Serpents in the Sun

by Cave, Hugh

  9

  After the funeral service in Morant Bay, the casket was brought back to Glencoe, where rain had been falling heavily since daybreak. Water rushing down the Great House driveway had already formed a lake in the yard.

  There, some sixty of Glencoe's workers, men and women, were waiting, some huddled under the overhang of the garage roof, others beneath the huge royal Poinciana and African tulip trees. Some had been waiting an hour or more.

  Lifting the casket from the hearse were the same four men who had carried Lyle from his bedroom to the wedding in the Great House drawing room the afternoon before: his sons Roddy and Cliff, his best friend Desmond Reid, and Dr. Tom Kirk. Carey too was a pallbearer, as were the man who had become the husband of Carita at that ceremony, and Russell Hazard, who would undoubtedly marry another of Lyle's granddaughters one day soon. With care, lest they trip over something concealed in the layer of murky water, they carried their burden across the yard and began the treacherous journey down the slope to what Glencoe's workers always referred to as the "buryin' ground." There the Reverend Lundie Nesbit, who had gone ahead, stood hatless by the open grave, awaiting them.

  Four cars had followed the hearse up from the Bay. From those, under a toadstool patch of proffered umbrellas, stepped family members and friends. From Kingston were the man who had made The Caribbean Solitaire a well-known name in music circles and his brother, who had urged Alison to plant her forest of Caribbean pines. Another in the group was the woman who had replaced Imogene Bailey as the Bennetts' housekeeper twenty-one years before. Tears streamed down Beryl Mangan's face as she followed the casket-bearers.

  On the slope below the Great House veranda, long since cleared of the wait-a-bit and other scrub growth that had covered it, the rain had made the ground especially treacherous. The pallbearers proceeded with the greatest of care. Still, as the heavy casket became more and more a burden, the slips were more frequent, and when one man slipped, the weight of the casket threw the others off balance.

  As they reached the little cemetery at last and began to pick their way through the headstones, it happened again. Cliff was the victim this time, the ambush a mud-slick patch of ground hidden by a clump of grass. His right foot flashed out from under him. Hisleft leg struck a headstone as he fell.

  The mishap this time was more climactic than those that had preceded it. Here among the headstones the others could not move readily to compensate for it, and two lost their grips. The casket followed Cliff down to crush his leg against the stone.

  There was a sound like that of a dead stick snapping, followed by a howl of pain. The others worked frantically to lift the casket off Cliff's leg. Tom Kirk and Carey, the two doctors in the group, bent over him, Kirk slitting the bloody trouser leg with a pocket knife while Carey held him steady.

  "It's broken," Carey said quickly. "Tom, we have to get him to the hospital. Can we use the hearse?"

  "Better put a mattress in it." The older medic looked back at Roddy, who was crowding him. "Get one from the house, will you? Take someone to help you."

  Roddy and Vernon Jansen went scrambling up the slippery slope.

  "Cliff." Carey peered now into the hurt man's face. "Cliff, can you hear me?"

  The eyes flickered open, then closed again. "I hear. It hurts, Carey. It hurts like hell."

  "It must. But hang on. I'm going up to the house to get you something for the pain." Carey turned to the others, who had put the casket down and were gathered around. "Help Tom carry him to the hearse, will you?"

  "And be careful," Tom Kirk warned. "For God's sake, be careful !"

  Getting back up the wet slope with their burden was every bit as difficult as coming down it with the casket had been. More so, because all of them were aware that Cliff's injury might be made worse if they dropped him. Roddy and Vernon had just finished placing a mattress in the hearse when they reached it at last. With Tom Kirk telling them how, they made the injured man comfortable on it. Then Carey came running from the house to administer morphine, while family members, guests, and Glencoe's many workers stood watching in a stillness of apprehension. At the wheel, with Lee beside him, the hearse-driver anxiously awaited a signal, and finally got it.

  By the time the hearse reached the top of the driveway on its way to the Princess Margaret, Cliff was asleep. Strips of sheeting held him steady on his improvised bed, and the two doctors guarded him.

  "This is going to pose a problem for Roddy," Carey observed as the car sped down through Rainy Ridge and reached the blacktop road to the Bay.

  Tom Kirk frowned at him across their sleeping patient. "For Roddy? Why for him?"

  "He'd made arrangements to leave in a few days. Now he'll have to stay and run the plantation until Cliff recovers, wouldn't you say?"

  "M'm. This is a busy time of year, isn't it? Weeding, fertilizing—a lot of work to be done and supervised."

  "A lot of walking to do."

  "Yes." Kirk nodded. "Roddy does have a problem. And will have for quite a while, I'd say. This leg isn't going to heal in a hurry."

  "I wonder if he'll still know how to handle the job. It's been a long time since he helped to run Glencoe."

  "Oh, he'll remember, all right," Kirk said. "You never forget that kind of thing."

  At that moment, the man they talked about stood beside his mother at his father's last resting place, his arm around Alison's shoulders as Glencoe workers shoveled earth into the grave. But his thoughts were not on what was happening there.

  In his mind Roddy was seventeen again, only recently arrived at Glencoe. Seated by the fireplace in the Great House drawing room, he studied a map of the plantation while waiting to go with his father to pick up his mother and the twins when they arrived from the States to begin a new life in Jamaica.

  In the doorway, in a voice of near panic, his father was shouting, "Damn it, Roddy, the car won't start! How are we to get to the airport?"

  10

  420 S.E. 5th Terrace

  Pompano Beach, FL 33060

  Sunday, May 3, 1968

  Dear Mother,

  Please note our new address and do accept my apologies for not writing to you sooner. We never dreamed it would take so long to find a suitable house. Carey's folks were wonderful, though. They wouldn't hear of our going to a motel.

  This house is every bit as nice as the one we had in Pétionville, and we've an option to buy it—which we may do if the prospects look good for Carey to build up a practice here. And speaking of Pétionville, we had a letter from our Tina last week. She has gone back to Verrelle, where Carey and I lived when we were first married. The man whose house we rented there, Mr. Valebranche, moved back into it when we left, and Tina is now working for him as his housekeeper. She was born there in Verrelle, so she's happy the way things have worked out for her.

  I must tell you about Ginny Beaulieu and her husband. When they got here they were met by Carey's dad, as you know, and whisked away in the middle of the night to the Aldreds' home in Ft. Lauderdale. Mr. Aldred says he felt as if he were playing a part in a James Bond movie. Well, Guy and Ginny are living in Miami now and Guy has taken his law exams or whatever it is they have to do here, and he is working at some kind of job with a Miami law firm. What happened—when the Immigration people were told how Guy escaped from prison and had to leave Haiti in a hurry or risk being caught, both of them were granted asylum here. They may not stay, though, now that the Duvaliers are gone. They say Haiti is their home, and both Carey and I feel they will soon go back there.

  I should tell you about our adopted daughter, Virgie, too. She writes us weekly, and each time I open a letter I thank God that I was the one who took her home to Malrouge that day. She works at the hospital, of course, but spends much of her spare time at the school, helping out with the kids there. She and Roddy's former housekeeper at Le Refuge have become good friends, she says. Dela's blind son, Lucien, is there too and has become a big help in the Sisters' program for the blind.

 
So how are things at Glencoe, Mother? You wrote in your last letter that Cliff was able to get around a little on crutches. The leg is still in a cast, I suppose. Knowing him, I'm guessing that my energetic twin brother is probably acting like a caged wild animal and giving you all fits. In fact, he was tugging at the leash even before we left, wasn't he? But the worst should be over soon, and you do have Roddy there to see that the work is done. I'm sure everything will work out in the end.

  Andrea is back at UWI by now after the Easter break, no doubt, and Glenda must be back at school too. I bet they look forward to weekends, the way Cliff and I used to when we were away at school all week. Does Andrea's Englishman still drop in every Sunday? And does Glenda still think the Reverend Nesbit is a Super Scot with a terrific voice? Carey says it's the first time he's ever heard a man praised for having a sexy voice. He says it's the last part of the male anatomy he'd have thought would be in the running. Ha!

  But, hey, I've got to do some running—to the Post Office with this letter, and to Publix for something to feed my guy for dinner. Do forgive the long time between letters. The house-hunting took every spare moment. And do know that we both love you all very much.

  Hi, Luari! Hardly a day goes by that we don't play one of your records. They're wonderful, and oh how they take us back! Hi, Cliff and Roddy! Take care of yourselves. Hi, Andrea and Glenda. Have fun, both of you! And hi to you too, Beryl. Hugs and kisses to you all. Take care of Mother, you hear?

  Lee (and Carey, too, of course)

  "Luari brought the mail up. We have a letter from your sister," Alison said as she walked into the schoolroom where Cliff, seated at a desk, worked on the weekly pay bill. Since the accident, her son found the office in the yard somewhat out of bounds. He could reach it when he had to—he managed to get around the house quite well on crutches now—but with hisleg still in a cast, the veranda steps were a bit risky.

  With the injured leg outthrust, he leaned back on his chair and smiled up at her. "Havethey found a house yet?"

  "Yes, they have. Here. Read it yourself." She handed him the letter and sat to watch him read it, thinking how stronghe was to have endured the broken leg without complaining. Infact, he had insisted from the beginning that he could manage theestate without Roddy's help, and that Roddy should be getting on with his own life.

  Well, Roddy had been trying todo that, hadn't he, in a way? In the weeks since the accident he must have written at least thirty letters to American resorts listed in the directory Vern Jansenhad obtainedfor him. None of them yethad been in need of a manager, to be sure, but he was probably doing as much here as he would have been able to do had he gone to the States when he planned to.

  Cliff was laughing.

  "What's funny?" Alison asked.

  "Carey. The last part of the male anatomy he'd have thought would be in the running. But hey, a man's voice can be sexy. Luari's is and always has been. So why not a man's?"

  "As a matter of fact, Carey himself has a sexy voice," Alison agreed. "But, of course, being Lee, what probably sold her on him was that walk across the mountains. You know your sister."

  Cliff put the letter aside and looked at her, his smile on inner thing this time. His mother was doing so much better than anyone had dared to hope. Of course, she had known Dad was dying, but even so, they had expected her to become something of a zombie when it happened. Instead, she had picked herself up after the first few days, almost as if she had looked in a mirror and said, "Now see here, this is enough, you have a life to live so snap out of this and get on with it." Right now—would anyone have believed it? —she was talking to the Forestry people about ways to harvest some of the pines she had planted, because Jamaicans were complaining about the high cost of imported lumber.

  "Mother—where's Roddy? Do you know?"

  "He said he was going up to check on some of the high fields that are being weeded this week."

  "He doesn't have to do that, Mother. The headman can handle it."

  "I know, but he feels—"

  "He hasn't made any move at all to contact Heather McKenzie, has he? Or whatever her name is now."

  Alison shook her head. "That's all behind him, he says."

  "Then why is he still here? He knows I—we—can run Glencoe without him."

  Before answering, Alison rose to her feet and picked up the letter from Lee. Then, with a faint smile and a shrug, she said, "Cliff . . . do you really expect me to know what your brother is thinking? Do any of us know? Ever?"

  Washington, D.C.

  May 9, 1986

  Dear Grandmother Bennett,

  I have some great news for you! I think my book is going to be published! That's right—published! You remember the agent I wrote you about? The one Vern knew, who offered to read the first 200 pages and let me know what he thought of them? Actually, all I was hoping for was a go-ahead—that is, a statement from him that it had possibilities and I wouldn't be wasting my time if I went on with it. But without even telling me, he showed it to a leading N.Y. publisher and they like it. I'll be getting a contract any day now, he says. Isn't that wonderful?

  More good news. Vern has been told that he can expect to stay here in Washington for at least another three months, which will give me time to finish the book, and then he'll be assigned to—are you ready for this? —Jamaica. So we'll be living in Kingston, practically next door to you. Isn't that wonderful? He's getting Jamaica because of his good work in Haiti, they told him. I mean, they feel he knows the Caribbean.

  Haiti is having some problems, by the way, and it looks as though the transition from Duvalierism to Democracy won't be as smooth as—well, I won't say as smooth as people expected, because the truth is, no one really knew what to expect. But as smooth as people hoped. We have our fingers crossed. I won't stop worrying about Virgie until I know there's no danger that one or more of Duvalier's cronies might stage a coup and regain control.

  Mother and Dad have found a house in Pompano Beach—did they tell you? From what Mom says, it must be a nice one, on a canal or the Inland Waterway or something. What do you want to bet they wind up walking across the Everglades or something? No one is ever going to tie those two down to any dull daily routine, you mark my words.

  Well, Grandma, I should be working on my book. In fact, I've got notes scattered all over the bed in the spare bedroom here, which I've turned into a workroom. (But it can be a bedroom again at a moment's notice if you decide to come pay us a visit—don't ever forget that.) Is Uncle Roddy still there? Has he looked up his old girlfriend yet?

  We love you all! Just think—one day soon we'll be zooming down that steep driveway again to visit you!

  Carita and Vern

  On Sunday, the first day of June, dinner at Glencoe was a special occasion. Roddy would leave the island the following afternoon to begin a new career as assistant manager of a resort hotel in Florida. The girls were at home for the weekend. The Reids, Tom Kirk, and Andrea's Englishman were present.

  "Where is this place you're going to, exactly?" Kirk asked at the dinner table, over a plate heaped with curried chicken, riceand-peas, and the usual assortment of vegetables from Glencoe's gardens.

  "On the west coast, near Fort Myers. I'll be able to run over and visit Carey and Lee with no trouble at all. Or they can come see me when they have a day off."

  Luari said, "It was the strangest thing. The Sundown Lodge isn't one of the places Roddy wrote to, but someone he did write to in Florida knew Mr. Leighton, the owner of Sundown, and one day they were talking about Haiti, all the terrible things that happened there, and this other man's wife—" She stopped in confusion and looked at Roddy. "I give up. Explain it, will you?"

  Glenda grinned at her. "You were doing okay, Mom. You should have set it to music and sung it, that's all. Then everyone would have known exactly what you meant."

  Roddy, seated next to Luari, reached out and patted her arm. "What Solitaire was saying," he explained to the others, "is that a friend of this fello
w's wife had stayed at Le Refuge just before the end, and liked what I had done there. And as it happened, Leighton was on the lookout for an assistant, so he wrote and made an offer. A good one, too. So by this time tomorrow night, unless the planes stop flying, that's where I'll be."

  "How would you like to have a last look at our island before you get on the plane?" Tom Kirk said. "I'm driving to Montego Bay in the morning to attend a conference. I'd appreciate the company."

  Roddy said eagerly, "Hey, I'd love—" then shook his head. "I can't. I'm already booked out of Kingston."

  "No problem. The plane stops at MoBay, doesn't it?" "Well, yes, but—"

  "We'll phone from somewhere along the way and tell them you'll be boarding there instead."

  Frown-lines altered Roddy's face. "Along the way?"

  "Well, yes. I have to leave early, you see—ought to be on the road by six—and I doubt they'll be taking phone calls at that hour. But we can easily stop somewhere later and call them. They won't care where you board the plane—fact, it'll give them an extra seat for someone flying from Kingston to MoBay if they need one." Kirk grinned at Luari. "That's another one that ought to be set to music, eh? But it's simple enough. For people used to solving problems by telephone, that is." There was still no phone beyond Rainy Ridge.

  "You have to leave at six?" Roddy said.

  "Sorry, but I'm afraid I must."

  "No, no. The timing is good. I'd be there in plenty of time to catch the same flight. It's just that—"

  Andrea said quickly, "I'll drive you to Dr. Kirk's if that's what's bothering you, Uncle Roddy."

  "You wouldn't mind getting up that early? I could drive myself down and leave the car there, you know. Then you and your mother could come down later and—" He stopped because she was laughing. "Oh-oh, here we go again, hey? Another one to be set to music."

  "There's absolutely no problem," Andrea said. "I'll drive you down."