MY PLEASURE

The king wept over the loss of his beloved animal, a goat he had named Monplaisir. He promised a handsome reward to anyone who could shed light on the mysterious disappearance. In truth, Malice was the culprit. He had killed Monplaisir, butchered him, tanned his hide, and whipped up a delicious goat tasso from his flesh.

Malice presented himself to the king and offered the following advice: "During the vigil for Monplaisir, ask the participants to share a song or a poem. You might find some clues that illuminate the disappearance of Monplaisir, whom you cherished so much. Sire, my king, believe me when I say I sympathize with your pain," added Malice, who was hatching a diabolical plan against his favorite scapegoat, Bouki.

The king was enticed by Malice's proposition but, nonetheless, promised him the most severe punishment in case of failure. So, Malice cut an elegant garment from the goat that had been his feast and composed a little song with lyrics and melody. He summoned Bouki and dangled the promise that the king was offering the most exquisite pieces of the banquet to the most elegant guest at the funeral vigil, along with five barrels of silver for the most beautiful song composed in Monplaisir's honor.

"Alas," whispered Malice, "I have everything I need—garment and song. But I suffer from a 'gas' that paralyzes my shoulder, and I won't be able to participate in the vigil." Bouki twisted, coughed, scratched his head, and whimpered. He might well replace Malice, given their friendship.

"I'll sell you the garment at a friend's price, one barrel of silver," proposed Malice.

"Deal!" said Bouki, who fell for the trap. And the song?

"Also at a friend's price."

"One barrel of silver?" interjected Bouki, who had quickly calculated that he would have three barrels of silver left out of the five that the king would give him as a reward for his elegance and his song.

On the evening of the funeral vigil, the palace was brimming with guests. The king spared no expense; it was a vigil befitting the source of so much pleasure. Whole oxen were roasting on large grills, pigs were roasting on spits, and countless barrels of rum flowed freely. Bouki, puffed up like a peacock, advanced, lifting the tails of his garment. He arrived just in time to sing:

"Wow, wow, wow, wow, wo, I heard you had a gathering

You didn't invite me right

I heard you lost Monplaisir

But his skin is on my back

In fact, on my back

But his hide is on my back."

The audience stirred, the king encouraged the singer to raise his voice again, and Bouki complied immediately:

"King, King, King, I've learned of a gathering

To which I was not invited

I've also learned about the loss of Monplaisir.

Look, his skin is on my back

In fact, on my back

His hide is on my back."

The guests, emboldened, approached Bouki, circled him, and felt the garment. It was indeed Monplaisir's skin that the singer wore on his back.

The king, devastated, ordered his guards to seize the murderer and beat him with sticks and macaque coconuts. Bouki tried to explain: "It's Malice's fault."

Malice, who had slipped into the crowd, immediately shouted at the guards to break Bouki's teeth and not let him speak, or else Bouki would utter a magic spell and vanish.

When the beating ceased, Bouki was nothing but a shapeless mass. Malice, on the other hand, received five barrels of silver and became the king's advisor in a land where impunity reigned.