Chapter IX

With darkness all the population of the island retire to their homes;--the streets become silent, and the life of the day is done. By eight o'clock nearly all the windows are closed, and the lights put out;--by nine the people are asleep. There are no evening parties, no night amusements, except during rare theatrical seasons and times of Carnival; there are no evening visits: active existence is almost timed by the rising and setting of the sun.... The only pleasure left for the stranger of evenings is a quiet smoke on his balcony or before his door: reading is out of the question, partly because books are rare, partly because lights are bad, partly because insects throng about every lamp or candle. I am lucky enough to have a balcony, broad enough for a rocking-chair; and sometimes Cyrillia and the kitten come to keep me company before bedtime. The kitten climbs on my knees; Cyrillia sits right down upon the balcony.

One bright evening, Cyrillia was amusing herself very much by watching the clouds: they were floating high; the moonlight made them brilliant as frost. As they changed shape under the pressure of the trade-wind, Cyrillia seemed to discover wonderful things in them: sheep, ships with sails, cows, faces, perhaps even _zombis_.

--"_Travaill Bon-Dié joli,--anh?_" (Is not the work of the Good-God pretty?) she said at last.... "There was Madame Remy, who used to sell the finest _foulards_ and Madrases in St. Pierre;--she used to study the clouds. She drew the patterns of the clouds for her _foulards_: whenever she saw a beautiful cloud or a beautiful rainbow, she would make a drawing of it in color at once; and then she would send that to France to have _foulards_ made just like it.... Since she is dead, you do not see any more pretty _foulards_ such as there used to be."...

--"Would you like to look at the moon with my telescope, Cyrillia?" I asked. "Let me get it for you."

--"Oh no, no!" she answered, as if shocked.

--"Why?"

--"_Ah! faut pa gàdé baggaïe Bon-Dié conm ça!_" (It is not right to look at the things of the Good-God that way.)

I did not insist. After a little silence, Cyrillia resumed:--

--"But I saw the Sun and the Moon once fighting together: that was what people call an _eclipse_,--is not that the word?... They fought together a long time: I was looking at them. We put a _terrine_ full of water on the ground, and looked into the water to see them. And the Moon is stronger than the Sun!--yes, the Sun was obliged to give way to the Moon.... Why do they fight like that?"

--"They don't, Cyrillia."

--"Oh yes, they do. I saw them!... And the Moon is much stronger than the Sun!"

I did not attempt to contradict this testimony of the eyes. Cyrillia continued to watch the pretty clouds. Then she said:--"Would you not like to have a ladder long enough to let you climb up to those clouds, and see what they are made of?"

--"Why, Cyrillia, they are only vapor,--brume: I have been in clouds."

She looked at me in surprise, and, after a moment's silence, asked, with an irony of which I had not supposed her capable:--

--"Then you are the Good-God?"

--"Why, Cyrillia, it is not difficult to reach clouds. You see clouds always upon the top of the Montagne Pelée;--people go there. I have been there--in the clouds."

--"Ah! those are not the same clouds: those are not the clouds of the Good-God. You cannot touch the sky when you are on the Morne de la Croix."

--"My dear Cyrillia, there is no sky to touch. The sky is only an appearance."

--"_Anh, anh, anh!_ No sky!--you say there is no sky?... Then, what is that up there?"

--"That is air, Cyrillia, beautiful blue air."

--"And what are the stars fastened to?"

--"To nothing. They are suns, but so much further away than our sun that they look small."

--"No, they are not suns! They have not the same form as the sun... You must not say there is no sky: it is wicked! But you are not a Catholic!"

--"My dear Cyrillia, I don't see what that has to do with the sky."

--"Where does the Good-God stay, if there be no sky? And where is heaven?--and where is hell?"

--"Hell in the sky, Cyrillia?"

--"The Good-God made heaven in one part of the sky, and hell in another part, for bad people.... Ah! you are a Protestant;--you do not know the things of the Good-God! That is why you talk like that."

--"What is a Protestant, Cyrillia?"

--"You are one. The Protestants do not believe in religion,--do not love the Good-God."

--"Well, I am neither a Protestant nor a Catholic, Cyrillia."

--"Oh! you do not mean that; you cannot be a _maudi_, an accursed. There are only the Protestants, the Catholics, and the accursed. You are not a _maudi_, I am sure, But you must not say there is no sky"...

--"But, Cyrillia"--

--"No: I will not listen to you:--you are a Protestant. Where does the rain come from, if there is no sky,"...

--"Why, Cyrillia... the clouds"...

--"No, you are a Protestant.... How can you say such things? There are the Three Kings and the Three Valets,--the beautiful stars that come at Christmas-time,--there, over there--all beautiful, and big, big, big!... And you say there is no sky!"

--"Cyrillia, perhaps I am a _maudi_."

--"No, no! You are only a Protestant. But do not tell me there is no sky: it is wicked to say that!"

--"I won't say it any more, Cyrillia--there! But I will say there are no _zombis_."

--"I know you are not a _maudi_;--you have been baptized."

--"How do you know I have been baptized?"

--"Because, if you had not been baptized you would see _zombis_ all the time, even in broad day. All children who are not baptized see _zombis_."...