The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  He jerked away from her. "Let me alone!" He ran out into the washhouse. He came back carrying the water, rags, and soap.

  Zoe heard him climb the stairs. Ben sat at the table, staring at his hands. "I just don't know if I can hide this. I never had to . . . had to keep something like this a secret before."

  "One seldom does." Zoe was barely listening. Her mind had followed Adam. Her ears were more acutely tuned

  to the creakings Mammy's feet made on the floor above.

  "The man with the Boar's head said Tom was an insurrectionist. He wasn't—^was he?"

  "I don't know. It would be hard to believe that of Tom. I think he just loved Ullah. It's too bad she wasn't. . .'*

  Ben nodded in agreement with Zoe's self-consciously unfinished sentence. "Adam and I talked about that some. But Ullah seemed special. I mean, she wasn't like the darkies we have. Ullah was so ..."

  Zoe patted at his hand. "I know. Drink your hot chocolate. It's time you were getting home. Do you think you're up to it now?"

  Ben emptied his cup. "I'm all right, Mrs. Tremain. I—^I won't say anything. Not to anyone. Ma'am?"

  "Yes, Ben?"

  He hesitated, then burst out, "Is a citizens' committee the law? Did we do wrong in bringing Tom here? Will you get in trouble for it?"

  "I don't know, Ben, but you didn't do wrong in bringing Tom here. What you boys did was right." Zoe patted his shoulder gently.

  She felt ashamed as she closed the door. Ben made her feel guilty as he spoke aloud the things she was afraid to put into words. He took her inadequate explanations and was comforted by them. Ben had seen something terrible, but it would not ajffect him overlong.

  Adam was different. He would argue with her explanations. He would find scant comfort in anything she said. Zoe, seeing with unusual clarity how she had repeatedly failed him, wondered if she'd ever learn to guide her son properly. Her love for him was deep and abiding—^but love was not enough. Today in the bayou some demented men had destroyed Tom and had taken Ullah's life. In what ways had they maimed and twisted her son?

  She hurried up to the bedroom. Mammy had cleansed Tom's wounds and layered his broken body with cold, wet rags. His ribs were bound in a tight casing of white muslin.

  Adam stood at the foot of the bed, his hand grasping the post so hard it looked bloodless.

  Manmiy said matter-of-factly, "Boff dese arms is outa dey joint. Bes' we fix 'em while he still not knowin'." She raised one foot, intending to place it against Tom's side, up near his armpit and away from the broken ribs. Her

  knee caught in her nightgown; her balance was in peril. "Too or an' too fat," she muttered irritably. "Mas' Adam, you gwine hafta do what Ah tells you."

  "Can't I do it?" Zoe asked.

  "You ain't strong enuf to do nothin' 'cep' hurt him."

  Adam walked to the side of the bed. He took off his heavy boot and placed his foot as Mammy showed him. She glowered at him. "You hoi's him heah, an' heah. You gots to do jes' like Ah tells you. Cain't be gentle, gots to be a quick, hard jerk, you min' me?"

  Adam nodded dumbly. He grasped Tom's hand in his, his other hand fast on Tom's wrist.

  "When I tells you, you pulls back hard. De Lawd will do de res'."

  Beads of cold perspiration shone on him. He bit hard on his upper lip, his eyes squeezed shut as he waited for the sound of Mammy's voice. As he pulled, Tom screamed.

  "Doan you pay no never min' to dat. Only hurts goin' in," Mammy said sharply as Adam released Tom's arm, covering his own face with his hands. Mammy felt Tom's shoulder and grunted in satisfaction. "Now do de odder arm."

  Adam was shaking. "I can't ... I can't."

  "You sho' nuff kin. Dis gent'man yo' frien', an' he gwine need dem arms. You git ovah heah wid me an' do what's gotta be did."

  "Mammy . . ." Zoe began.

  "Hush, now, Miz Zoe, ain't no time fo' you to take on. Mas' Adam, he a man, an' he gwine do man's work."

  "Oh, but Mammy, I can't stand to see what it's doing to him!"

  Mammy said implacably, "It be makin' dat young man strong, dat what it doin' to 'im."

  Adam wrenched Tom's right arm into its socket and stood sobbing.

  But Mammy was not finished with him. "Breave thoo

  yo' nose, boy, den you doan boff up," she said, watching

  him until the nausea passed. "Now go down an' git de

  woman laid out on de kitchen table. We gots to make

  her propuh fo' her burial. Miz Zoe can watch out fo' dis

  one. You keep dem rags cold, Miz Zoe. Mas' Adam, keep

  on movin'. You an' me got a heap o' hard labor 'heada

  us 'fo' de rooster crow."

  ♦ ♦ «

  Mammy would not allow him to stop, gave him no time to think or argue, as he toted buckets of water up and down from Tom's room so the cold paddings could be changed to try to keep down the swelling. As the night wore on, Tom began to slip into and out of consciousness, moaning in pain, bringing the sharp edge of memory closer to Adam. Mammy sent him into the pecan grove at the far end of their property to dig Ullah's grave.

  "Mammy! You can't make him do that! Not after all he's been through. I won't have it! It's nearly four in the morning. Oh, Mammy, you've never been heartless before —^why are you doing this to him?"

  "Miz Zoe, mebbe you de sof est li'l lady in de whole worl', but ain't sofness dat's gwine git him thoo dis night. Dat boy eatin' he heart out. Dat's what he's doin'. When Mammy done wid him, he gwine sleep, 'cause dat's all dat's gwine be lef in him to do. Ah watch dat li'l boy fend fo' hisself all alone when Mas' Paul still alive. All dem yeahs Ah say to mahseff, Mammy, dat ain't right, but Ah doan do nothin'. Dis time Mammy gwine he'p him. Ah knows what's bes' fo' him. He gotta think he done it all hisseff. An' we gotta he'p him so's he res' when he finish up.**

  "He's too young for this!"

  "Mebbe so—but it done happen, an* we cain't do nothin' 'bout dat."

  They buried UUah in the grove just before the sky began to lighten, Zoe reading from the Psalms as Mammy held the candle high so she could see the print. Mammy stood proud and erect, her hand touching her breast as she sang softly in her low, sorrowful voice, resonant with the echo of the centuries, a lament for all the losses of all men of all times. Adam lowered UUah into her grave. The sound of his shovel, replacing the moist earth in the gaping hole, made an eerie accompaniment to the gentle voices of the two women repeating the words of their Maker.

  Adam looked like a sleepless specter when they returned to the house. His face was drawn and gaunt, marked with guilt and remorse as only the faces of the very innocent can be. From time to time he would glance up at the staircase, afraid to go back to Tom lest he find him dead, and afraid not to, for if he didn't give his own strength to Tom, what hope was there?

  Mammy was halfway up the stairs. "Ain't you comin*, Mas' Adam?"

  He followed her.

  Zoe remained in the parlor. She had never felt so useless as she had this night. She'd wanted Mammy to take over, but. .. but...

  When she finally went upstairs, she heard the sound of Mammy's voice filling the hallway. Standing outside the door where Tom lay, she listened, remembering the countless times when those same dulcet tones had lulled her into believing the morning would be sweet with the promises the night denied.

  Adam's head was in Mammy's lap, his arms loosely around her waist.

  "Ijffen you git him a piller an' a blanket, Miz Zoe, we bed him down right heah."

  "He's asleep?"

  "Yes'm, he 'sleep, an' he all cried out. It gwine take a whiles, but dis boy be all right. Dey boff gwine be all right. De Lawd see to dat." Then she added, as though the fiery determination of her will would make it so, "De Lawd an* Mammy."

  Zoe felt a small creeping sense of shame as Mammy's hand lightly caressed the hair on Adam's neck, and her eyes rested on Tom. Zoe had thought little about Tom tonight. There had even been moments when, unwanted and unable to make herself needed, she had resented him
and what he had brought down on her. Now, as though Mammy's strength were the magic key to her feelings, she looked at Tom and felt the pity, revulsion, and hope that she should have felt from the beginning and could not.

  Zoe wondered if she'd ever be able to take what the world thrust at her without freezing inside. She had her own moral principles, but never the courage to impose them on others. Instead, she had always let someone or something stronger pull her along; time and again she was defeated and rendered ineffective to those she loved the most. How many times could she fail before there were no chances left?

  During the following days Tom clung to the threads of life, his survival more a tribute to Mammy's tireless ministrations and kind-hearted bullying than to Tom's will to

  live. She cleaned his wounds until he screamed in agony, but no trace of putrefaction or infection developed. She force-fed him. During his conscious moments she forced words from him, giving him a target for his hatred and an outlet for emotions, still cutting-sharp in a weak body. Mercilessly she dragged his beaten body and his unwilling mind away from death.

  Adam was another matter. With him Mammy's ruthless hectoring didn't work. In body he was as sound and healthy as a young colt, but Adam already had a target for his hatred, and he wouldn't let go of it. He clung to the memory of that December day; it fired his rage and pushed back the monstrous guilt he felt for having failed to save Ullah or to help Tom soon enough. He learned to hide his guilt and fears behind the spearpoint of a single-minded desire: to find the man who had worn the Boar's-head mask.

  As Tom slowly recovered, Adam hovered constantly in the sick room, silent, somber, brooding, and unnatural. During these days it was hard for Zoe to feel sympathy for him. He frightened and angered her. He hardly ate at all. He wouldn't go out with his friends. There was no laughter in him—nothing but the nightly dreams that awakened him in a cold, shaking sweat.

  Zoe wanted to scream at him, shake him until he would do the things she thought he should. The sameness of the days became intolerable—the endless climbing of stairs, the changing of awful bandages, the reluctance of both Tom and Adam to face living again. Zoe hated every minute of every day.

  For two weeks she kept her silence and did Mammy's bidding. Then, against Mammy's warnings, Zoe took Angela to see her father.

  "Dat gent'man ain't gwine wanta see dat li'l baby yet, Miz Zoe. He ain't ready fo' dat," Mammy said, her mouth drawn down in disapproval.

  "Don't be silly. It will cheer him up. Goodness, Mammy, it's about time someone around here smiled!"

  "Ain't no smile gwine come o' dis," Mammy growled.

  Tom's eyes opened in horror when he heard Angela say, "Papa?" Groaning, he put hiis hand over his face, shielding himself from the sight of the child who reminded him of Ullah. "Take her out!"

  "Tom, Angela has missed you," Zoe said softly. "Don't

  you want to see her? It will make you feel so much better.**

  "Get her out of here! Get her out!" He turned his head away.

  Adam got up from the chair in the shadowed side of the room. Glaring at his mother, he picked Angela up, holding her whimpering against him. Her arms found their way around his neck, clinging to him. He took her downstairs to Mammy, then returned to Tom.

  Zoe, waiting in the hallway, said apologetically, "I thought he would want to see her."

  Adam took the seat Zoe normally occupied near Tom*s bed. He seldom sat there, for Tom didn't seem to want to see him any more than he had Angela. Now Tom closed his eyes, his face expressionless.

  Awkwardly Adam shifted in his chair, fiddling with his hands. He didn't understand why Tom turned from him, nor did he know what to say when Tom maintained this aloof, hostile silence.

  "Angela is all right now. Mammy has her downstairs." When the silence became more than he could bear, he asked, "Can I get something for you, Tom? Are you thirsty?"

  There was no reply. Unlike other days when he had made attempts to talk to Tom and given up, Adam persisted until Tom opened his eyes. In them was none of the friendly affection of the past.

  "Get out of here, Adam. There is nothin' you can do.'*

  Adam smiled tentatively. "How do you feel, Tom?*'

  "How do the livin' dead ever feel?"

  The smile faded from Adam's face. "But . . . you are much better, Tom. Mammy says you can sit up by the window soon, and then—"

  Tom laughed harshly, a sound that could hardly be heard. Neither his voice nor the sounds of his laughter would ever ring clear again. The rope had damaged his vocal cords, leaving him with only a hoarse whisper. 'Then I will be able to walk around, a freak, neither livin' nor dead, not a man, not . . . Christ, Adam! Leave me alone! Stop meddlin' in what doesn't concern you!"

  'Tfou concern me, Tom." Adam looked away, embarrassed by his need to reveal his own feeling for this man. "I'm just sorry I couldn't get there sooner. If I'd been quicker you wouldn't—"

  "Relieve your mind," Tom hissed. "I wish you hadn't

  gotten there at all. I'd have died then, an' it would be all over. Is that clear enough? I-didn't want your heroic rescue, an' I don't want to see you now. Go away, boy."

  Tom closed his eyes again, his mouth drawn down and set. For several minutes Adam sat, unable to move or speak. Then, lifelessly, he went downstairs.

  Angela ran to him as soon as he entered the kitchen and held fast to his hand. Next to Tom and Ullah, Adam had her heart. Now it was Adam who banished the inexplicable exile she had been living since Beau had taken her from the bayou house. She turned her huge questioning brown eyes to him.

  Adam gathered her into his arms. Her father had turned from her; Adam would give to Angela what Tom could not. That night it was xAdam who heard her prayers and kissed her before she went to sleep.

  Like all the other things in which Zoe saw the beginnings of hope, she saw it in this and was disappointed. Adam stayed by Angela, delighting her and keeping her occupied, but he did it with the same grim joylessness that he did everything these days.

  Soon Zoe was willing to accept anything that might break the morbid spell that cloaked them all. The sound was like music to her ears when on a Sunday afternoon, after an absence of four days, Ben hammered on the front door.

  His face was alive with excitement. He grabbed off his hat, saying, "Evenin', Mrs. Tremain. Where's Adam? Boy, have I got news!"

  "Good news, I hope. You'll find him in the kitchen.'*

  "Thank you, ma'am. Excuse me, I gotta see Adam right away." He skipped past her, tossing his hat on a chair as he went.

  Adam looked up with indifference as Ben barged into the room.

  "Wait'll I tell you! You're never gonna believe it!"

  "Then why bother telling me?"

  "Damn! What's the matter with you, Adam? Don't you care about anything?"

  "You know what I care about."

  "It happens I've got news about that."

  Adam turned his chair to face him. "What did you hear?"

  "We're having a barbecue. People everywhere. Daddy

  invited half the county. A couple of the men there used to know Tom when he lived in New Orleans. Did you know Tom was rich? Hp lived in one of those great big mansions on Clio Street and just left it. Can you imagine that?"

  "Is that all?"

  "One of the men—Etienne Bordulac—said some man really has it in for Tom. Tom stole Angela from his plantation. This fellow thinks Angela is his slave and wants her back. Now he's hunting for them. Mr. Bordulac said that when Tom took Ullah, he stirred up the other slaves. He wants my daddy to tell him anything he hears. It's a good thing you told me not to say anything. Jeez!"

  "Sounds like Bordulac was there in the bayou that day.'*

  "No, no, Mr. Bordulac heard it from the other man, the one who owns the plantation. Adam—you're harboring a runaway slave as well as an insurrectionist. They're fighting mad about what Tom did. You know how people feel about giving darkies ideas."

  "What was the man's name, the one who owned
the plantation?"

  "I don't know. I wasn't listening until he mentioned Angela."

  "You have to know, Ben. How could you be so stupid?"

  "How was I supposed to know it would be important? You know how they all talk. Slaves and war and crops. I think he has a sugar plantation."

  "It's a place to start. I can find out about sugar plantations."

  "Yeah, yeah, but what about Tom and Angela? You can't keep them here now. They're ready to string Tom up again when they get him. He's going to find out about you. Then what can you do?"

  "I'm going to kill him," Adam said quietly.

  Ben made a face of impatient disgust. "Aw, come on, Adam, I'm serious. If he comes here and asks about Tom, what're you gonna say?"

  "Why should he come here?"

  "Bordulac mentioned your ma's name. He's gotten it somewhere."

  "He knows my mother?"

  "I guess so. But my daddy said Mr. Bordulac must be crazy. Your ma wouldn't have any truck with runaways and insurrectionists. But hush my mouth, Adam, I almost

  swallowed my punch glass and all. Both of them are right here."

  "How could he know about my mother? Find out more, Ben. See if you can get the man's name."

  "Can't. Bordulac left. He was going to some ball they're having tonight."

  After Ben left, Adam questioned Zoe endlessly.

  "Adam, I am not acquainted with Etienne Bordulac nor with any sugar plantation owner."

  "You must be! How else would he know your name?'*

  "I'm sure I don't know, dear. You really must stop this haranguing, Adam. I don't like it, and I can't tell you anything. Why is it so important?" She looked at him wide-eyed. "Unless . . . Adam, he isn't one of the men who was at Tom's house?"

  "He may be. Ben said he's looking for Tom and Angela."

  "How could anyone know they're here?"

  Adam rose to leave the room. "I hope he does come here," he said grimly. "I hope he says right out that he wants Tom and Angela. I'm going to kill him right then, where he stands."

  Horrified, Zoe faced her son. "God forgive you!"

  "God can forgive me when it's over," Adam said coldly.