Dark Memory

by Jonathan Latimer

  He found her hand and kissed her palm.

  “Do you think I’m a little crazy?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Yes, I love you.”

  “You don’t, but it’s nice of you to say so.”

  “I do love you, darling.”

  “Let’s just don’t talk for a bit.”

  They lay in silence. He could hear water dripping and wet branches moving back into position and the earth drinking. Over the clearing were still the black shapes of moving clouds.

  Eve was suffering, he thought, because she had been too forward. It was conventional for the man to do the asking. It was like the convention that a man must remove his hat when talking to a lady in the street. You did not expect a lady to take off her hat. You did not expect a lady to ask you to sleep with her, though probably more ladies did that than took off their hats when talking with you in the street. Eve would soon get over it. He would get her over it. He did love her in a way. But he did not know how much he loved her. There had been matters which prevented him from thinking about her. There was a husband. And there had been Lew Cable. And there was the memory of Linda. You did not think of love when things were so complicated. Though now they weren’t. He suddenly realized they weren’t complicated at all. Not as long as they were in the forest. And it had begun to look as though they might be there forever. He felt for the knapsack and found the bottle of cognac and pulled the cork.

  “Will you have a drink, darling?” he asked her.

  “Yes, thank you.” She drank and gave the bottle back to him. “I can’t get used to drinking from a bottle,” she said. “I still feel so wicked.”

  “It makes me feel fine,” he said, and drank.

  “Don’t be silly. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Wait until we finish the bottle,” he said. “We’ll both be silly.”

  “Are we going to finish it?”

  “We’d better. It’s going to rain again.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does to me,” he said.

  He took another drink. It was good cognac. He could smell the grapes on the mouth of the bottle. It was quite dark in the clearing and he could not see how much was left. The bottle felt about a third full. He gave her a drink.

  “What’s that running noise?” Eve asked.

  He listened. Behind the fire was the sound of water moving. It was in the marshland. He got up and went to the edge of the reeds. He could hear water running through them, but he could not see it. The water had not reached the edge of the marsh. He came back to the bush. “The rains have made a little flood,” he said.

  “Hadn’t we better fix our shelter?”

  “Yes.”

  He helped her to her feet. Her face was lovely in the firelight. He held her and kissed her.

  “Don’t, Jay.”

  “You’re so sweet.”

  “You do love me a little, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  She let him kiss her again, but she did not kiss him.

  “I’m so funny,” she said.

  They gathered firewood for the night, breaking limbs off the big tree. There were still many storms over the forest, but it was not raining in the clearing. Jay found a vine with yellow trumpetlike flowers and enormous leaves. He took an armful of leaves and fitted them over the top of the bush. He wound vines over them to keep them in place. Then he cut away some of the under part of the bush with his knife. It was not an elaborate shelter, but it would do. It would keep out most of the rain. He picked Eve up and carried her under the bush, holding her mostly with his right arm.

  “Just as they do in the movies,” he said.

  “The bride over the threshold.”

  “Yes.”

  “I do feel a bit like a bride.”

  “Of course you do, darling. You are a bride.”

  “No, I’m just a bad woman.”

  “You aren’t. You’re my woman.”

  “Really, Jay?”

  “Do you remember the time I looked at you so curiously?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I fell in love then.”

  “I think I did, too,” she said.

  “Only I didn’t tell you because of your husband.”

  She was silent. Another rainstorm was coming up. He could hear the rain in the trees. There were a dozen storms over the forest. The air was heavy with moisture. Even after a rain the air did not become any drier.

  “Jay,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “You must believe I’ve never loved him.”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

  He held her and kissed her.

  “Oh, you mustn’t,” she said.

  “I want to.”

  “It’s not good for you.”

  “It’s very good for me.”

  “You’ve been sick,” she said. “You’re not strong enough, darling.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  CHAPTER 30

  DURING THE NIGHT the heavy noise of rain on the shelter woke Jay and he got up to look at the fire. It was raining hard, but the fire was bright under the log. The fresh wood sizzled when he put it on the coals. It would gradually dry out and then burn. He thought the fire would last all night. The rain made a steady roar in the trees and there were distant rumbles of thunder. He could hear water flowing through the marsh. He went back to the shelter. Eve was sleeping quietly. He lay down beside her. The muffled roar of the rain in the trees and the heavier sound of drops on the shelter went on steadily and he fell asleep. Much later Eve woke him.

  “Darling.”

  “Yes?”

  “Something’s happening to our fire.”

  He sat up. Where the fire had been was a dull red spot in the darkness. There were no flames at all. He went out into the rain and stepped into water. The flood in the marsh had risen. He waded to the fire, but there was nothing he could do. The dark, moving water had put out the wood and the coals and there was left only a maroon patch on the underside of the log. He went back to the shelter and told Eve what had happened.

  “What are we to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I feel lost without fire.”

  “We’ll just have to wait until the rain stops.”

  “It’s never going to stop.”

  She put her hand in his. Her skin was cold. “Sure it is, darling,” he said.

  But he was frightened, too. It was not good without the fire. It was too dark. When you couldn’t see, all your other senses became more acute. He sat holding Eve’s cold hand and listened to the forest sounds. The pitch of the rain in the trees changed continually; there was the deep splash when cupped leaves filled and were borne down by the weight of the water and overflowed; there was the wet swish of branch against branch; there was the deep creaking of big limbs. Rain came through the shelter and splashed against his face. The cold air put goose flesh on his body. Thunder grated in the distance.

  Eve said, “The water’s rising, Jay.”

  “Where?”

  “Here.”

  She took his hand and moved it to the ground near the entrance. It was the water from the marsh. He put his fingers on the edge of the water and held them there. He could feel the water rising.

  “I guess we’ll have to move,” he said.

  “Where will we go?”

  “To the higher land.”

  “Darling, do you know where the higher land is?”

  “We’ll find it.”

  He slung the knapsack over his shoulder and picked up the Springfield. He gave the canteen to Eve.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said in a small voice.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “Do you want to spend the night in the water?”

  “It may be worse out there. We don’t know what’s out there. Here there�
��s only water.”

  “All right,” he said. “Well stay here.”

  “Don’t be angry,” she said. “I’m just frightened. I want to go where you want, darling.”

  “The water may get very deep.”

  “Yes. I’m ready to go, darling.”

  “All right.”

  Outside the shelter the water was above Jay’s ankles. He could feel the pull of the current. He took Eve’s hand. It was raining hard. He could not see at all. He turned away from the sound of the water in the marshland and walked slowly through the blackness. He walked into a bush and backed up several steps and went around it. He walked forward again and met a tangle of nettles. They stung his face.

  “Can you hold onto my belt, Eve?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need both hands.”

  She took hold of his belt. He forced a way through the nettles. His feet sloshed through deeper water. He stopped and listened. The sound of running water was still behind him. It was as loud as the sound of the rain. It was almost as loud as the river where Rill had died. He went on again, but the water did not change depth. He walked slowly, feeling for trees and bushes. A storm was overhead, the thunder angry and insistent. There was Lightning, but the flashes did not pass through the trees. He slipped on a root and fell face down in the water. Eve fell on him. His face was under the water. He fought his way to his feet, experiencing a moment of sheer terror. It was as though someone had tried to drown him. He helped Eve up and then felt in the water and found the Springfield.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Eve.

  “I’m wet.”

  “So am I.”

  “If you fall again, I’ll let go.”

  “No. Fall on me. It’s fun.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Such fun.”

  The mud and the water tugged at his feet. He could feel the suck of the moving water. He wanted to run. He wanted to get away from the roar of rain in trees, from the snarl of thunder, from rising water, from darkness that was like being blind. He wanted a dry, secure place. There must be safety somewhere. He went ahead, tearing aside underbrush and vines and the branches of trees. The whole Ituri could not be under water. It could not be. He went through a bush of nettles, his skin smarting from the tiny cuts. His hands met the bare trunk of a tree. He stopped and felt his way around it. The tree was large and the bare wood was slippery under his palms. He left the tree and pushed through vines. The long, fuzzy, wet streamers of Spanish moss brushed his face. He trampled down a bush and crossed a small clearing. Eve clung to his belt. The rain fell heavily and the water seemed deeper. He could feel the terror again. It was like being trapped in a cave by a rising underground river. His foot caught in a tangle of grass; he clutched at vines that gave with his weight and fell into the water, the vines coming down on him. Eve did not fall. She had let go of the belt. He got up and pushed the fallen vines off his shoulders. Eve took the belt again and they went on.

  They came to a part of the forest where there was no water. Jay felt with his feet and found a place for Eve to sit. He sat beside her, touching her arm. The rain beat down on their heads and they could hear the liquid noise of the water. Thunder was loud on their left. He could feel Eve trembling.

  “This is what we get,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My grandfather used to tell us,” she said. “‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap.’”

  “Oh, Eve.”

  “We’ve been wicked, haven’t we?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, we have. God’s paying us back for being wicked.”

  “Darling, he isn’t taking all this trouble to get us. He could do it easier than that. He doesn’t have to flood half of Africa.”

  “I think he’s going to have us die here.”

  “Don’t talk that way.” He put his arm around her. “We’ll get out.” He searched with his lips until he found her cheek. Her skin was cold. It thundered again on the left.

  “I get so discouraged when I’m wet,” she said.

  He did not know how long he sat with his arm about her. The storm to the left went away, but it still rained. He could hear other storms. He did not sleep, but he did not think much. He was too tired. He had never been so tired. He supposed it was the leopard wounds. And having Eve. If God got you, he thought, He would probably get you that way. Make you too tired from your wickedness to escape the flood. But it was not wickedness. He did not think that. It was a normal thing. He did not think of Eve as having a husband. They loved each other. It was a normal thing. It was a fine thing. He would have her many times more. He would like to be in a warm clean bed with her now, in a hotel, just waking in the morning and telephoning to room service for breakfast, and then being with her before the waiter came with the table. And on the table would be strawberries and cream and sugar and coffee and thin toast and scrambled eggs and sausages.

  “Are you asleep, Jay?” Eve asked.

  “No.”

  “The water is rising again.”

  He had been so wet he hadn’t noticed it. The ground where they were sitting was wet. He felt with his hand and the water was everywhere. It was still rising.

  “Let’s wait a minute,” he said.

  “All right, darling.”

  The water rose fast, flowing from right to left past them with increasing strength. When Jay touched the earth again with his hand the water was above his wrist. He gave the Springfield to Eve and told her he would look for higher ground close by. He walked ten steps to the right and felt the ground. The water was over his wrist. He turned right again, but went deeper into water. He could not see anything. He waded in a large circle, forcing his way through the jungle, and still found water. They had halted on a small knoll. It would not be a good place much longer at the rate the water was rising.

  “Eve,” he said.

  She did not answer. There was the roar of rain and moving water in his ears.

  “Eve,” he said again.

  He became frightened when she did not answer. What had happened to her? He hadn’t gone far. What could have happened?

  “Eve! Eve!”

  Her voice came to him faintly. “Jay! Here! Here!”

  Her voice seemed to come from behind him. He turned and took a few steps and called again. Her voice was a little louder. He took more steps and called. Her answer came to him faintly. Oh God! he thought. He was confused by the darkness and the noise of the rain. “Eve! Eve!” He stumbled forward. Her voice was still remote. He couldn’t lose her. Oh God! “Eve! Eve!” He tried to run, but realized his panic might carry him completely away from her voice. He stopped.

  “Eve!”

  “Here, Jay.”

  Her voice was to the left. He took a step and called. She answered. He took another step and called. When her voice was close he found he was in a thicket he could not force. He had to circle the thicket and her voice became fainter. He was afraid he would lose it altogether. At last he got by the thicket and came to her. He touched her hip. She caught his hand.

  “Darling!” she said. “Oh, darling!”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Please don’t go away again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I died while you were gone.”

  “I’ll never go away again.”

  The water was just below their knees. The drag of the current was strong. The water whispered in back of their legs. It was strange not to be able to see it. The rain was still coming down.

  “We’ve got to move, Eve.”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Take my belt.”

  She took his belt and they left the knoll. He tried to walk away from the roar of the water, but it was hard to tell the sound of the water from the sound of the rain. He walked as rapidly as he dared, going in a direction that was partly with and partly across the current. This was not bad, but they had a terrible sensation when they stopped for a tree or a tangle of vines. Then the strong water piled up
on them, as though it was trying to force them under. The water was over their knees, and it was hard to stand against. If only he could see it, Jay thought. His eyes ached from the dark. It was bad to keep running from the water. If they could find one dry place, making with fire a circle of safety about them in the night, they could fight the fear. He stumbled, but his shoulder met the trunk of a tree and he caught his balance. It was the moving that frightened them, he thought. It was because they were in flight, and it was in flight that the terror was. In flight and in water and in the darkness.

  Eve said, “It’s getting deeper, darling.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s to my waist.”

  “We have to go on.”

  He halted and listened for the roar of the water. It was behind them. He would not go back that way. He wanted to, hating the deepening feel of the water ahead, but he had to go on. He moved forward. That was the way safety lay, if anywhere there was safety. He said, please, God, let us find the higher land! Please, God, let us! He slipped and fell on one knee. The current pushed against his chest and he overbalanced and lost the Springfield and went floating down with the current. Eve clung to his belt, floating, too. He got his feet on the ground and braced against the current and brought Eve to her feet. He coughed up a little water. There was mud in his mouth. His teeth grated on it.

  “The rifle,” he said. His voice sounded queer in his ears.

  The water was pushing him down. He braced against it. The water was strong.

  “We’ve no rifle,” he said. His voice sounded queer and frightened. “I dropped it.”

  “You almost dropped me, too, darling,” Eve said.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “The rifle’s gone.”

  “Let’s go back for it.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Then let’s go on, darling.”

  “We can’t live without the rifle,” he said.

  He was bracing himself, but the water pushed him back and he had to brace himself again. He was very tired. He heard the swish of a branch trailing in the water. He could not think of going on without the rifle. The rain was still in the trees. The water built up the pressure again and he went back a step.

  “We can’t stay here, Jay,” Eve said.

  “But the rifle.”

  “We’ll have to leave it.”