Red Island House

“Right away I understood that he was one of those very quiet men who, if pressed, can be very dangerous. That he was also the kind of man who picks one woman, and puts himself totally in her power.

A few weeks later, when she hears that Maz has died, she thinks that she chose the wrong confidant in frivolous Orso, that she made the whole account—as Orso said—into an adventure tale. But was there anything else to do? Even Maz, for whom silence was an entire language, knew that words, however imprecise, are sometimes required to honor things th

He is a white man, the kind that Shay defines with the Malagasy word vazaha, although the word simply means foreigner, and she herself can also be defined that way. But in her mind the word denotes the kind of tropic-bespoiled white man who hangs out in the Fleur des Îles café and, in Shay’s opinion, is far too often a guest at the Red House.

“Come to think of it, you two had a lot in common,” continues Orso. “Both of you being, in a way, exiles. Both adrift in Madagascar for no real reason…”

“Maybe it’s just fate,” says Shay. “It sounds strange but from the first time I met Maz, I felt in my bones that he was paying for something. Maybe for something he did as a soldier. Maybe not even for his own crime, but for the crimes of his family. Or his people. Here is a man who starts out with wealth, power, beauty, and ends up losing everythi

It was some time after midnight at New Year’s, when everybody on Naratrany seemed to be crowded into the billiard hall in Finoana village.

“We should report it!” exclaims Shay, knowing that what she says is absurd. The rudimentary forces of law on the island have no interest in the ravings of a crazy foreigner up on the remote north coast. Or in the fate of one maimed woman from a distant tribe. And, how much of the tale Franco recounted actually occurred? As sometimes happens on Nara

Anyway, I touched off his creaky laugh by quoting him one of my favorite lines from King Solomon’s Mines: ‘Two things I have learned: you can’t keep a Zulu from battle, or a sailor from falling in love.’ ” Orso looks at Shay incredulously. “I can’t believe you, of all people, read that racist stuff.” “Orso, when I was a kid I was crazy about Rider

The daughters he and his partner adopted are Eritrean, so he is touchy about anything having to do with Africa, particularly since a Fascist branch of his family made a fortune from the cotton trade in Asmara. He continues: “And a spoiled signora having a fling with the skipper is no different from a husband fucking the nanny. Just plain common. I’