After a while I swam in and woke him up. He looked sick. We went to the airport for breakfast, then got a bus to town. After getting our clothes off the boat at Yacht Haven, we went to the police station, where the gendarme on duty was playing solitaire with a deck of cards that showed naked women in various lustful poses.
He grinned and looked up when Yeamon finished talking. Man, he said slowly, what can I do about your girl if she likes somebody else?
Likes, hell! Yeamon shouted. She was dragged off!
Okay, he said, still smiling. I live here all my life an’ I know how girls get dragged off at carnivals. He laughed softly. You tell me she had all her clothes off, dancin’ for all those people — and then you say she was raped?
The cop made several more remarks of the same kind, and finally Yeamon’s eyes got wild and he began to shout in a voice that was angry and desperate. Listen! he yelled. If you don’t do something about this I’m going up to that house with a goddamn butcher knife and kill everybody I see!
The cop looked startled. Take it easy, mon. You heading for real trouble if you keep runnin’ your mouth.
Look, I said. All we want you to do is go up there with us and find the girl — is that too much to ask?
He looked down at his cards for a moment, as if by consulting them he could divine the meaning of our appearance, and what to do about it. Finally he shook his head sadly and looked up. Ah, you troublesome people, he said quietly. You jus’ can’t learn.
Before we could say anything, he stood up and put on his pith helmet. Okay, he said. Let’s go take a look.
We followed him into the street. His attitude made me nervous, almost embarrassed for the trouble we were causing.
By the time we pulled up in front of the house I wanted to jump out and run away. Whatever we found was going to be bad. Maybe they had taken her somewhere else, to some other party, and staked her out on a bed, a white, pink-nippled nightcap to wind up the carnival. I shuddered as we went up the stairs, then I glanced over at Yeamon. He looked like a man on his way to the guillotine. The cop rang the bell and it was answered by a meek-looking black woman who stuttered nervously and swore she had seen nothing of a white girl and knew nothing about a party the night before.
Balls! Yeamon snapped. You had a hell of a party here last night and I paid six dollars to get into it.
The woman denied having knowledge of any party. She said there were people sleeping inside, but no white girl.
The cop asked if he could come in and take a look. She shrugged and let him in, but when Yeamon tried to follow she got excited and shut the door in his face.
In a few minutes the cop reappeared. No sign of a white girl, he said, looking Yeamon straight in the eye.
I didn’t want to believe him because I didn’t want to face the other possibilities. This should have been simple — find her, wake her up, and take her away. But now nothing was simple. She might be anywhere, behind any door on the island. I looked at Yeamon, expecting him to run amok and start swinging at any moment. But he was slumped against the porch railing and he looked ready to cry. Oh jesus lord, he muttered, staring down at his shoes. It was such a genuine despair that the cop put his hand on Yeamon’s shoulder.
Sorry, mon, he said quietly. Come on now. Let’s go.
We drove back down the hill to the station and the cop promised to look for a girl of Chenault’s description. I’ll tell the others, he said. She’ll turn up. He smiled kindly at Yeamon. You got no business lettin’ a woman run you ’round in circles like this anyhow.