored under
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