"Thierry? What are you doing in Dakar?"

"Grégoire!" The two men kiss on both

cheeks. Their first meeting since sharing

a court tutor as children. "My family lives

here; they trade silk for ivory." Thierry

invites Grégoire to his home on a pro-

montory overlooking the sea.

They play tennis on a dusty clay court. An

occasional child darts from behind a

baobab tree, stealing glimpses of the two

men with rackets, running after balls. A

servant pours buckets of water over the

players' filthy, sweating bodies.

That night over red wine and roast, the

two men toast their former tutor.

Thierry says, "When she uttered `amo,

amas, amat' through those bowed lips,

she aroused me." He laughs and slaps

his knee. Thierry's eyes are black and

shiny like basalt after rain. The men

smoke and sip cognac. Thierry details

his liaison with an admiral's wife.

Grégoire glosses over his marriage to

Marie-Louise, moves on to his impending

bigamy. "Oh? Where is she now, your

African wife-to-be?" On a map, Grégoire

pinpoints Safara's village on the Saloum.

He recounts the death of Safara's father

and her capture. Thierry says, "I under-

stand your doubts about le trait, but the

planters need workers." He yawns: "I'm

afraid I'm falling asleep."