The accident version was concocted by Giorgios. For Léo’s sake, he couldn’t have been wiser.
Once I recovered, Giorgios and I had a long, serious discussion. It was a real heart-to-heart talk, something we had never had before. He analyzed his act and told me he had done it for fear of losing me. He couldn’t bear the idea and even considered committing suicide. He cried softly.
He had had time to ponder over his impulsive gesture and kept saying, as if to himself, “Life is sweet. It is precious. What demon got hold of me? I’m not asking you to forgive me, Harry, but you should know that l’m a different, perhaps a better person now. It sounds silly but you’ve opened my eyes.”
I believed in his sincerity, yet couldn’t decide on what course of action to take. I needed time to reflect. I felt no bitterness against Giorgios nor was there any of that pity I had felt towards him the evening he knelt before me begging for my indulgence.
We embraced and I said to him, “With the commissaire, it’s really unimportant. Don’t let it bother you; it’s practically over.”
I had spoken somewhat prematurely, yet I hadn’t lied.
***
Eric spaced his visits and, when I told him I would rather we didn’t see each other anymore, he showed no reticence, no regrets.
I hesitated long before “readmitting” Giorgios to our house and had to prepare both Léo and Mama Malkia.
“Since the accident, he’s been awfully nice to me,” I told them. “He’s a different man; you will see for yourselves.”
Léo looked at me with disbelief and asked about Monsieur le Commissaire. My answer saddened him. Then suddenly he said, imploringly, “He won’t hurt you, papa?”
Mama Malkia’s reaction was as violent as I had expected it to be. “A mazimu who’s a drunkard on top of it. And you want him to come back here! M’sieur Harry, you’re making a big mistake, let me warn you. The accident, tsss tsss,” she hissed. “One of these days he will roll over your body. The accident, ha! But don’t count on me — for me, he doesn’t exist!”
Mama Malkia kept her word. As soon as she would see Giorgios’ car approaching the driveway, she would disappear, refusing to serve “that nioka (serpent).” She also threatened to go away. Léo became literally sick. That was the only reason she stayed on.
I had taken a great risk but couldn’t let Giorgios down, not this time. The period of readjustment was a delicate one. I had almost made an enemy of Mama Malkia and, though Léo acknowledged the change in Giorgios, I knew he didn’t like him. I wanted my son to understand that I, too, had certain needs. He was young but I couldn’t go on evading the question. So I decided to be more explicit about my tendencies.
***
That Sunday morning the weather was crisp and sunny. We were walking amid the flower-scented paths of the Spandre estate in Elisabethville’s northern outskirts. Now and then the breeze wafted the potent, invigorating odor of eucalyptus. It was one of our favorite spots. When Léo was younger, we used to go there more often and spend one or two hours admiring the lush vegetation or watching people fish at the pond. The place, with its pastel hues and royal water lilies, could have been painted by Monet. A stone’s throw away, Gauguin’s fiery colors would come alive; birds of paradise, arums and clusters of hibiscus offered their corollas to the sun’s balmy embrace. We would pick ourselves basketfuls of freshly cut strawberries, vegetables, and the dairy products for which Spandre was so famous. Here and there, hatted ladies accompanied by farm piccaninnies armed with shears would halt in front of a bed of carnations or gladioli. On the other side, through a curtain of leaves, one could perceive a wheelcart drawn by a pair of oxen.
I needed nature’s complicity to broach this most sensitive of subjects, and beauty does have a way of smoothing out life’s rougher edges.
A brief spell of dizziness took hold of me as I lifted my gaze to the sky. I clutched Léo’s hand and it went away. Something strange was happening to me as I was talking. It had the effect of a daydream. Léo’s silence resounded with my words. It was no longer my voice that spoke, but his, and now I seemed to be the one listening. In fact, what I was hearing was a reverse monologue, punctuated by the rumors that surrounded us.
“Granddad never did like you, papa…I know how much you missed your beloved mom, Susan. She’s so lovely in that picture hanging above the piano…and so young, you look like brother and sister…granddad didn’t have the right to say that she died because of you…you were very shy with girls, papa, and thought that one day perhaps you would meet someone as beautiful as Susan…you searched and searched but couldn’t find her. Yet you didn’t like being with boys, either. Their games were too rough for you. And so you preferred to remain alone. I, at least, have Ishaya and you and Mama Malkia…
“Then, when you were almost a man, you met John. He was the gentlest and most wonderful person you had ever encountered. With him you understood that people could live differently…
“People were confused when you adopted me… Monsieur Giorgios thought you wouldn’t be able to manage and advised you against the idea. But nothing would stop you and you did have a friend in Madame Janine… Now everybody’s used to seeing you as my father. I don’t remember who it was, but someone called you a pédéraste. I was terribly hurt and looked up the word in the dictionary. But I wouldn’t, for all the gold in the world, have another papa, my papa…
“Some people believe you were born as…as if you had a sickness of some kind. Yet you prefer to let them talk. It’s a matter of conscience, you say, so personal that even I should make up my mind about it. You claim you had no choice and tell me the happiest moment of your life will be the day when I will have a child of my own from the woman I will cherish… Papa, don’t let’s continue…my heart is going to burst…I want to go back home to Mama Malkia. I can’t explain why, but now that you’ve told me all this, I’m afraid of Monsieur Giorgios… Do tell him not to come this evening…or any other evening. I’m sorry…so sorry.
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