X.
… "OU 'lè màchanne!" rings out a rich alto, resonant as the
tone of a gong, from behind the balisiers that shut in our
garden. There are two of them—no, three—Maiyotte, Chéchelle,
and Rina. Maiyotte and Chéchelle have just arrived from St.
Pierre;—Rina comes from
Gros-Morne with fruits and vegetables.
Suppose we call them all in, and see what they have got.
Maiyotte and Chéchelle sell on commission; Rina sells for her mother,
who has a little garden at Gros-Morne.
… "Bonjou', Maiyotte;—bonjou', Chéchelle! coument ou
kallé, Rina, chè!" … Throw open the folding-doors to let
the great trays pass. … Now all three are unloaded by old
Théréza and by young Adou;—all the packs are on the floor, and
the water-proof wrappings are being un-corded, while Ah-Manmzell,
the adopted child, brings the rum and water for the
tall walkers. … "Oh, what a medley, Maiyotte!" … Inkstands
and wooden cows; purses and paper dogs and cats; dolls and
cosmetics; pins and needles and soap and tooth-brushes; candied
fruits and smoking-caps; pelotes of thread, and tapes, and
ribbons, and laces, and Madeira wine; cuffs, and collars, and
dancing-shoes, and tobacco sachets. … But what is in that
little flat bundle? Presents for your guêpe, if you have one. …
Fesis-Maïa!—the pretty foulards! Azure and yellow in
checkerings; orange and crimson in stripes; rose and scarlet in
plaidings; and bronze tints, and beetle-tints of black and green.
"Chéchelle, what a bloucoutoum if you should ever let that tray
fall—aïe yaïe yaïe!" Here is a whole shop of crockeries and
porcelains;—plates, dishes, cups,—earthen-ware canaris and
dobannes, and gift-mugs and cups bearing creole girls' names,—
all names that end in ine. "Micheline," "Honorine,"
"Prospérine" [you will never sell that, Chéchelle: there is not a
Prospérine this side of St. Pierre], "Azaline," "Leontine,"
"Zéphyrine," "Albertine," "Chrysaline," "Florine," "Coralline,"
"Alexandrine." … And knives and forks, and cheap spoons, and
tin coffee-pots, and tin rattles for babies, and tin flutes for
horrid little boys,—and pencils and note-paper and envelopes! …
… "Oh, Rina, what superb oranges!—fully twelve inches round-!
… and these, which look something like our mandarins, what do
you call them ?" "Zorange-macaque!" (monkey-oranges). And here
are avocados—beauties!—guavas of three different kinds,—
tropical cherries (which have four seeds instead of one),—
tropical raspberries, whereof the entire eatable portion comes
off in one elastic piece, lined with something like white
silk. … Here are fresh nutmegs: the thick green case splits in
equal halves at a touch; and see the beautiful heart within,—
deep dark glossy red, all wrapped in a bright net-work of flat
blood-colored fibre, spun over it like branching veins. … This
big heavy red-and-yellow thing is a pomme-cythère: the smooth
cuticle, bitter as gall, covers a sweet juicy pulp, interwoven
with something that seems like cotton thread. … Here is a
pomme-cannelle: inside its scaly covering is the most delicious
yellow custard conceivable, with little black seeds floating in
it. This larger corossol has almost as delicate an interior,
only the custard is white instead of yellow. … Here are
christophines,—great pear-shaped things, white and green,
according to kind, with a peel prickly and knobby as the skin of
a horned toad; but they stew exquisitely. And mélongènes, or
egg-plants; and palmiste-pith, and chadèques, and pommes-d'
Haïti,—and roots that at first sight look all alike, but they are
not: there are camanioc, and couscous, and choux-caraïbes, and
zignames, and various kinds of patates among them. Old Théréza's
magic will transform these shapeless muddy things, before
evening, into pyramids of smoking gold,—into odorous porridges
that will look like messes of molten amber and liquid pearl;—for
Rina makes a good sale.
Then Chéchelle manages to dispose of a tin coffee-pot and a big
canari. … And Maiyotte makes the best sale of all; for the
sight of a funny biscuit doll has made Ah-Manmzell cry and smile
so at the same time that I
should feel unhappy for the rest of my
life if I did not buy it for her. I know I ought to get some change
out of that six francs;—and Maiyotte, who is black but comely as the
tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon, seems to be aware of the
fact.
Oh, Maiyotte, how plaintive that pretty sphinx face of yours,
now turned in profile;—as if you knew you looked beautiful
thus,—with the great gold circlets of your ears glittering and
swaying as you bend! And why are you so long, so long untying
that poor little canvas purse?—fumbling and fingering it?—is
it because you want me to think of the weight of that trait and
the sixty kilometres you must walk, and the heat, and the dust,
and all the disappointments? Ah, you are cunning, Maiyotte! No,
I do not want the change!
