by Guy Johnson
Serena knew well hard work. She had been raised on a sharecropping farm where there was never enough money to lift the family out of the muck and mire. She had seen her mother work herself to death just to keep the family clothed and fed. Serena knew the torpor, the stupor, the exhaustion that came from day after day of long hours of muscle-tearing, back-wrenching work. There was a tyranny in that life which pressed the joy out of living, a tyranny so complete that most never escaped its oppressive clutches. She had seen them on Sunday at the clapboard church, people so tired and beaten that their bodies could not hold a laugh and their faces could not frame a smile. They were shackled by hopeless exhaustion. They were inhabitants of a world where there was no beauty. Sunrises, sunsets, full moons were merely nature’s alarm clock signaling the passage of time. Beauty was an abstraction having nothing to do with their lives—lives in which days turned into centuries, and finally the meaningless death following the meaningless life, with never once any true hope of escape.
She wanted to escape that world. She wanted to leave it entirely behind. She wanted to live in a real city, someplace that had an indoor toilet and electricity. King had been her ticket out. He had given her a chance to dream, to hope, to see what was possible. With him she had intended to craft a new and different life. She saw herself becoming a grand lady presiding over a dynasty of her own children, children who would succeed in the world because prejudice was not heavy enough to keep them down or stop them from dreaming and becoming. It was true that it was King’s money, money derived from his gambling and bootlegging businesses, that bought her the standard of living the likes of which she had only fantasized. And his willingness to use violence ensured that they would keep what they possessed and would always have money. In the back of her mind, she had thought that she would eventually wean him away from his guns and in time they would lead the lives of honest, breadwinning people. She had begun working on her dream within a month of arriving in Bodie Wells, when she persuaded King to buy one of the two general stores in town. She planned to craft a life that had none of the meanness and sordidness of poverty in it. Her family would be joyful. There would be laughter around her hearth.
Bodie Wells allowed her to shape her dream in the relative safety of a small pond. Running the general store gave her a position of respect and also an opportunity to establish herself as one of the town’s important women. Buying merchandise, doing the inventory and the accounting, and keeping the store books all helped give her a real understanding of operating a business. She worked on her manners and her diction. She read books on etiquette. She was prepared to work to improve herself. It was a small pond, but during her six-year stay she became one of its big frogs.
The letter had come a week after Thanksgiving in 1921. King was away in Mexico at the time. The snow had been falling steadily for several days in thick, powdery flakes that covered everything, including Main Street, which was the only paved street in town. King had been away nearly a month dealing with his bootleg business. Their marriage was still new, only a few months old. It was her first time being alone. She had never, ever spent a holiday by herself, but both Thanksgiving and Christmas passed and there was no word from King. It was hard to remember what she hated more, the wind or the silence. The wind populated the passing hours with haunting voices borne of desolate plains, while the silence confirmed in its own empty way that she was alone. Some nights before she went to sleep she wondered whether King ever planned to return to her.
When Christmas passed, Serena could no longer wait. She opened the letter. There were actually two letters in the envelope. The first one was from Captain Mack, a white man who was like an uncle to King. It read:
… I don’t know if this is one of my brother’s tricks or not, but a woman came here named Mamie. She had a little boy with her who she claimed was your son. I didn’t tell her nothing, but she gave me a letter to send to you. She told me that you told her we was about the only family that you had. I can’t tell you how good that made me and Martha feel, boy. We told her we didn’t know where you was, but if we got a chance we would forward her letter. I hope you and your new wife is doing good. No matter what you thinking, don’t come back here! My brother, the sheriff, has people all over the place looking for you. You done shot his leg off and now he’s madder than an alligator with eggs.
If you decide to come back, don’t come to the mill! Corlis has got people watching us.
Go to Poindexter’s and he’ll contact me. We’ll still find a way to help you just like when you was seventeen and needed money and a horse.
You take care of yourself, boy. You all we got.
For Serena the next letter had been even more difficult to read, but she could not put it down. Her hands and eyes would not obey her. In her mind she was screaming, shouting at herself, Drop the letter! Don’t read it! Yet her eyes followed each line of the letter to its horrible conclusion. It read:
Hello King,
I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you in the eighteen months since you’ve been gone. You’re one of a kind. I never had a chance to tell you how grateful I was that you appointed me manager of the Rockland Palace. A regular paying job is on the path to happiness. Smitty or one of the guys stop by every once in a while to make sure things are running well. The Palace is one of the most popular places in New York City and we regularly take in a profit. Life is so crazy; now that I don’t need the money I get from singing, I have more offers for work than I can handle. I have an offer to be part of a traveling revue. I really want to do it. I want to see where my singing career will go if I put time in it. But I have a problem and it’s not the Palace. Vince knows the ropes better than I do.
I don’t know how to tell you this, but six months after you left, our son was born. Yes, I knew I was pregnant before you left, but I didn’t want you to stay if that was your only reason for staying. If you stayed, I wanted it to be because you loved me. It was hard for me to accept then, but I realize now that you didn’t know how to love.
I came looking for you to find out whether you had learned how in the time that you’ve been gone. I hoped that there still might be a future for us. Even if we can’t get together, I thought you would like to see your wonderful son. He reminds me so much of you. He is not even a year old and he’s already walking. He is tough and fearless. Nothing scares him. I was hoping that I could leave him with you while I travel with the revue.
I have been talking with your lawyer friend Goldbaum and he’s the one who told me you were in New Orleans. I have been here two weeks and no one knows where you are. Please contact me as soon as you get this. I’m staying at the Tri-Color Hotel on the edge of Storyville. I really love the music that’s being played in some of the clubs down here.
Oh, by the way, a friend of yours invited me out to his farm next week. He wants to see your son. The man’s name is Alfred DuMont. He says he’s known you all your life. I’m really looking forward to some home cooking.
Your loving Mamie
Serena didn’t remember what had happened after she finished reading the second letter. All she knew then was that her world had come crashing down around her ears. All because of some floozie who couldn’t keep her pants on. She didn’t know this woman, but she knew her. The woman was coming to contaminate the world that Serena was creating, bringing the sordidness of unmarried sex and children out of wedlock. Mamie was a woman of easy laughter and easy liaisons. She wasn’t planning ahead, trying to build a future like Serena. What right had this woman to come looking for King? He had left her once. Wasn’t that enough? But underneath Serena’s indignation was fear, fear that she couldn’t escape the life that she had lived on the farm, fear that she wasn’t entitled to success and happiness.
She did not know what to do, but of one thing she was certain: Her concept of dynasty did not include having another woman’s whelp preside over her children. She would fight that all the way. She did not stop and think for a minute that King should have a choi
ce in the matter. It was her dream. It was her decision. When King arrived the day before New Year’s, Serena told him nothing of the letter. After all, if that woman was going to visit the DuMonts, perhaps the problem would take care of itself.
Things were wonderful between King and Serena for a month, then the second letter had arrived. It was delivered to King directly. Serena only got to read it after King had left to return to Louisiana. With no response to the first letter, Serena had sincerely hoped that there would be no more news of the woman and her child, that they would sink back into whatever swamp they had crawled out of. The look on King’s face after he read the letter revealed to Serena that she had driven a wedge between them by her silence. This was the point at which Serena first noticed that her life was divided. She could see herself from a distance, as if she were walking parallel on the opposite side of a small creek. This wasn’t a problem initially; but over time the creek grew to a stream, and the stream to a river, and the river to a sea, and the sea became the wide, vast ocean. It took years, but eventually she lost sight of herself. The second letter had effectively driven the nails into the coffin of her dreams.
January 15, 1921
Dear Bordeaux,
I’m really surprised that I haven’t heard from you since I wrote you the first letter in December. I just hope that you and your new wife are all right. I’m sorry to be writing you with this news. The woman from New York, who said she was the mother of your child, was found last week in the swamp. She was out of her head delirious. Her body looked like it had been tortured and violated. It looks like the DuMonts took advantage of her and passed her around. The woman’s people are coming to get her in the next few days to carry her home. I hope she regains her senses. There was no sign of the baby.
I have put out feelers, trying to find out if anybody knows about the child, and had no success. Corlis sent me a message to mind my own business. So, it looks like once again, he and the DuMonts are working together. If you decide to come back, you best be on your toes. There’s a trap waiting to slam shut on you. I’ll keep on searching for the child, but the baby may be already dead. It would be foolish for you to hope for anything different.
I know nothing will stop you from coming now, but it’s very dangerous. You got to be very careful. Remember, Corlis has people watching us. Go to Poindexter’s hunting cabin or Baptiste’s fishing dock. They’ll tell me when you arrive.
Martha and me, we pray for you, son.
King had left Bodie Wells directly after reading the letter. He was gone within two hours of opening it. Serena was left surrounded by the silent distance of hired help. Six weeks passed and no word from King. She had no idea what had happened to him, nor what to think. Doubt gnawed at her like a rat nibbling cheese, and the passage of each day left another tooth mark on her heart. Within two weeks of his departure she realized that she could not keep the general store without King’s money and support. The store was earning money, but not enough to maintain their standard of living. If there was just one bad harvest and a stretch of bad times fell upon the citizens of Bodie Wells, the store would be out of business. Another problem was that men were not used to dealing with a woman. They tried all sorts of tricks to cheat her. The traveling hawkers and salesmen did not accord her the same deference and respect as when King stood behind her. People were even beginning to shoplift merchandise. Her success was tied to King’s presence. Without him the pursuit of her dream would fail, and the prospect of failure frightened Serena: It meant returning to the farm in Louisiana. She could clearly hear that world calling her, welcoming her back to the morning sadness and the evening fatigue. She wanted desperately for King to return. She was prepared to do anything to keep him. Anything. In the second month she received a letter from New Orleans. It was about King. He and another man had been arrested by Sheriff Corlis Mack’s deputies. Serena was almost happy to find out that King had been caught by the sheriff of New Orleans: At least he hadn’t left her to live with that other woman. There was a reason he had not returned. It gave her the chance to prove herself to him, show him that she was sorry for her mistake. Serena resolved that she would help him escape no matter the cost.
She arranged to meet some of King’s men in Algiers, across the river from New Orleans. Her dreams drove her forward. She took charge of the rescue effort. King had a number of good men working for him, trustworthy and fearless. Her determination to rescue King, manifested in her face and words, impressed all who came in contact with her. The men deferred to her forcefulness. There was a confidence and certainty about her that was reminiscent of King himself. She was a methodical and tireless worker in the achievement of her goal. Within two days she had developed a plan from the information available. The sheriff, Corlis Mack, a fat spider of a man, was still in the hospital recuperating from the amputation of his leg, which King had caused when he shot it off. Corlis Mack had delegated the responsibility of running his department to Captain LeGrande. The sheriff and his executive staff always met at the Lafayette Social Club. Serena got herself a job at the Lafayette and, due to some staff absences, had the opportunity to serve LeGrande.
This is the point where Serena released the details of her memory; like a school of fish from an overturned net, the specifics wiggled away into the encroaching darkness. She preferred the obscuring haze of time, preferred to let the curve of the earth block her sight. It was all too horrible to recount. Suffice it to say, she allowed LeGrande to force himself upon her, to violate her, all in order to discover where King was imprisoned. In the end it was one of the colored waiters who revealed that King was locked away in a basement room of the Lafayette. King and his friend were rescued, but many people died in the escape. She remembered the smell of blood, then immediately after that the smell of gasoline as King’s men doused the room where King and his friend had been imprisoned with the contents of five-gallon drums.
There was one memory she could not forget. After King had been carried out and LeGrande had been shackled to the wall in King’s very same chains, LeGrande began to beg for his life. King’s men had left the room to get more gasoline and lay fuses for the dynamite. LeGrande had babbled, panic in his eyes, babbled that he knew where the baby was. It was in an orphanage in southeast Texas. He pleaded that if she let him go, he would tell her exactly where it was. Serena nearly laughed in his face. The man did not know to whom he was speaking. As she raised her revolver and pulled the trigger, she remembered thinking, I let you rape me, but I will not let you do it to my family! She emptied her gun into his chest, then watched as gasoline was dumped on his dead body. She had to kill him. She had to make sure he never told anyone else. She still had no intention of letting the ghost of another woman walk through her house on a daily basis. Serena had paid with her body for the right to bear all of King’s children. She never intended to ever mention the baby to him again. It was as dead a subject as LeGrande.
When Serena and King returned to Bodie Wells, Serena had thought that they could leave all the bad experiences behind them, that they could start anew, building their lives together. She tended King night and day while he recuperated and regained his strength. She understood intuitively that King would honor her sacrifice, that he would put aside his anger and resentment because she had risked her life on his behalf. His code of conduct would let him do no less. She slipped into a schedule of letting her staff open the store in the morning while she was tending to King. After several hours in the store she would return to check on her husband. She often spent the afternoon with him. She was happy and almost blissful until she discovered that she was pregnant with LeGrande’s child. She didn’t dare tell King. She thought she could get rid of the fetus without him knowing. Serena never doubted that King would hate his enemy’s child.
The five weeks of imprisonment had destroyed something inside of King. The mechanism that created smiles and laughter appeared irreversibly broken. There seemed no room for anything in his psyche but hatred. He was like a lantern in
which the wick had been withdrawn down into the body of the lamp, so that it wouldn’t light, but nonetheless always had the potential to explode. Shortly after he had recuperated fully from his injuries, King went back to New Orleans. He said he would not return until the sheriff was in his grave. Serena used his absence as an opportunity to try and abort the baby. She nearly killed herself with the potions that she took. She was in a coma on the edge of death when King returned from his successful mission of murder.
LaValle Baddeaux Tremain was born premature, weak, and colicky. Once she had the child in her arms, Serena wondered what could have made her want to kill her own baby. How could she have tried to take the life of this gift from God? This sweet, little miraculous boy, how could she? There was a terrible weight on her heart. She felt great guilt because she thought the potions she had taken had adversely affected her infant son. She was immediately overprotective and doting with him. The first few years were touch-and-go, and he was in need of her constant care. She was committed to tending his every need and she was to remain so throughout his life. She never trusted King to be fair or just with LaValle. Why should she expect King to react differently to LeGrande’s child than she had to Mamie’s spawn?
With the birth of Jacques Bordeaux Tremain, LaValle’s weakness became even more apparent. Jacques, better known as Jack, was rough-and-tumble from the moment he was born. He was his father’s son and King took him everywhere with him. Lavalle was always more thin-skinned and cried more easily than his younger brother. Serena blamed herself for his weakness; he was her firstborn, a child who clung on to life despite his mother’s depredations. He came into the world needing more care than his younger brother.
