When passion is truly strong, there is no dam nor wall that its current cannot sweep away.
Émile AUGIER, Gabrielle
It was a true pleasure to see Natacha’s agile fingers dance a jig upon the ivory keys of the old Steinway. Listening to her play her Turkish March in such a lovely manner, Mozart would have wept with joy. Playing like this transported her soul; she would leave reality behind to soar and wander into the past, toward the distant lands of her childhood.
She owed this voluptuous and playful style of playing to her mother. Tatiana Ivanovna had once been a renowned pianist who had traversed the world's greatest concert halls, charming the ears of the high society, until she met Jacques Lapierre. Natacha's birth froze her career forever.
As soon as Natacha could move her pretty little fingers, her mother sat her down in front of a piano, and very quickly—proving that blood will tell—she revealed a natural talent. Tatiana liked to say that Natacha had learned to play even before she could walk.
Mozart thus filled the living room with notes brimming with joy, and the landscapes of her African childhood now swept past. We all have these anchors to the past that bring up a host of old memories from the mud of the unconscious where they rested. In this case, this famous Turkish March reminded her of her father and her African childhood.
*
Jacques Lapierre had white skin, but his heart was African. He knew Cameroon well, having spent most of his childhood there when his father, a military doctor, was posted under the Cooperation program to Garoua, the capital of the Fulani people.
Having returned to his native Dauphiné at the age of 12, he swore to return to Africa as soon as he reached his majority. That is precisely what he did. Very quickly, his skills as a tracker and his charisma made him the most sought-after professional safari guide. He was a brave man whose sole pleasure was pitting himself against anything that lived. Within him burned an intense need for adventure and challenges.
All the French and foreign political figures passing through Cameroon would call upon him and his team—some to hunt elephants, others to kill buffaloes or lions.
He had become a true legend, and the griots told countless stories about the "White Lion," as he had been nicknamed throughout Cameroon as well as Gabon.
It was at the palace of Sultan Njoya, the great Chief of the Bamum Nation, in Yaoundé, that Jacques Lapierre met Tatiana. The evenings at his palace, as well as his fantasias, were highly prized by Europeans. Every embassy was represented there.
Jacques, who was no socialite, attended out of friendship for Njoya, who had known him as a child. The old man had presented Jacques's father with the Bamum Spider for services rendered. Two or three times a year, he would join Jacques on safari, for he too was a hunter at heart.
“So Jacques, is it a good season?”
“Very good, Your Excellence. Four days ago near the Bénoué, we brought down two old elephants… When will you come hunting with me again, Your Excellence?”
“Perhaps next month, if you are free?”
“Yes, that should be fine… I only have two safaris booked.”
They were still chatting when a servant approached and whispered into the Sultan’s ear. The latter then said:
“Jacques, I must leave you. My duties call… But do not go. Come watch the concert… We are fortunate to have the talented Tatiana Ivanovna among us tonight.”
“Tatiana who?!”
“Ignorant. Uncultured… And to think that we are the ones called savages!” he exclaimed before bursting into laughter.
*
Tatiana came to sit at the piano. There was a moment of silence—an expectant, respectful, and admiring silence… From her fingers, the notes began to flow, limpid and melodious. The pure beauty of her face, combined with such virtuosity, deeply unsettled Jacques, who did not take his eyes off her until the very last measure of the concert. He, who until then had paid very little mind to women, felt something surging within him that he could not control… A strange attraction.
Jacques was taking the night air on the terrace when the Sultan’s voice made him turn around:
“Jacques, let me introduce you to Tatiana Ivanovna,” said the Sultan, holding the artist by the hand… “Tatiana, this is Jacques Lapierre, a renowned hunter whose father was one of my best friends… Ah, I am sorry. I ask you both to excuse me, my butler is calling me…”
“Please do, Your Excellence.”
“Pleased to meet you, and welcome to Cameroon… You were wonderful, Madam, and…”
“Miss, please,” she interrupted with a smile.
“You have conquered my ears.”
“Your ears?… I thought it was rather your eyes.”
Jacques was instantly charmed by her voice. Her Russian accent added an unspeakable Slavic charm to her entire being. He heard himself ask:
“Will you allow me to be direct?”
“Have I not been so myself?”
“You have charmed my ears, my eyes, and my heart.”
Though long accustomed to men courting her, she began to blush. She liked this man. While playing, she had noticed him in her audience. He possessed a magnetic presence that set him apart from everyone around him. When the Sultan had come to congratulate her, she couldn’t help but ask for the identity of this fascinating admirer and inquire about him.
*
Jacques did not go back on safari. Tatiana put a final stop to her career. A month later they were married, and a year later Natacha was born.
However, the thirst for adventure and the urge to hunt were stronger than love. Tatiana, seeing Jacques pacing back and forth, understood that she could not hold him back. Thus, she wished for him to go hunting again.
From then on, the hunter resumed his nomadic life. He was only happy this way: walking, his bush hat firmly on his head, his Ruger No. 1 rifle in hand, amidst his loyal Bamum, Bamileke, and Fulani trackers, tracking game, camping here and there. Adrenaline flowed freely through his veins. He loved feeling the danger, watching the ears of a rhinoceros twitch just before it charged at him, feeling his destiny tied to the bullet in the barrel. Those moments were magical to him.
While waiting for him, Tatiana—since Jacques earned a very good living—kept herself busy by giving piano lessons to the children and idle wives of the expatriate community.
Every fortnight, or sometimes every three months, he would return to spend a few days of rest at home. Natacha was over the moon whenever her father was back, and the evenings were spent as a family near the piano, where she and her mother took turns playing, to Jacques’s delight.
Sometimes Tigre, the German Shepherd, barking wildly, would interrupt the concert. Jacques would then step outside and shout:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Boussam, boss.”
“Well, come on in then, Boussam.”
“Ah, boss, I can’t, the dog’s gonna bite me.”
“What, Boussam? You, a war veteran, afraid of a dog?”
“Me, not a veteran for dogs, boss.”
The visit of Boussam, the chief of Jacques’s Bamum trackers, never pleased Tatiana or Natacha… It was always the harbinger of an impending safari.
When the nights were far too hot, Jacques would set up the beds with their mosquito nets outside, and all three of them would sleep under a blanket of stars. In the morning, those on their way to the hospital would wake them, talking along the path that ran beside their house.
“Good morning, Mister and Mrs. Lapierre.”
“Good morning to you, Mafany.”
“Good morning, Mister Lapierre.”
“Good morning, Joseph… Well? Has your wife given birth?”
“Yes, Mister. I’m actually on my way to the hospital to see my little one.”
“My warmest congratulations, Joseph… What are you going to name him?”
“Pergadol.”
“Pergadol?”
“Yes, it was Doctor Pergadol who delivered my wife.”
“Then welcome to Pergadol Ngoupayou, Joseph.”
It was around this time that the idea of starting a collection occurred to him. He, who until then had hunted only for the thrill, now wanted—like his clients—to bring back trophies.
Over the next two years, he was relentless in completing his collection; he returned with countless heads of Lord Derby elands, buffaloes, topis, and roan antelopes. He had lost all respect for animal life. To his taste for danger, something tainted had attached itself… Greed, ambition, possession, and vanity.
*
“Yes, to France. I have hunted everything there is to hunt in Africa. Financially, our situation is excellent, and I also think it would be good for Natacha now to get to know France and my family… We could also go see yours in Russia… Besides, for her schooling, France would be much better.”
“Where will we live?”
“Well, at first, we’ll live in Grenoble. My family owns a nice house there with a garden. Natacha will love it.”
“Why just 'at first'?”
“Because after that, we’ll build our own.”
“Build?! Where?”
“In Saint-Nizier. It’s right near Grenoble… A magnificent village in the mountains.”
“But what are you going to do over there?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already told you… On the financial side, everything is fine. As for staying busy: building the house will take up quite a bit of my time. After that, I’ll set up our museum.”
“You really want to open this museum?”
“Yes. We have enough animals.”
“Of course… Too many, even… I thought you were joking when you talked about that.”
“Well no, my darling. I was as serious as can be.”
“Jacques, I’m going to miss Cameroon,” Tatiana said.
“Me too, Papa,” added Natacha. “All my friends are here.”
“You’ll see, sweetheart, you’ll make new ones in France.”
*
A departure is always a loss, a heartache. For Natacha, who had known only Africa, this departure was a deep wound. Leaving a country of vast, open spaces of freedom—vibrant, warm, and so alive—to come live in the fog and the cold was by no means an easy thing.
The construction of the house in Saint-Nizier lasted nearly two years. Finally, they were able to move in. It was magnificent. From the outside, it was an imposing building of modern architecture with very cubic shapes, comprising two floors. The museum, installed on the ground floor, housed the trophies and taxidermied animals set within recreated African backdrops. The light and sound booth, broadcasting tailored lighting and an ambient atmosphere filled with the calls of the displayed animals, completely and impressively immersed the visitor in African land.
From the day it opened, the place was a success. While people initially came from Grenoble, the public soon flocked from neighboring departments.
The upper two floors, containing the living quarters, did not clash with the museum. Jacques’s office was decorated with knives, swords, bows, and poisoned arrows from various Cameroonian ethnic groups. Ceremonial masks, ironwood busts of African men and women, and numerous carved mahogany panels depicting hunting scenes or tribal life held pride of place in every room.
Despite this little corner of Africa brought into the very heart of the Dauphiné region, the success of his project, and his friends, Jacques began to feel bored. His old demons were calling him back.
Tatiana and Natacha quickly noticed it. Thinking at first that this time it would be temporary, and that Jacques would finally adjust to a settled life, they encouraged him to go out, hunt, and fish. Nature is so beautiful in the Vercors.
“Tatiana.”
“Yes, darling?!”
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately… and…”
“And?” Tatiana asked, shuddering.
“I want to leave again.”
“Oh no, darling, we are so comfortable here.”
“Calm down… I didn’t say ‘we,’ I said ‘I’.”
“But why, Jacques?… The museum is doing well. We are living as well as we possibly could. We’ve reconnected with some of our friends from Africa… We’re quite happy.”
“I’m not, darling… I miss my former life… I only feel like I exist in the presence of danger…”
“You want to go back to Africa?”
“No, Africa is over… I need a change of scenery, a desire to see other landscapes, other people, other wild animals.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“To the Amazon… It would be an opportunity to expand my collection.”
Natacha and Tatiana, deeply saddened, tried to dissuade him, but nothing worked… and once again, they accepted his departure.
*
The first year in South America was rough on him; he had to acclimatize, learn a host of things, and his African experience was of no use to him. However, knowing how to surround himself with the right people, he learned quickly.
And so he hunted, capturing many animals for zoos and individuals in search of exoticism, killing others that he brought back in the form of trophies and taxidermied mounts when he returned to Saint-Nizier during the rainy season. Jaguars, pumas, tapirs, peccaries, caimans, and more came to inhabit three new rooms in his museum, dedicated to Amazonian wildlife.
In the third year, he did not return. There was silence… a long, unending silence… Worried, they notified the embassies of France, Colombia, Peru, and Ecuador. The embassies then dispatched search parties, which proved fruitless. All trace of Jacques was lost in the vicinity of Iquitos.
*
Natacha and I have just gotten married. We met two years ago when I stumbled upon her father by chance during a trip to Ecuador, in a shady bar in Huasaga.
Today, he has returned home. He will never leave again. We have set him up on the ground floor, in the middle of all his trophies…
His head, shrunken by the Jivaro Indians, is one of the most popular items in his museum.
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