A day's journey from Gorée, a French ship

greets them. "The English have captured the

port, go north!" Safara's heart falls inside her

chest. "This can't happen," she cries.

Marseille. Safara, still chaste, is thirteen.

By day she is Grégoire's servant. By night he

is hers. Grégoire has promised that she will

celebrate her fourteenth birthday in Africa.

All is forgiven. Grégoire's mother writes from

Paris she's arranged his marriage. He ignores

the letter, says, "In one more year, you will be

my bride, Safara."

Grégoire in purple shirt, tending yellow sun-

flowers with bright green foliage. Safara in

fuchsia, straddling a basket, peeling eels under

stars.

Opening a skep one day, Grégoire asks, "What

do you want to do when you grow up?" "Keep

bees in Africa," she says, scraping a little honey

into her bowl.