Telesphore’s afternoon speech at The Rose to the Island Defense Committee went very well. He’d worked on it for several nights, and at home had read it twice to Felicia and Marion, who’d applauded vigorously. A pity they couldn’t be there to hear it, but the matters covered by the IDC were not exaclty within a woman’s purview and besides, Marion was busy with her own work, sewing hems on hospital gowns and Felicia had that poster to complete for the Ladies’ Committee. He’d been a little worried that the women in his family were not exactly objective listeners, but the men cheered, and Tel shook a lot of hands afterwards.

Even old Davey Acorn, whom they’d honored for his son’s sacrifice in the last war, had said it was a wonderful speech. Which made Tel so proud he felt tears stinging his own eyes.

He would write both his boys letters about it tonight. Leon might reply with some terse note, most of which would be excuses for not writing more frequently, a short paragraph about missing everyone, and then explanations about why he had to stop writing immediately and do something else. Lamont would respond with an actual letter peppered with skeptical, amusing remarks about the committee that Tel could read out loud to Felicia.

It occurred to Tel that he owed his brother a letter. He’d write that too, tonight, but he didn’t think he’d mention the speech. It would just worry Gregoire, who would fold a reminder about discretion into one of his chatty paens to the West Coast.

But it was so wonderful to speak in public and have people not on the club staff listen to him, to be something other than a high ranking servant to the likes of Roy Bonney. Tel was actually paying visits to City Hall. As chairman of the committee, he’d spoken before the island council, something that would have been unimaginable ten years ago.

It had hardly seemed possible, but he was moving up even more. He had been happy just to be well-off. Never before had he imagined he might actually become respectable.

Tel had finished shaking hands and was walking out, thinking about checking in at the club, when Artie tapped him on the shoulder.

Telesphore did not like Artie. For one thing, Art wasn’t one quarter the cook or host his grandfather had been, even if he was running The Rose now. For another, he was too good-looking to be trustworthy — that fatuously manic Hollywood smile. Besides, the man was dangerously insane, and it amazed Tel that so few other people on the island seemed aware of it. Oh, they all shook their heads over “poor, sensitive Art” and used terms like “highly strung” but if they only knew what Tel knew… The very thought of Artiste Amadou Macana wielding a meat cleaver, even in a kitchen, was enough to give Tel nightmares.

And that grinning lunatic had dared, dared, to jab a knife at Gregoire who, even if he was now actually taller than Tel, not to mention smarter and stronger, was still Tel’s little brother.

“Nice speech, Tel,” Art said dryly. “By the way, my grandfather asked me to deliver a message. He would like to talk to you.”

“Amadou? Is he here today?” Hardly anyone had seen the old man since his second stroke a month ago.

“No, he’s at home. Kitty’s taking care of him. And he told me last night he’d like to see you.”

“But… Why? I mean I can’t imagine…”

Artie gave Tel a look that made actually uttering the word “liar” unecessary.

“Curiosity maybe? Help? He didn’t say. But, if you are going to see him, you need to do it very soon, Tel.”

“I’ll go tonight.”

“You do that.” Artie nodded, then walked back towards the side kitchen entrance.

Kitty answered the door. “Telesphore!” she exclaimed. She smiled very briefly as he let him in. “You’ve come to visit Papa, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Art said Amadou would like to see me.”

“He’ll be very glad you’re here.”

“I’m flattered he asked for me.” He looked closely at her, noting lines he hadn’t noticed the last time they talked. Well, everyone was getting older, no doubt about it. “How are you doing, Kitty? You’re taking care of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Life leaves its marks, but I can’t complain.” She nodded towards the other room. “He’s in there. Before you go in, I should tell you, Papa sometimes gets confused these days. He has moments when he’s not quite here, doesn’t make much sense.”

“Should he be home?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “He should. Don’t worry, he’s never alone. Mimi, Laurette, Artie, Artiste, we’re all taking turns. Someone who loves him is always a few steps away.”

He wants to see people while he still knows them, can still talk to them. Tonight’s a good night. He’s almost like his old self.”

Amadou was in his robe, sitting up in an armchair. He had always been a slender man, but now he was almost skeletal. His beard had been shorn, and his hair was gone, but the eyes were as they always were, dark, intense, expressive. “Duday,” he said, as Tel sat in a nearby chair. “Glad you didn’t waste any time. I don’t have much of it left these days.”

“You’ll outlive the rest of us.”

“Shut up. I’m not completely gaga yet, and I can see where I’m going. Don’t imagine I’m happy about it. Not one bit.” He cleared his throat. “One minute I’m standing in my kitchen at The Rose and life is good. I drop a spoon, bend down to pick it up, and the next thing I know I’m in a hospital bed days later. And I’m in a world where I can’t cook anymore.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Tel tapped his chest. “It’s gone. The feeling, along with a lot that was in my head, even things I learned when I was a boy in New Orleans. I’ve tried here in my own kitchen. I’ve tried over and over again. I can’t handle a knife anymore, which is bad enough, but I look at the spices, the herbs, and I can’t remember how they work. Can’t smell something and know… can’t make things taste good.”

Amadou’s breath caught for a moment as Amadou studied Tel’s face.

“Nothing’s going to come back to me. Ever. The doctor says I’ll have another stroke. And another. And each one is going to take another bite out of my brain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I asked you here for several reasons. First, to say goodbye. Do you remember the voyage here? On the Amber Cat?”

“Oh yes,” Tel grinned. “You know, I’d never seen the ocean before? I was terrified the whole voyage, spent it hiding below decks.”

“While your sister with her black braids kept dashing about and having to be plucked out of the rigging. And I remember seeing that mother of yours shove a little squirmer into your arms like she couldn’t be bothered with it.”

“My brother, Gregoire.” Tel had already decided his sister and his parents were mad, and had been determined to at least get his brother someplace safe. He’d carried Gregoire below to a comfortingly dark place among the barrels and ropes, where they could not be snatched from the deck and swallowed by that enormous, rolling, dark-colored monster that was was the ocean.

And he’d been prepared to fight all comers if one of those black-skinned cannibals disguised as sailors came down to get them.

“I remember all of that so clearly,” Amadou said, “more clearly than I can remember this morning. I can even smell that first scent of the island: fish, dirt, sweat, shit, cookfires, wild onion, and a touch of mint. It was the future, that smell. Remember it?”

Tel nodded. He’d forgotten that moment, but suddenly the memory was so vivid it almost hurt. Even down below he’d caught the scent and the feel of the island, and he’d known at that moment that they were all home.

“The island did well by you,” Amadou said. “You’re a man of substance, now, making speeches to the council.”

“You’ve not done badly yourself.”

“No, I haven’t done badly.” Amadou drew in a long, husky breath. “My second reason… I want to thank you for warning me about Art two years ago.”

Don’t make that ‘politely puzzled’ face at an old man, Telesphore. I didn’t imagine your comings and goings that night and there’s no use trying to convince me I did. I know about your family. It took me a while to catch on, but I did. I know the Witch Duday is truly a witch and her children are like her. I never had any patience with your owlings, so don’t inflict them on me here.”

Tel nodded. “I won’t, I promise. Your thanks are gladly accepted, and I hope all has been well since.”

“It has. Artie is a good boy, whatever you may think of him.”

“Oh I don’t…”

“Third,” Amadou snapped short Tel’s reply as if he were biting off a stray thread. “To warn you. You consider Artie your enemy, and I can’t say I blame you, given what he told me about that visit he paid to Gregoire. So, he knows more about you than you’d like. Tant pis. You’re a biter bitten. But Art is not your family’s enemy.

My daughter, Kristal, is your enemy. She is much more dangerous than my grandson, much crazier in her own way. She sits on the Island Council and she does not merely regard you as a rival. She personally hates everyone in your family, and she does not suspect, she knows. Make no mistake about that. She knows. Do you understand?” Tel could only nod.

“And now we come to the last thing…” The old man’s thin chest was rising and falling with effort now, and his voice plunged almost a whisper. “And the most important… That stuff your man sold my grandson. I want it.” Tel drew in his own breath sharply. “…I don’t want to die up here first.” Amadou touched his head.

“But that is for animals!”

The old man drew back his lips in a snarl almost worthy of Leon. “Don’t tell me lies,” he growled. “It’s not for putting down cats, not for what Hebert charges for it. And there’s nothing magical about it, nothing to bring the universe down on your head. What I’m asking for is a way out, pure and simple and sure. Not colored water. The real thing. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“No. I’m sorry, I can’t do this, Amadou. It’s not…”

“For pity’s sake, Tel, I don’t want Kitty to have to see me sitting in a diaper dribbling drool onto my chest, and if I wait much longer that’s how it’s going to be.”

Tel looked down for a moment. Then he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the envelope he’d carried for over a decade, the one containing a small amount of silvery powder. He set it on the table next to Amadou, then he leaned forward and spoke quietly, directly into Amadou’s ear.

“You put it in a drink,” he said. “Tea or coffee. It doesn’t have any flavor. Something hot makes it work more quickly.” He drew back to look into Amadou’s eyes, and Amadou nodded to show he understood. “There’s no pain,” Tel said. “You’ll go to sleep. And then…” Tel shrugged and sat back down in his seat. “Don’t use it unless you’re absolutely sure you want it. And you must — I ask you this not just for my sake, Amadou, but for the sake of the people caring for you — you must ensure there’s not too much of post-mortem. As you’ve said, it’s not magic. I’ve been told it leaves no traces but 20th-century science being what it is, you never know.”

“I’ll make sure my body isn’t meddled with afterwards.” Amadou reached out and clasped Telesphore’s wrist with a cold, dry hand. “Thank you.”

“Goodbye sir,” Telesphore rose after giving Amadou’s hand a brief, businessman’s shake. “This island is not going to be the same place when you’ve left. The Rose certainly won’t be the same. We will miss you.”

“And wherever I end up, I will miss the Island and The Rose. Tell me something, Duday, before you leave…” And the old man’s eyes were now the eyes Tel had known for years, shrewd and daunting. “Did you bring that powder because you knew I would ask you for it?”

“No.”

“So you carry it about with you to use… On yourself? Somebody else?”

Tel was silent.

“Who?”

Tel shook his head, not so much in denial as refusal, and Amadou’s eyes hardened with suspicion. “Nobody in your family,” Tel said quickly.

“Ah,” said Amadou. “Well, then, it’s none of my business. And yet you seemed squeamish about giving it to me. Why?”

Tel shrugged. “Well, it’s just that… You taking it yourself and all… My upbringing –”

He looked at Amadou, and now it was Tel’s eyes who appealed for understanding. “My family, we’re Catholics.”

As he started towards the door, he heard a sound behind him that he at first thought was coughing. Kitty plainly thought so too, because she pushed past him as he opened the door. He turned to watch as she hurried to her father who was leaning back against the backrest of his chair, his face pointed at the ceiling, his eyes closed as he gasped out wheezing roars of laughter.



The old man was still laughing as Tel let himself out the front door.

From The Islander Beacon, August 7, 1943, evening edition

The Passing of an Island Pioneer



This morning, the island lost one of its living treasures. Amadou Roselyn, approximately 85, manager and owner of The Rose restaurant, slipped away peacefully at home after a long illness.

“He seemed in better spirits than he’d been in a long time,” said his daughter, Caterina “Kitty Rose” Barranca. “Papa insisted on getting dressed, coming out of his room, and sitting in his favorite chair. I brought him his morning coffee and turned the radio a program he liked, then did a few chores around the house. When I came back to check on him he appeared to be asleep, but when I touched him, I knew my father was gone.”

Amadou Roselyn, a New Orleans native, came to this island in 1880, as part of the first wave of immigrants arriving to take advantage of the exciting opportunities in industry and commerce offered by Touperdu. Showing the enterprising spirit that is the hallmark of Island pioneers, he refurbished and opened The Rose, a restaurant that is to this day an Island landmark and gathering place. In 1887, he entered into a partnership with businessman James Reckoner, a union of two prominent local families that would endure for five decades. In 1934, with the passing of James Reckoner, Amadou Roselyn was once again the sole owner of The Rose. The current generation of Islanders will long remember Mr. Roselyn, not only for his delicious specialties like Amadou’s Pulled Pork, Island Clay-Roasted Chicken, and fiery All-is-Lost Sauce, but for his hospitality, always spiced with a biting wit and a notorious reluctance to suffer fools gladly.

Mr. Roselyn was predeceased by his beloved wife, Hortense Chermise Roselyn, and his deeply mourned daughter, Peony Roselyn Macana. He is survived by daughters Caterina Roselyn Barranca and Kristal Roselyn Abbot, grandchildren Artiste Amadou Macana, Jean-Paul Baranca, Inez Barranca Gabel, Dierdre Jocelyn Barranca, Adam Maxwell Abbot, Benjamin George Abbot, Jeannette Abbot Fetter, great-grandchildren Lucas Artiste Macana, Ella Roselyn Macana, Morgan James Abbot, Juanita Fetter, Boris Fetter, and Nicole Gabel.

Services will be held tomorrow at the Church of Christ the Sailor, officiated by the Reverend Mr. Artiste Macana. All Islanders are invited, and asked in lieu of flowers, to donate to the South Island Veterans Treatment Center in the name of Amadou Roselyn.