Next day. "Grégoire, I draw you a map.

I know places gold leaps from cracks." "Vous

plaisantez." "Non, tu dois me croire." "Safara,"

he says, backing her into a corner, "I don't

believe you. Now, don't tease me and don't

tutoyer me. It's dangerous." "Toute ma vie

est dangereuse. In two weeks, I will be

twelve and Bruno's femme de chambre. Take

me on your boat, Grégoire, or I will swim

to Africa." He looks down at her blue black

hands stained with indigo: "Twelve?"

The next week, a slave ship is loading supplies

for a return voyage. Grégoire: "Sacré

bleu! I must be out of my mind." Safara: "I'm

helping you, Grégoire." "Bruno will kill

me." "No, no, you are his favorite nephew.

He'll find another girl. He's had five lovers

since I arrived." "He has desired you from

the beginning, Safara."

The bribes, the tiny wooden cabin below decks.

The clever sack full of shells for trade with

Safara inside. Grégoire's stateroom is

directly above. He scampers like a rat at night

delivering biscuits and water, fruit and meat

scraps. One evening, he brings her a nightgown

stolen from his niece. When he returns to his

room, he is surprised to see a light seeping

from a corner in his floor. For five days, he

watches the light from his bed. At last, help-

lessly, he lies on his belly and peers through

the hole. Safara, in long pink satin gown,

pleated transparent top with tiny ostrich

feathers around the neck, stares at the flame.