Another Sun

306 Pages·2013·1.22 MB·English

by  Williams Timothy

This work was first published in French, as Un Autre Soleil, in 2011.
Copyright © 2011, Editions Payot & Rivages First published in English by Soho Press in 2012.
English copyright © 2012 by Timothy Williams Published by
Soho Press, Inc.
853 Broadway
New York, NY 10003
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Williams, Timothy.
[Autre soleil. English]
Another sun / Timothy Williams; translated from the French by the author.
p. cm.
“This work was first published in French, as Un Autre Soleil, in 2011.”
eISBN: 978-1-61695157-3
I. Title.
PR6073.I43295A913 2012
2012027237
Map of Guadeloupe: © istockphoto
v3.1_r1
À la mémoire de Claude Ruette
Ils font toujours braire.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
1. Tim Tim
2. Twelve bore
3. Pointe-à-Pitre
4. Lafitte
5. Hégésippe Bray
6. Pâtisserie
7. Suez-Panama
8. Convent
9. Rue de la République
10. Morne-à-l’Eau
11. Witch
12. Alfa Romeo
13. Le Raizet
14. Raymond Calais
15. Town Hall
16. Honeymoon
17. Reconstitution
18. Maison d’Arrêt
19. Cell
20. Chair
21. Sin of Omission
22. Renseignements Généraux
23. Algeria
24. Sainte Marthe
25. Tetanus
26. Coconut
27. Madame Calais
28. Pol Pot
29. United States
30. Machete
31. Shadow
32. Mother and Son
33. Place de la Victoire
34. FR3
35. Sub judice
36. Laurel et Hardy
37. Jacques Calais
38. de Gaulle
39. Funeral
40. Panhard
41. Reception
42. Cole
43. Seersucker
44. Pro Patria
45. Rain
46. Bally
47. Fairy tales
48. Tear gas
49. Massif central
50. Basse Terre
51. La Coloniale
52. Shoe box
53. Forensic
54. Hotel
55. School
56. Mother in law
57. St.-Laurent-du-Maroni
58. Point-Blank
59. Worry
60. Sodeca
61. New York
62. Lies
63. Couscous
64. Van Cleef
65. Commissariat
66. 97-1
67. Casuarina
68. Moon
69. Fontainebleau
70. Pistolero
71. Return
72. Truth
73. Children
74. Boulevard Légitimus
75. Bois sec
Sneak Preview from The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe

1
TIM TIM
It was past six o’clock and night had begun to fall.
The group of men moved aside as the Land Rover came down the
track. The whip aerial swayed against the red sky. The yellow beams
were like two eyes.
The Land Rover halted and the engine was turned off. The toads
resumed their loud monotonous croaking in the grass.
Two white men jumped down. They wore kepis, neat khaki uniforms
and black shoes. They walked toward the group of waiting men.
The driver remained sitting behind the wheel.
“What is it?” one of the gendarmes asked, turning to an old man.
The old man was holding a bicycle. He had one hand on the cracked
leather saddle, and with the other, he pointed to the middle of the pond.
The black water reflected the lingering light of day.
A dark, humped shape was caught among the reeds.
“A man?”
The old man shrugged.
The others stood in silence. Some wore rubber boots, several had
narrow machetes that hung loosely in their hands. Their eyes followed
the two white gendarmes.
“I’ve never seen this pond before.”
“It comes with the rain.” The old man spoke in Creole.
The fronds swayed and creaked. The pond lay in the hollow of the
sloping valley. Grass-covered hills ran down to the edge of the white dirt
track and its two parallel lines of coconut trees. To the east, against the
darkening hill top, rose the gaunt silhouette of the derelict sugar
refinery. A couple of hangars and a tall, crumbling chimney that pointed
to the sky and the rising half moon.
The gendarme turned to his companion. “You’d better pull whatever it
is out of the water.”
“The water is infected—there’s bilharzia.” Anxiety in the eyes beneath
the brim of the kepi.
“The cows drink the water.” The captain pointed to the dark forms of
an indistinct herd of cattle grazing on the far side of the pond.
As if in acquiescence, a cow emitted a single, mournful low. Elsewhere
in the valley, another cow gave an answering call.
The third gendarme slipped from behind the driver’s seat and began to
undress. “I’ll go.”
The captain returned to the vehicle and leaned inside the Land Rover.
He then clambered onto the rigid bonnet. A searchlight on the roof came
alight, and he aimed the beam toward the dark water. A mist had started
to form, dancing wisps along the surface.
The gendarme had stripped to his underclothes; he walked across the
grass and stepped into the pond.
“A damn fool wanting to fish.” Behind the searchlight, the captain lit a
cigarette.
The old man said, almost under his breath. “No fish in that water.”
The black gendarme stepped further into the pond. A circle of light
followed his movements. He gave a curse, stumbled and began to swim,
only his head above the water. A couple of strokes brought him
alongside the floating object.
He stood up, took hold of the nerveless bundle and waded back
toward the edge of the pond, bright rivulets streaming down his face and
body. He squeezed his nose and spat into the water. “He’s dead.”
Throwing away his cigarette, the captain jumped from the roof of the
Land Rover while the crowd moved forward. Many hands helped drag
the body onto the grass.
The corpse lay like a landed fish, transfixed by the single beam of the
searchlight.
The captain crouched down and ran his hand over the bloated, pale
flesh. In the light, the fingers cast spiderlike shadows.
“Gunshot wounds.”
Red mounds against the white skin.
“Stand back,” he ordered and, tugging with both hands, the captain
pulled at the corpse.
It rolled over slowly, the body faster than the head. The mouth fell