VIII.
… "OU c'est bonhomme caton?-ou c'est zimage, non?" (Am I a
pasteboard man, or an image, that I do not eat?) Cyrillia wants
to know. The fact is that I am a little overfed; but the
stranger in the tropics cannot eat like a native, and my
abstemiousness is a surprise. In the North we eat a good deal
for the sake of caloric; in the tropics, unless one be in the
habit of taking much physical exercise, which is a very difficult
thing to do, a generous appetite is out of the question.
Cyrillia will not suffer me to live upon mangé-Creole altogether;
she insists upon occasional beefsteaks and roasts, and tries to
tempt me with all kinds of queer delicious, desserts as well,—
particularly those cakes made of grated cocoanut and sugar-syrup
(tablett-coco-rapé) of which a stranger becomes very fond. But,
nevertheless, I cannot eat enough to quiet Cyrillia's fears.
Not eating enough is not her only complaint against me. I am
perpetually doing something or other which shocks her. The
Creoles are the most cautious livers in the world, perhaps;—the
stranger who walks in the sun
without an umbrella, or stands in
currents of air, is for them an object of wonder and compassion.
Cyrillia's complaints about my recklessness in the matter of
hygiene always terminate with the refrain: "
Yo pa fai ça içi"—
(People never do such things in Martinique.) Among such rash acts
are washing one's face or hands while perspiring, taking off
one's hat on coming in from a walk, going out immediately after a
bath, and washing my face with soap. "Oh, Cyrillia! what
foolishness!—why should I not wash my face with soap?" "Because
it will blind you," Cyrillia answers: "
ça ké tchoué limiè zié
ou" (it will kill the light in your eyes). There is no cleaner
person than Cyrillia; and, indeed among the city people, the
daily bath is the rule in all weathers; but soap is never used on
the face by thousands, who, like Cyrillia, believe it will "kill
the light of the eyes."
One day I had been taking a long walk in the sun, and returned so
thirsty that all the old stories about travellers suffering in
waterless deserts returned to memory with new significance;—visions
of simooms arose before me. What a delight to see and to grasp the
heavy, red, thick-lipped dobanne, the water-jar, dewy and cool
with the exudation of the Eau-de-Gouyave which filled it to the
brim,—toutt vivant, as Cyrillia says, "all alive"! There was a
sudden scream,—the water-pitcher was snatched from my hands by
Cyrillia with the question: "Ess ou lè tchoué có-ou?—Saint
Joseph!" (Did I want to kill my body?) … The Creoles use the
word "body" in speaking of anything that can happen to one,—"hurt
one's body," "tire one's body," "marry one's body," "bury one's
body," etc.;—I wonder whether the expression originated in zealous
desire to prove a profound faith in the soul. … Then Cyrillia
made me a little punch with sugar and rum, and told me I must never
drink fresh-water after a walk unless I wanted to kill my body. In
this matter her advice was good. The immediate result
of a cold
drink while heated is a profuse and icy perspiration, during which
currents of air are really dangerous. A cold is not dreaded
here, and colds are rare; but pleurisy is common, and may be the
consequence of any imprudent exposure.
I do not often have the opportunity at home of committing even
an unconscious imprudence; for Cyrillia is ubiquitous, and always
on the watch lest something dreadful should happen to me. She is
wonderful as a house-keeper as well as a cook: there is certainly
much to do, and she has only a child to help her, but she always
seems to have time. Her kitchen apparatus is of the simplest
kind: a charcoal furnace constructed of bricks, a few earthenware
pots (canar), and some grid-irons;—yet with these she can
certainly prepare as many dishes as there are days in the year.
I have never known her to be busy with her canari for more than
an hour; yet everything is kept in perfect order. When she is
not working, she is quite happy in sitting at a window, and
amusing herself by watching the life of the street,—or playing
with a kitten, which she has trained so well that it seems to
understand everything she says.
