That night Papa stayed up late. I woke up once and realised he was not in the room we shared. I was worried then, and got out of bed, put on my good jacket and trousers and crept to the top of the stairs. In the saloon down below, all the men except the waiters were white. I heard Papa first; he was at a card table playing with a man wearing shiny buttons. I could tell Papa had drunk too much, and it did not look like the game was going his way. I watched as he stood up, angry, pushing the table over and swearing the very worst words. Papa pulled out his cavalry sword, and for a moment I thought there would be a duel.
“Papa!” I could not help shouting. He looked up and saw me, and I felt worse than ever. My papa was more than drunk. His shirt was stained and he swayed as he walked. I went over and he leaned on me.
The man with the buttons was smirking. Up close he reminded me of Pierre Despard, the boy on the beach.
“Monsieur Delisle!” he said sharply. “I trust you will find the money you owe me before your boat sails?”
Papa almost growled. “Do you doubt me?”
I led him away. I did not like to remind Papa that we had no money apart from what had come from the sale of the horses. Papa had promised we would be rich in France. But France was still six weeks away.
Before he fell into bed I asked about my brothers and sister, about Charles and Petit Antoine and Berthe. “Will they be on the boat tomorrow, Papa?” I said.
“Non,” he said and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. “They have gone to the coffee factor to cover the debts.”
My stomach swooped into my boots.
Debts? I’d had no idea. But before I could take it in, Papa had already begun to snore.
In the morning I was still angry. My whole family had gone. Merle and the little ones... Would they end up like that boy in the street? Beaten for nothing? Slaves forever? Berthe was too clever to get hit so hard, but Charles? How would he survive? I shut my eyes tight. I blinked again.
Papa asked for coffee and I fetched it slower than a turtle waddling up the beach. I came back up and slammed it down next to him. Papa was still suffering from the drink but I didn’t care.
“You sold them!” I could not stay silent. “You sold Merle and you sold my brothers and sister!”
He was not moved by my fury. He opened the shutters and tilted his face up to catch the warm sun as if my words were nothing. “Be quiet, Thomas. I am your father,” he said without looking at me. “If you want to become a count, you will do as I say.”
I slammed out of the inn and into the street. Merle was already gone. If she had still been there I would have leaped on her back and ridden like the wind back to Jeremie. I did not want to be a count. I did not want to go to France.
The boat we were to sail on was called the Glory. She was bigger than the biggest house I had ever seen. Up high in the forest of her masts – I counted three massive ones and two smaller – I saw a boy my age, walking barefoot along the yardarm as sure-footedly as I would have walked on solid ground. The idea of asking for a place on another boat flew into my head. I was good at climbing, I could make myself useful on a ship. At that moment I thought I would not be happy unless I was as far away from Papa as possible.
My papa. He was an idiot. The biggest idiot in all the island. In all France! I kicked a stone and it flew off the quay and plopped into the sea. I was being foolish, I knew. I would not be better off boarding some ship and sailing away to God-knows-where – either way I would be forced to leave my home behind. Maybe there would be some future for me in France after all.
At that moment Papa stood on the steps of the inn and shouted for me. For a few moments I hesitated. Where could I go? What could I do? I sighed, then made my way back through the traffic of men and horses and carts. I found Papa inside with the shiny-buttoned card player. He looked terrible. I could smell the rum in his sweat.
“Captain Langlois, this is Thomas-Alexandre,” Papa said tapping me on the shoulder. I stood up straight and nodded, the way I’d been taught.
Captain Langlois looked me up and down. I felt slightly uncomfortable. He looked at me in the same way the man who’d bought Merle had looked at her.
“Fourteen? Costs a lot to feed and water no doubt.” Captain Langlois didn’t speak to me but to Papa, who nodded. “Tall for his age.”
“I am fourteen next year, sir,” I added. I was proud of being tall. That morning it was perhaps the only thing I had got from Papa I was glad to have.
Captain Langlois smiled and nodded. “One thousand livres, you say?” Papa nodded. I looked at him; he could not meet my eyes. A terrible sense of foreboding began to creep into my gut.
“Six hundred, Antoine,” Captain Langlois said. “I am a businessman.”
Papa passed his hand across his face. “See here, Captain. I lost the money for the passage home last night. I cannot afford to go lower than eight hundred.” He pointed his finger, jabbing it at the tabletop. “I will, of course, redeem the boy once my inheritance...”
Captain Langlois waved him to stop. “I cannot wait for money that may or may not...”
Papa’s voice had an edge of despair. He was sweating. “The boy is my son!”
Captain Langlois put his hand out to shake Papa’s. “Eight hundred, then.”
Papa hesitated. Then the men shook hands.
I stood bolt upright as Captain Langlois counted out eight hundred livres in bank notes and handed them to Papa. Now I understood. He was selling me. He had just sold me.
He had sold the coffee farm, the house with its white-painted veranda and vegetable garden. He had sold my two little brothers and my one sister. His own flesh and blood. He had sold my horse.
I was burning with anger. I looked from one man to the other. Papa took me by both shoulders, kissed me on both cheeks. “Be brave,” he whispered. “I will send for you.” I tried to pull away but he gripped my shoulder tight. “I will send for you. And I will be a marquis and you, my son, will be a count.”
He wiped his eyes. Was he crying? I hoped so. I wished I could have spat in his face, but my throat was dry as sand at midday.
My eyes were dry as well. I had no tears for this man. He did not deserve them.
I walked out of that inn with Captain Langlois and did not look back.
I was no longer free.