MALI: The Beginning (The Puppets of Washington Book 3)

Preamble

PreambleAngouleme is a charming city in the Charente, surrounded by the vineyards of the famous Bordeaux wines and neighboring the Cognac valley. Angouleme’s old houses, lining cobbled street and small orchards or gardens, offer the perfect retreat for the travelers making their way to the coastal cities such as Biarritz on the Atlantic shores.

Talya was getting tired, although they had stopped frequently during their first two-hundred kilometers’ journey from Paris. That night they slept in Reins in a small hotel by the train station and saddled their bike early the next morning.

They had only one reason for heading to the southwest of France and to Angouleme in particular—one of Talya’s childhood friends lived there. She had lost touch with him when she and her parents moved to Africa. Maybe Michael was still living in Angouleme or perhaps had moved on; Talya didn’t know. But she remembered that he had five siblings and that his mother was the kind of woman who would not move from her home easily.

The house was located on the corner of a side-street and passable laneway going down to the edge of the city and other out-of-the way homesteads. The side-street led uptown to the city-center—shops and markets. Directly across from Madame Leroux’s house there was a set of concrete stairs leading to the main road that traversed the city and weaved its way out of it south towards Bordeaux. The house itself was a rambling, old abode, built at the turn of the century—a two story affair with adjunct housing topped of an attic and covered of a Provençal slate roof. Inside of a surrounding brick wall, a courtyard and garden bordered the old mansion.

Unsaddling the bike, Talya smiled. She looked up at the house that seemed to welcome her back with the sadness of her ageing, grey stones. The door at the top of the front stoop had been freshly painted—its coat of dark red gloss seemed somewhat out of place—like a touch of lipstick on the frail-looking lips of an old lady.

Samuel parked the bike on the narrow sidewalk under the disapproving gaze of a couple of passers-by and then went to join Talya in front of the door. She took the heavy brass knocker and tapped it a couple of times. A few seconds passed before they heard hesitant steps coming down the corridor beyond. Madame Leroux opened the door a crack and looked up and down at the visitors before she said, “Yes, what is it that you want?” visibly apprehensive to open the door any wider to these two strange people, both dressed in black leather. It took her a few more seconds to recognize Talya, but when she did, Madame Leroux burst out in a string of apologetic and welcome words. “My Goodness! The devil himself would not have recognized you in that outfit. What happened to you? Come in, my goodness, come in.” She flung the door wide-open and extended an arm to invite the visitors inside the corridor. She looked at Samuel, again apprehension marking the lines of her face. “And who’s this?” she asked Talya.

“This is Samuel Meshullam, Madame Leroux. We are sorry to intrude on your day but we thought we could not pass through Angouleme without seeing you.”

Walking down the hallway, and opening the door to the living room on the right, Madame Leroux said, “I am very glad you did. Michael has been asking after you lately.”

“Is he in town?” Talya asked.

“Yes, he is, Talya.” She hesitated. “Are you married?” Madame Leroux, Talya knew, had always been direct with her questions.

“No, Madame, I am not.” She turned her face to Samuel. “Samuel is my traveling companion.”

“Have a seat.” Madame Leroux enjoined, indicating the chairs around the dining table. “Michael should be here for supper, I expect. But tell me, what? Have you joined a gang of motorcyclists—you’re dressed like those people I hear roar down the street at the weekend.”

Samuel smiled and opened his mouth—finally. “No, we’re not part of any gang, Madame. It’s much easier to travel through France with a bike than it is with a car these days.”

Madame Leroux nodded. “I guess it must be. Mind you I don’t drive—never have—but when Michael takes me somewhere, I can see what you mean. The traffic on the road is terrible. People seem to rush everywhere all the time.”

The three of them sat down, only for Madame Leroux to stand up again saying, “I’ll get some coffee going and I’m sure you could use a piece of pie.” She trotted to the kitchen without waiting for an answer from her guests. From there, she shouted, “Do you want milk and sugar?”

Not wanting to refuse her hospitality, Talya replied, “Just black and sugar for me.” She turned to Samuel.

“The same for me, thank you.” he shouted back.

A couple of minutes later, Madame Leroux reappeared with a tray filled with cups, saucers, a coffee pot, that had seen the top of the coal stove once too often—black soot surrounding its bottom—and a scrumptious-looking pie set on a Limoges plate. “There you are then.” she said, depositing the tray in the middle of the old walnut table. “I’ll get some forks and plates.” she added, trotting away again. Coming back, she sat down saying, “I remember you preferred the cherry pies I bake of a summer, Talya, but in the winter you have to settle for plums.”

Talya, remembering the pies that she used to devour with Michael and the climbing of the cherry tree in the garden during their school holidays, didn’t have the heart to tell Madame Leroux that she would never climb another tree, or allow herself to run up and downstairs to play those children’s games. She gave a timid smile and took the plate from Madame Leroux, saying, “Thank you; that looks scrumptious.”

“And how long are you planning to stay in town?” Madame Leroux asked, looking at Talya and Samuel in turn.

Shooting a quick glance at Samuel, Talya answered hesitantly, “We’d like to stay for a few days but we haven’t decided where yet.”

Madame Leroux swallowed a mouthful of pie. “Why don’t you take the rooms upstairs? I haven’t been up there in a while—my knees are giving me trouble—but apart from the dust, I’m sure you’d be comfortable.”

“That’s very nice of you to offer, Madame,” Samuel said, “but we wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No imposition, Monsieur Samuel; I wouldn’t have proposed it if it were inconvenient or if some of the children were taking up the rooms. Besides, in the winter, I don’t have many visitors—the kids don’t come up until the summer.”

“If you’re sure it’s not a bother, we’d love to stay for a few days.” Talya said, looking at Samuel again. He was enjoying his piece of plum pie, it seemed. “Is Michael staying with you?” Talya ventured to ask.

“Well, yes, Talya. He’s taken up the front room for now until he finds himself another job.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“How could you have known? It’s not like you kids have kept in touch, is it?” The reproach in Madame Leroux’s voice was quite evident.

Talya retreated to the back of the chair, coffee cup in hand, sipping on it. “You’re right, but I’ve been away for about three years now—never the same place for more than a month or two.” Madame Leroux’s piercing gaze didn’t leave Talya’s face. “I know it’s not much of an excuse, but that’s all I’ve got.”

Madame Leroux was a petite woman, with a little, round and wrinkled face and very dark eyes. Her black hair, tied at the nape of her neck in a bun, trimmed a visage reflective of sadness and enduring sternness. “That sounds to me like you’re following in your father’s footsteps.” she stated as if no comments to that declaration were going to be accepted.

Talya lowered her eyes to her lap and began to regret accepting to stay at Madame Leroux’s place. If she was going to display this opinionated character of hers at every turn, this wasn’t going to be a pleasant stay by any means.

Getting up, Madame Leroux began clearing the dishes. “While I do this bit of washing up, why don’t you show Monsieur Samuel where you’re going to sleep?”

Samuel and Talya rose from the table; Talya helping with the gathering of plates, cups and tray. “Would you mind if Samuel puts the motorcycle in the courtyard?”

“Sure. I’ll go down and open the door when you get your luggage. And I’ll have to give you fresh sheets for the beds. They have not been used since Suzanne and her husband were here last July.”

“Okay then,” Talya said, “I’ll give you the grand tour.” turning to Samuel.

Beyond the kitchen, they opened a door that accessed the first bedroom and then another door opened onto a makeshift bathroom. There was no bathtub or shower—just a sink and a vanity with a medicine cabinet and mirror above it.

Samuel looked at Talya. “Doesn’t she have a tub or shower?” he asked.

“No. When we were kids, she boiled water and we bathed in a tub in the kitchen, and once a week we would go to the public baths to bathe and sometimes swim.”

“What about the toilet? Is that outside?”

Talya smiled. “No, it’s not. I’ll show you.” She opened another door, this one leading to a staircase on the right and a very narrow corridor on the left. At the end of it, yet another door opened onto a toilet set on top of a step.

“Wow!” Samuel exclaimed, looking amused. “That’s like a throne under the stairs.”

Talya had to laugh. “Yeah, that’s what it is. You know, she almost gave birth to Michael on this ‘throne’?”

“Did she really?”

Talya nodded. “She told me the story when I was still just a girl. I don’t know why she told me, but she did.” She retraced her steps down the corridor, Samuel in tow. “Let’s go upstairs and see our rooms.”

They climbed the rickety steps to a landing with what looked like a wardrobe along the wall facing yet another door (no open-concept here). Talya opened it and stopped. The double bed, set against the far wall, seemed to occupy most of the attic. She hadn’t seen this place since she was a child and now everything seemed much smaller than what she remembered. The floorboards were still unpolished and were now covered with dust. The ceiling was covered with plaster-boards and the walls with faded wallpaper. Dreary and sad was Talya’s impression of the room when they both walked through it. Beyond the far wall, and accessible through yet another doorway—no door this time—there was another room with a single bed and a dresser set between two windows, their sills reaching knee high. The light from the small windows in this room and in the front one shone on the furniture, showing yet more dust.

“Let’s get some rags and a bucket of soapy water.” Talya suggested. “We’ll need to clean this place up before we get fresh sheets on these beds.” She shook her head.

When she was just ten years old, Talya had come down to Angouleme a couple of times and had noticed how much Madame Leroux didn’t like cleaning house. Talya hadn’t mind too much at that age that the house had always been in somewhat of a mess, but now, she felt she had to do something about it—at least in the attic. Although, they were not planning to stay that long—two or three days at the most—she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in that dusty and smelly attic without giving it a good scrub.

After much grumbling and remonstrance on Madame Leroux’s part, much cleaning and changing linen on the beds, putting the bike in the courtyard and helping their hostess any way they could, Talya and Samuel were setting the table for supper when Michael came in. He closed the door slowly behind him, stopped and stared. “Is that really you?” he asked, “Mom and I were just talking about you.” He took a few steps towards Talya and turned to Samuel. “I guess this is your husband.”

Shaking her head, Talya said, “No, Michael, we’re not married. This is Samuel Meshullam.” The latter extended a hand for Michael to shake.

“Good to meet you, Monsieur.” Michael replied, shaking his hand. “But tell me, what brought you down these parts? And what happened to your hair? God, you’ve changed so much, I wouldn’t have recognized you from across the street.”

“That’s what I told her.” Madame Leroux rejoined, coming into the living room, a bowl of steaming potatoes in her hands. “She’s no longer the sweet little girl we’ve known either.” She put the bowl down on the table. “You sit down, and I’ll get the rest from the stove.”

The three of them did as ordered and Michael poured some wine from the carafe—more like a jug really—into all of the glasses. This was no cheap wine, Talya knew. Madame Leroux’s distant cousins worked in the vineyards and they kept her supplied with the best kegs around, which she stored in the cellar under the house.

During the meal, which was simple but delicious, Michael asked many questions about what happened to Talya from the time she had left Europe and went down to Africa, to what brought her and Samuel back to France.

Talya looked up at Samuel before beginning to recount her story.

He said, “Maybe I should tell the story?” when he saw tears pearling at the rim of Talya’s eyes.

She nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

Looking around him for nods of approval, which he got readily, he began, “It all started when Talya left Australia after her mother passed away...”

PART 1:A trip down memory laneHe could still see the human shape escarping the beach, bringing to mind an incongruous remnant of a sand castle, the white hand clutched in a fist as if its owner wanton thoughts of vengeance beckoned beyond death.