Serpents in the Sun

by Cave, Hugh

  He laughed again. He was having a wonderful time, Lee realized.

  Was she a part of why he felt this way?

  I hope I am.

  They had climbed a steep mountain trail and descended through wooded ravines that apparently seldom dried out; had trudged along beaches where high black cliffs crowded them against the sea's edge. Then for miles the path wriggled through deep jungle.

  Though used to walking Glencoe's steep tracks, Lee was beginning to tire. As the path led them back to the sea and they trudged past a few scattered cailles there, she glanced at her companion's face but saw only enthusiasm. This was the last village before their destination, Carey told her. "Grosse Chaudiere. More land crabs than people, as you can see."

  Yes, she could see and was being careful where she stepped.

  "Are you all right?" There was concern in his voice.

  "Uh-huh. If it isn't too much farther."

  "Should we stop and rest?"

  She looked at the sky ahead. "It will soon be dark."

  "I'm afraid it will." He touched her hand. "But we're close to Tiburon now, so let's slow down a bit."

  They toiled up another steep stretch of trail, and Carey halted at the top. Watching where she placed her feet, Lee stumbled against him. His right arm went around her first to steady her, then to hold her close. "Look," he said quietly.

  She looked and gasped.

  They stood together on a headland above a curving bay. Into the bay flowed a river, and they could see people walking across a sandbar at its mouth. By the river was the village, dim now in the failing light but even more like a fairy-tale village because of that.

  "It's the prettiest town in all Haiti," Carey said. "Is your camera handy?"

  "Yes, yes! Of course!" Forgotten was her fatigue.

  Dropping her backpack, Lee snatched the camera and took pictures. But she wouldn't need them, really, Carey told her when she was putting the camera away again. "It stays in your mind, this view of Tiburon. You'll find it coming back to you again and again, sometimes out of nowhere when you least expect it to."

  The trail was downhill now. Into the village. To the home of the Oblate Father, beside the church. And—yes—the three life-size plaster statues in the priest's dining room did startle her. All through the meal prepared for them by the Father's housekeeper, she was conscious of their presence. Also she was tired—so tired that at times she had to force herself to pay attention to what the priest and Carey were saying.

  "Alone?" the Father said at one point. "You mean you plan to cross the Massif by yourselves? No, no, no—you mustn't!"

  "We have a map, Father. An aerial one, at least."

  "Worthless, I'm sure, since Hurricane Hazel. And we've had rain this month—out of season, I know, but hard enough to make things difficult for you. No, no. You must take along someone who speaks the Creole of this region, which isn't the same as what is spoken in your part of the country. A mule, too—you should have a pack mule. You can't carry on your backs everything you will need for such a journey."

  Carey looked unhappy. "Where are we to find someone?"

  "I know a boy. We can go and talk to him after we've eaten. I know where to obtain a mule for you, too, I believe." The priest, this man who rode a motorbike over the difficult trail between here and Les Anglais when he had to reach "civilization," looked at them both now with a heavy sigh. "A doctor," he said. "Ah, how we could use one here. Some of the sisters along the coast do a little doctoring and hand out medicine, but the nearest real doctor is miles away. We get malaria. The young father in Les Anglais has had malaria. He also had dysentery for two years until boiling the water cured it. We have to do all our own building, too. Can you guess why?"

  From doctoring to constructionin one jump, Lee thought, but said, “Why?"

  "The local artisans can't make a straight line. Haven't you noticed how all the houses are crooked? That's because they use bent poles in framing the walls and windows. But come, Doctor." The meal of soup, spaghetti, bread, potatoes and coffee was finished. The prieststood up. "Let's see about a boy and a mule for you before it gets too late. And you, MissBennett—do you wish to come?"

  "Thanks, no. I'll stay here and have that bath your housekeeper promised me."

  "Yes, of course. Come, then, Doctor. There may even be time to show you some of our village."

  Renting a mule in such a village should be easy, Carey thought. Or buying one at the going price of fifty dollars or so. It was not, but in the end, with the Father's help, he bought one. Then, finding a boy to look after the animal proved to be even more difficult. The one the Father had in mind, a youth of seventeen named Vendredi Malfam, balked when told he would have to sleep in the open. What protection would he have from werewolves and evil spirits?

  Carey argued and got nowhere. "Suppose I talk to him alone," the priest suggested.

  What, Carey wondered afterward, had the Father said to the boy to produce a change of mind? That there were no such things as werewolves and evil spirits? No Haitian peasant would buy that. Had the priest promised him some special reward other than the expected wage of five qourdes—a dollar—a day?

  "How did you win him over, Father?"

  A smile. "He's in love with a girl who hasn't quite made up her mind about him. I told him that if he made the trip with you, the whole village would talk about it and she would be so proud of him she would say yes."

  The boy's name became "Friday," of course. He laughed at that when told it was his name in English. After breakfasting with them at the rectory he loaded the mule, and the expedition got under way.

  "But I'm going to come here again someday," Lee said, looking back with tears of happiness in her eyes. "I want to stay here awhile and get to know these people!"

  Carey touched her hand, his smile telling her he was pleased. "Both of us. And we will. Don't ever doubt it."

  Within an hour they were grateful to the priest for insisting they use a pack-mule. Without question, had even half the contents of the animal's woven saddle-baskets been on their backs, they would have quit before that first day ended.

  Near the coast, the Tiburon River was wide, swift, and shallow. Again and again they had to cross it, at first removing their shoes to keep them dry, then leaving the shoes on to protect their feet from stone bruises. Later the stream became a rush of white water choked with boulders. Then a huge fallen tree blocked it.

  They might have climbed over the tree themselves and continued, but there was no way the mule could get past it, nor could he manage the vine-tangled jungle on either side. Parts of the tree would have to be cut away. Matter-of-factly young Friday plied his machete. The sound brought two mountain men, a woman and a child, to watch.

  The men stepped forward to help Friday, talking to him while they did so in a Creole that Carey did not fully understand. When the expedition was ready to proceed again, Friday turned with a long face to Carey and Lee.

  "Those men said we cannot go much farther up this river. Beginning a little way upstream from here, it is blocked for miles by fallen trees like this one we have just cut away. They said we should cross the ridge to the Anglais. There is a trail above here, they said—bad since the rains, but we can use it."

  Carey studied the map, and then stepped to Lee's side. "I see what they mean, Lee. But maybe we should camp on this stream tonight before tackling a climb like that. What do you think?"

  "I think we should."

  The mountain people had vanished. The expedition continued upstream through a twilight-dark rain forest until, at four o'clock, it reached what they both felt was a suitable campsite. Friday unpacked the mule and gathered dry wood for a fire. Lee laid out the two sleeping-bags Carey had brought from the Kelleher and the blanket, supplied by the Tiburon priest, that Friday would use. The evening meal consisted of a chicken and home-baked bread Friday had bought at a peasant caille earlier in the day.

  That night Lee Bennett slept as she never had before, waking only on
ce to the sound of the stream rushing past a few yards away. Dr. Carey Aldred slept within arm's reach of her. Vendredi Malfam curled up in his blanket as close to the fire as was safe and lay awake most of the night, anticipating a visit from shadowy things that would certainly devour anyone foolish enough to be so vulnerable.

  In the morning, they toiled up a ribbon of red mud through jungle and rain forest, the mule constantly slipping and sliding. Then from the high ground at the top they descended by an equally difficult trailto the valley of the Riviere des Anglais. There, at the edge of a wilderness pool, Lee called a halt.

  "I need a bath and a change of clothes, Carey. Good Lord, look at me. If this mud ever dries on me, I'll think I've been encased in red concrete!"

  Having planned to do whatever laundry was needed asthey went along, each of them had brought only a single change of clothes. Lee went to the mule now and obtained what she needed. Sitting at the pool's edge to remove her mud-caked shoes, she looked up with a smile. "Why don't you two go on a little bit and wait for me?"

  "I need a bath, too," Carey said.

  "Oh?" Head atilt, she directed a quizzical gaze at him. "Unless, of course—"

  "No, no. You should see yourself. But tell Friday to go on and wait for us, huh? Around the next bend, maybe?"

  Carey relayed the message in Creole. The boy said "Oui m'sie" and reached for the rope by which he led the animal. Though he spoke no English, he seemed to know what was going on and was obviously trying to suppress a grin as he turned away.

  With an eye on his companion as he unbuttoned his shirt, Carey saw her remove her clothes. When she took off everything, he was startled. With an occasional exception, even peasant women bathing in streams left their underpants on. It was an effort for him to stop staring at her and pay attention to his own disrobing.

  Naked, and with a glance upstream to be sure Friday had not slipped back to watch, Lee stepped gingerly into the pool. The stream might be a tropical one, but it was high above sea level here and the water was cold enough to make her shiver. Thigh deep in it, she turned her head toward Carey and said, half jokingly, "Brrr! It's like ice when you walk into it this way!"

  He had just stepped out of his shorts. "I'll bet it is. Have you got soap?"

  She held up her right hand. "Just the one bar. I thought we could both use the same one instead of getting two of them wet."

  "Right." He stepped into the pool and made his way toward her. "Now how do we do this? Soap up and dive in to rinse off, or get wet and then soap up?"

  "I'm doing it like this." She held out the bar of soap and waited for him to take it, then braced herself for the shock and dived. It felt good once her body adjusted to the temperature change. It felt wonderful. She swam to the far side of the pool with her eyes open, and the array of smooth, varicolored stones on its gravel bottom were like jewels in a showcase. When she stood up and turned to see what Carey was doing, he was busy working up a lather on the more private parts of his body. Obviously he had elected to soap up first.

  Their baths finished, they both washed the sweat and red mud out of their clothes, kneeling side by side now in shallow water. Why, Lee wondered, did Carey not touch her? Was it because he was a doctor and used to seeing women naked? Looking at him, she was aware of feelings she had never had before. If he were to pull her to him and make love to her, she would do nothing to stop him. But he did not.

  It was disappointing. She resented the ill-concealed smirk on Friday's face when, dressed again and carrying their laundry, she and Carey rejoined the boy. All the rest of that day she thought about it while toiling upstream through a wild mountain wilderness.

  6

  About three o'clock, with the sun gone from the river gorge and the air turning cool, they came to a peasant caille in a clearing and stopped to talk to the man and woman who lived there. Both were in their forties, Lee guessed. They kept goats and chickens and had a garden in which they grew yams and piti-mi and a few vegetables. Perhaps twice a year they walked out to Tiburon. Had they ever been to the expedition's destination, Jeremie? No. Never. "That is on the other side of the Massif," the man said solemnly.

  "Then you have never been to Port-au-Prince?"

  "We have heard about it. A crowded place with many poor people who have little to eat and no good water to drink. For what reason would anyone from here wish to go to such a sad place?"

  They offered to sell the expedition eggs for a penny apiece, a chicken for a dollar, yams for forty cents each. Even a young goat for two dollars and forty cents. Lee and Carey settled on some eggs and yams, paying more than was asked, and those made up the evening meal when the day's journey ended.

  The campsite this time was in a grove of red trees—pie bois rouge, Friday called them—a little distance back from the river. Again Friday curled up in blankets close to the fire. But though the night was cool at this altitude, Carey laid out the two sleeping bags in a part of the grove separated from the fire by a wall of brush.

  When Lee went to help him, he held up one of the bags and said, "These open up like blankets. See? The zipper goes right around the bottom." He showed her. "What do you think?" he added. "Shall we try it? One under us and one over?"

  She pretended to think about it. "Well, it is pretty cold here."

  "Yes. Colder than I thought it would get." He looked at himself. Looked at her. "And if we keep each other warm, we won't need to sleep in our clothes, maybe." They had done that the first night, and Lee had expected to keep on doing it.

  "No," she said. "I don't suppose we will."

  "Shall we see how it goes, then?"

  "Yes, let's."

  Seeking out a level place, he opened both sleeping bags, and together they arranged them into a reasonable facsimile of a double bed. Then with toothbrushes and towels they went down to the stream together.

  From the start of their wilderness journey, going to the bathroom had been no problem. A simple "I'll catch you in a minute” had insured a few moments of privacy at any time. Even Friday had attended to his needs that way, tying the mule to a bush or sapling while seeking a private place to relieve himself.

  It was time for that now. Finished at the stream, Carey straightened and said, "See you back at the sleeping bags, love," and went upstream with a flashlight. Lee went in the opposite direction. When she got back to their bed, he was sitting there in his shorts waiting for her.

  He was going to make love to her, she supposed as she looked down at him and began to unbutton her khaki shirt. It would be the first time for her and she was a little frightened. Not for anything in the world would she want things to be different, though. He hadn't asked her along on this adventure only for that, she was certain. Maybe he hadn't even thought about it until this afternoon, when they stopped for a bath in the pool. But what did he expect of her now? Should she strip down to only one garment, as he had?

  Take it off, she told herself. No, wait. If he wants everything off, let him say so. Or let him . . .

  Suddenly she was laughing. Not loudly or hysterically, but as though this were happening on a motion-picture screen and she were in the audience enjoying it. Love scenes could be a little silly at times, couldn't they? Of course they could, and without being any less tender or meaningful.

  Carey seemed puzzled, though. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, no," she said quickly. "It's just me. I guess I'm scared. A little, anyway."

  "Not of me, I hope."

  "No, not of you. Of doing this. I've never slept with a man before."

  He got to his feet and reached for her hands. "Lee, if you'd rather we didn't sleep together . . . Good Lord, I don't want to ruin this for you. Everything's been so great." He stepped back, frowning at her. "But we've been leading up to this, you know. And I don't mean only on this trip."

  He was right, of course. From a first goodnight kiss they had gone on to others, each one deeper and more passionate than the one before. That day at his secret beach they had lain close toget
her, touching each other. She already knew what most of his body felt like under her fingertips and how her own reacted when he touched her. Even now, as she stood facing him, her heart was pounding so hard it sounded to her like one of those distant night-time drums.

  "Lee? Shall I zip the bags back up?"

  "No." She only whispered the word, but with no hint of hesitation. He mustn't think she was reluctant to make love with him! Not for a moment . . .

  Had she given voice to the thought, his lips would have silenced her at that point. Still standing, he drew her into his arms and molded his mouth to hers, holding her that way for what seemed a long, wonderful moment before letting her go. Then he stepped away from her and bent to take off his shorts in the same casual way he had at the pool. As though what was about to happen was inevitable.

  It was inevitable, Lee thought. Her whole life had made it so. A different kind of girl would not have urged her parents to leave a safe, secure home in Rhode Island and gamble their future on being able to restore a rundown Jamaican coffee plantation. A different girl would not have accepted Ginny Beaulieu's invitation to spend a summer in the Caribbean's most impoverished country. A different girl would not now be hiking through a Haitian wilderness, feeling like Alice in Wonderland.

  But, she thought, what was about to take place here in that wilderness must be more than a meaningless few moments of physical pleasure, to be dismissed with a laugh when it was over. It had to be a commitment full of real joy and abandon—total, whole, complete.

  "Wait," she said.

  Carey stood there in silence, watching her take off the rest of her clothes. He reached for her hands.

  A moment later the two of them were together between the sleeping bags, locked in each other's arms. And when they made love it was a physical and emotional commitment more complete than she had foreseen in her wildest fantasies. Loving this man, she instinctively knew, would be as necessary to her well-being—perhaps even to life itself—as breathing was.