Babel arrived in Marseille one noon at the height of the confusion at Quayside and his exuberant spirits fell flat when he heard the bad news about Lafala. It was tough luck for him after all the tricks he had set his brains on to arrive at Marseille. He felt cheated and fooled by one trick more.
That very night St. Dominique dropped in at the Tout-va-Bien, visiting Quayside for the first time since the day he had taken Lafala to the Seamen’s Club. A boat had arrived from the Near East with colored seamen and St. Dominique wanted to invite them to a meeting at the club which was scheduled for the following evening.
In his dislike of St. Dominique and what he considered his pretentious manners the proprietor of the café had stirred up Quayside opinion against him with hints of treachery. Ever since Lafala’s disappearance he kept saying, “They have sold him. They have sold him!” He meant that St. Dominique had betrayed Lafala, which sounded plausible as St. Dominique was the last person that Lafala was known to be with. The habitués of the Tout-va-Bien were worked up into a pretty pitch of hostility against St. Dominique.
As for St. Dominique, he was not aware of what had happened. He had dismissed Lafala’s fears from his mind, not imagining they could have any serious consequences.
St. Dominique greeted the proprietor in his usual friendly fashion.
“I don’t want to speak to any traitor,” said the other mulatto.
“What is this? What do you mean, old man?” asked St. Dominique.
“I mean what I said. I don’t want a traitor in my place. I mean you!” He levelled his finger at St. Dominique.
“What damned stupidity. What is all this about?” asked St. Dominique.
With an irritated gesture the proprietor half turned, putting some soiled glasses in the tank of water.
Leaving a group of girls and fellows near the piano where they were sitting, Aslima rushed up to the bar and said to St. Dominique, “You don’t know what is it? You don’t know that Lafala can’t be found since that day he went with you?”
“Oh, it’s Lafala!” said St. Dominique. “He was scared, I remember. He thought he being followed, but I didn’t take it seriously. Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . but I don’t know.”
St. Dominique told them that Lafala had left him and his friend in the Big Square, and that was the last he had seen or heard of him.
“Nobody here’s going to believe that tale. I think you’re a liar,” said the proprietor. The mulatto felt convinced that St. Dominique was a scoundrel. He had referred to St. Dominique as a poor mischievous blackbird who instead of finding an honest job was an agitator against Government and Society. Such people were not to be trusted. And he had warned the little robbers and cut-throats of the Tout-va-Bien against St. Dominique whom he called a dangerous type.
“You call me a liar?” said St. Dominique.
“Yes, you’re lying. You’re a liar!” shrieked Aslima. “You just made that up. You were the last person with Lafala and you must know what’s happened to him.”
Babel pushed his way up to St. Dominique and growled in his face: “Come on you proper-speaking strutter an’ jest tell us where Lafala is or I’ll whip the trute outa you.”
By now the entire café was worked up and shouting against St. Dominique. And although he was not a fighter of any skill he was determined to stand his ground.
“Look here,” he said, “I’m not going to stand all this from a set of swine like you all.”
“Call us swine again and I’ll break you’ face, you yaller bastard!” Babel cried. “I dare you open you stinking mouth again, you cat-eater.”
St. Dominique felt that he was in for a fight, perhaps a good beating, and that his work would be ruined at Quayside. The seamen had always been respectful to him despite the hostility of the proprietor. But at that moment a white Quaysider known as Big Blonde barged in.
“What you all have against this man. It’s not fair. He’s a good friend to all the colored fellows.”
The appearance of Big Blonde turned Babel aside from his purpose. Big Blonde had been one of his best friends before he stowed away from Marseille and Babel was so happy to see him. He slapped his shoulder and they embraced.
“They say he’s a double-crosser,” Babel said looking at St. Dominique.
“Traitor hell! Does he look like a traitor to you? All this crazy talk about Lafala is just so much crap. The police will soon find out where he is—if the rats of Quayside didn’t drag him into some hole.”
The proprietor of the bar looked meanly at Big Blonde out of his lizard’s eyes. He had wanted so badly that Babel should beat up St. Dominique. He never got into a fight himself. But he would stand quietly by and watch a quarrel, even quietly abetting it until the antagonists got to blows. Then he would step in and call the police to arrest the one he didn’t like. The police would always take his word and arrest the one he indicated. He was sorry to miss getting St. Dominique and thus putting a stop, maybe, to his activities among the seamen in Quayside.
He did not like Big Blonde either. Twice he had had the police put him out of the Tout-va-Bien. For Big Blonde had nothing in common with the real Quaysiders who had a kind of sacred regard for the proprietors of Quayside and their establishments.
Big Blonde was like a hero straight out of Joseph Conrad, an outstanding enigma of Quayside.1 A big, firm-footed, broad-shouldered man, splendidly built but with the haunting eyes of a lost child. He worked on the docks, a happy worker, active like a madman reckless with his strength, making it hard for his fellow workers to keep up the pace. But he had no interest in the workers’ unions and in spite of his natural roughness there was a singular and foreign air of refinement about him.
It was gossiped that he had once held a respectable position in the merchant service, but he never talked about his past life. Because of his quixotic habit of getting into difficulties, he was often in trouble with the police. Sometimes he was jailed for a short term; sometimes he went into hiding.2 He knew the Seamen’s Club and frequented it sometimes ostensibly to read, but really to hide from the police in that district after he had got into trouble at Quayside. And so Big Blonde had come to know St. Dominique and understand his work in which he was not interested.
Once Big Blonde broke up the furniture in the saloon of the loving house of La Créole, because a boy companion of his was insulted there. But afterwards he became a good friend of Madam, the proprietress, and of the boy of the house, Petit Frère.3 Madam tried to induce Big Blonde to work with her as a bouncer, but naturally without success.
Big Blonde invited Babel and St. Dominique to a wine cellar where wine was kept in barrels and demi-johns4 only. There they discussed Lafala while drinking. Babel related how they had stowed away together and that he had seen Lafala being taken off the ship to the hospital. He omitted to tell, however, that he had escaped as a stowaway prisoner on his return to Marseille. St. Dominique said he was sorry he did allow Lafala to get out of the taxicab alone when he said he was being followed. But he and his West African friend had not taken the matter seriously, as they felt convinced that the men of whom Lafala was afraid were political secret police.5 Big Blonde felt certain it would turn out all right.
From the wine cellar they went to La Créole. La Créole was one of the most popular of the loving houses of Quayside. It was Big Blonde’s favorite as his little friend worked there. It was much frequented and touted by the colored Quaysiders and they always recommended it to colored newcomers. Madam, the proprietress, a European, had a partiality to colored folk. Aslima was once engaged there and was a good attraction. But she was too savage and Madam couldn’t hold her in check and regretfully had to let her go.
There were seven girls in the place, among them a tall mulattress who claimed to be an Egyptian. St. Dominique was surprised to recognize in the assistant mistress a gay girl he used to know at a bal-musette6 near the Seaman’s Club and who was very popular among the seamen, some of them even taking her to dances at the club. She whispered to St. Dominique not to gossip to Madam about her former doings because she had a serious position.
There were not many visitors. A middle-aged man was sitting with a girl and two sailors were drinking beer with the girls waiting on them. The player piano was started. The Egyptian was always teasing Big Blonde. And now she pulled him up to dance with her. The two sailors did not get up to dance. One of the girls pulled at the fairest sailor to dance. The dark one put his arm upon his companion’s arm and said, “Wait.” But the girl playfully gave him a vicious slap in the face and went dancing with the fair sailor.
When the dance was finished the Egyptian said to Big Blonde, “Always the same. You don’t dance good with me. I’m going to dance with my tribesman now.” (She meant St. Dominique.) “You go and dance with Petit Frère. Maybe it’s more exciting.” Petit Frère giggled. He was wearing a new blue cache-col7 knotted around his neck and pushed into the waist of his pants. It was a gift from Big Blonde and it matched well his pale color and expressionless eyes.
St. Dominique refused to dance with the Egyptian girl. He was a little uneasy in the loving house. He preferred to make friends with girls at a popular dance or among his comrades. He continued to talk with the assistant mistress while the Egyptian began a belly-wobble with Babel and Big Blonde danced with Petit Frère.
Two girls in pajamas were dancing together and continually getting in the way of Big Blonde and Petit Frère. “We’re dancing the loving omelettes,”8 one of them said. Petit Frère shrieked and slapped her on the flank.
“I’ll cook your omelettes,” said the dark sailor and he rushed in and parted the girls to dance with one of them.
Madam the proprietress had heard about Lafala’s case and expressed her sympathy, listening to St. Dominique as he told the assistant mistress about it. She asked St. Dominique if he knew whether Lafala had got back to his hotel after he left the taxicab in the Big Square. St. Dominique did not know and thought finding out might furnish a clue. He said he would go to the hotel right then, thus finding an excuse to leave Big Blonde and Babel to their enjoyment.
The loving house was depressing to St. Dominique. He liked Quayside, forever smelling of raw fish, and the contacts with the seamen. But he had radical ideas about the loving houses and often told the seamen that they and all forms of prostitution would be abolished under Communism. And the seamen wondered what their beloved Quayside would be without them. St. Dominique felt sorry for the assistant mistress feeling so important because she had a place of authority in one of the houses. She had been much more interesting to him as a free bal-musette girl.
Late that night, or rather towards dawn, Madam, the proprietress of La Créole, was standing in the portal of her palace watching the human shadows hurrying through the dim narrow alley and saw Babel passing in the company of two white men who seemed strange to her as not the type of white men who could be friends of Babel. She called to Babel. He replied, “I’m under arrest. Tell Big Blonde if you see him.”
She sent Petit Frère to find Big Blonde. Petit Frère found him in the wine cellar taking a final drink before retiring. Big Blonde went to the police station of Quayside, presenting himself as Babel’s friend and asking the nature of the charge against him. He was told that no exact information could be given until the next morning.
In the morning Big Blonde took a holiday from the docks and went to the police station. There he was informed that Babel had already been transferred to the local jail. Big Blonde was baffled. He knew that it was very difficult to see a prisoner in jail unless one was a relative and as his own record was not so pretty he did not like to nose in too much among the police. He thought the best thing he could do was to see St. Dominique and so he waited until noon when the Seamen’s Club was open. St. Dominique was not there. Big Blonde waited until he arrived at two o’clock.