The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe by Timothy Williams

delivered safely from the sky. The majority of the passengers were off-season tourists from France, pink faced and uncomfortable in the sudden heat and humidity of the Caribbean. The jackets and long sleeved shirts seemed out of place.
    “They’re all crazy.”
    Trousseau did not look at her. “Who,
madame le juge
?”
    “I can understand tourists in winter, but why now? May’s the best month of the year in Europe.”
    “Low season prices.”
    “When I was growing up in the Dordogne …”
    Trousseau turned to look at her, his face lit up by a bright grin. “I thought you were from North Africa,
madame
.”
    “We
pieds-noirs
got kicked out of Algeria. When I was growing up in Sarlat—”
    “Madame Laveaud?”
    Anne Marie was interrupted by a jovial man from the Frontier Police who saluted her, his eyes partially under the peaked cap. He was holding a walkie-talkie. “Bertillon’s getting your woman off the plane.” He beckoned and led them to his office on the main concourse. The air was frigid. He did not remove the cap, merely pushed it back, and Anne Marie wondered whether he was bald. On the desk, beside a pile of Haitian passports lay an unopened copy of
L’Equipe
that had come in on the Paris flight.
    The officer gestured to a couple of seats and then sat down himself. He turned his attention to the newspaper.
    Anne Marie and Trousseau waited five minutes. The walkie-talkie, as if bored by the inactivity, suddenly began to beep. The officer got up. He nodded at Anne Marie and simultaneously slipped the cap back down over his eyes. “Here they come.”
    Shuffling through customs without being stopped by the men in khaki, an elderly woman was accompanied by a female police officer. The young woman, in uniform slacks and shirt, a holster at the wide hip, recognized Anne Marie and nodded. She neither smiled nor saluted but simply said, “Madame Vaton.”
    Anne Marie held out her hand to the older woman. “You have no baggage, Madame Vaton?”
    Without permission and without another word, the two Frontier officers went off together, returning to the office and
L’Equipe
.
    “I am Madame Laveaud.”
    The white woman took Anne Marie’s hand. A soft, almost boneless grasp. Her eyes were bleary, as if she had been crying. The vivid lipstick was badly smudged at the corner.
    Anne Marie continued, “I am the investigating judge and this is my
greffier
, Monsieur Trousseau. I’m most grateful to you, Madame Vaton. This must be an ordeal for you and I realize you must be very tired. My
greffier
and I will drive you to the hotel immediately. Unless of course you’d care for something to eat?”
    “The first time I have ever been in an aircraft.” Her voice was thin and had a marked Paris accent.
    Madame Vaton had taken off her pale raincoat. She was wearing a loose-knit beige cardigan, a rumpled skirt and shoes with corduroy uppers. She held her suitcase close to her body. In her other hand, she had several magazines,
Jours de France
and
Paris Match
. Her skin was pale. Fresh powder freckled her face. The
eau de cologne
was strong.
    “You’d like to go to the hotel?” Anne Marie asked, holding back the desire to sneeze.
    The older woman nodded.
    “No other baggage,
madame
?” Trousseau spoke in a soft voice as he took her raincoat from her. Anne Marie took Trousseau’s attaché case.
    “No point in bringing a lot of clothes.” Madame Vaton looked at Anne Marie; she had pale blue eyes. “I’m not on holiday, am I?” Her eyes were bright and questioning. “They’ll give me breakfast in the hotel?”
    They made their way through the arrival hall. Noisy, rhythmic music came from one of the airport shops. Already the large hall was filling with people who would be flying to Paris in one of the evening Boeings.
    Several people, waiting to be called to the departure lounge, were carrying bunches of anthuriums and other tropical flowers. At the newsstand a mulatto girl with green eyes gave Trousseau a