He helped beauvoir carry Jackie out to the stage, where they lay her down in front of a cherry-red acoustic drum kit and covered her with an old black topcoat they found in the checkroom, with a velvet collar and years of dust on the shoulders, it had been hanging there so long. "Map fé jubile mnan," Beauvoir said, touching the dead girl's forehead with his thumb. He looked up at Turner. "It is a self-sacrifice," he translated, and then drew the black coat gently up, covering her face.

"It was fast," Turner said. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

Beauvoir took a pack of menthol cigarettes from a pocket in his gray robe and lit one with a gold Dunhill. He offered Turner the pack, but Turner shook his head. "There's a saying in Creole," Beauvoir said.

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