by Day Taylor
"Now, doan you start thinkin' things, Claudine. Ain't no way Miss Dulcie gwine be livin' now. Cap'n Ben tell me de boss bury her hisseff" Rosebud tapped his head. "It done made him funny, but he know, an' we gotta he'p him when de time come fo' him to tell us he know. Miss Dulcie she daid, an' we's all he got now."
Claudine placed a coverlet over Adam, sat down quietly on Dulcie's chaise, and watched as he slept.
The Lawd had strange ways, Claudine thought. She loved Miss Dulcie as well an' true as one person could love another. She done give Miss Dulcie her most faithful devotion through all the years. 'Til Mastah Adam come to Moss-rose. She never did know 'zackly what went on 'tween Mastah Adam an' Miss Dulcie that time, but Mastah Adam done need her after he come from Wolf's cabin. And she was there for him. Miss Dulcie wasn't there, but Claudine was. She guessed that was the beginnin' of the time when she knew she'd do anythin' fo' Mastah Adam.
Claudine thought some of Dulcie and cried for the lost years at Mossrose, the days when as children they had gone to Fellie's shop and been given candy, the days when she and Dulcie visited the Saunderses and Dulcie always got Glenn into trouble. She thought of the night they had helped FeUie and Ester and Darcy escape. That was the first time she'd seen Adam. Claudine had known then that Dulcie never belonged with a man like Adam. A woman had to be willing to sacrifice everything, and Dulcie hadn't even known then what that meant. But Claudine had known. She knew now. She was willing to give all of herself to him and ask nothing in return.
Adam lay still. Familiar kitchen sounds—a woman softly humming, a cup clinking pleasantly against a saucer— dragged him back, forcing him to think, to want something he now knew was not to be. His head was throbbing from the liquor, and he was no longer able to deceive himself. Dulcie was dead. In infinite detail he went over their last moments together. He saw her in the captain's cabin fussing over her things, showing him the layette she had
sewn for the baby. He remembered half-heartedly trying to convince her to remain in Nassau and then how pleased he had been when she had repeated that she wanted him all to herself. He had killed her wanting her with him. He shut his eyes and again listened to the sounds of a woman preparing a meal for a man.
It seemed like Dulcie. Claudine's low, soft voice became the high, clear soprano he wished he was hearing. With his eyes closed and his mind tightly locked, he knew it was Dulcie.
Claudine smiled as she pulled back the draperies, letting in the bright morning sun, a favorite motion of Dulcie's before she leaped back into the warm bed beside Adam.
Against his will, he opened his eyes, squinting against the blaze of light. Claudine's slender frame was silhouetted against the window.
"Mawnin', Mastah Adam. Ah brung you a good, good meal. Aftuh las' night you gwine need yo' stren'th." She placed the bed tray over his lap, then stood back and surveyed her work, complete with a small red flower. "You hungry?"
Adam hesitated. "It's fine, Claudine."
Bolder, perched on the bed, she pushed the tumble of hair from his forehead. "Ah gwine take keer o' you. Ah nevah gwine leave yo' side. Ah watches out fo' you jes' like Miss Dulcie'd want."
Adam closed his eyes against the soft flow of words.
"You ain't et yet," Claudine protested. "Ain't you hungry?"
He shook his head, and she took the tray, looking at him with loving patience. "Mebbe you be wantin' it aftuh a bit. Ah fix it fo' you then."
Adam waited until she left the room. Then he got out of bed, still dressed from the night before. He slipped out of the apartment.
The streets were bustling and busy. Everyone had someone to see, business to attend to, someplace to go. Adam wandered the side streets, avoiding the places he and Dulcie had visited together. He entered the Halyard Light, it was quiet in the daytime, only a few men sitting in varying stages of dissipation at the back. The stage where the Halyard Light's main attraction, Ramona Rose, danced every night looked ludicrous in its empty crudity. By day it was simply a dingy little grogshop, bleak and forgotten.
By night it throbbed with the passions Ramona Rose was hired to excite. The Halyard Light then recked with sweat, stank with the sour breath of lusting, drinking men, while Ramona Rose stripped and danced and sang, egging them on with her low, husky voice, teasing them with her voluptuous body.
Adam sat on the end stool. The barman brought his rum. Adam sipped, his mind blank, staring at the empty stage where the woman would be that night. He loathed the sight of her. She was the lowest sort of female, and he wished she were there. He wanted her to dance. He wanted to hear her low, throaty voice. He wanted to watch her, and hate her.
His head buzzed mildly when he walked into the afternoon sun. He ambled toward the shore. The native boat still sat at the water's edge. The banana leaves, wilted and turning brown, were still in the bottom. He kicked the side of the boat and wondered what would happen if he got in and headed back toward Andros. Perhaps he would reach his destination and find Dulcie. Perhaps he would never reach his destination. Perhaps he would sink beneath the sea. Perhaps he would never find Dulcie. Maybe that was all there was to be the rest of his life: always wanting to search for her and being afraid to for fear he would learn the one thing he didn't want to know.
Rosebud found him there, staring into the cloudless blue sky, lying back across the seat, his feet hanging over the side.
"Where you been, Boss? Ah been lookin' all ovah de whole islan'," Rosebud grumbled good-naturedly.
"I've been right here," Adam said shortly.
"How long?"
"How should I know how long? What do you want, Rosebud?"
"Ah wants you to gets us back to work. We got a big ol' boat jes' settin' and waitin' fo' usuns to fill 'er up an' go to WUm'ton."
Adam moved, shading his eyes to look at Rosebud. "What ship?"
"Doan know, Boss. She ain't got no name 'til you gives 'er one."
Adam was on his feet, striding toward the docks. Rosebud smiled, following him. Anchored down from the Liberty was the third sidewheel paddler Collie and Com-
pany had built for Adam. It sat low in the water, gray and sleek like a night hunter built for speed.
"See, Boss, do whole worl' ain't stopped. Dey's a lotsa things jes' a-waitin fo' you to go an' do 'em. An' a lotsa people. My people, dey's a-waitin', too. You ain't forgot you de Black Swan, has you?"
Adam bounded up the gangplank with Rosebud at his heels. He ran his hands over the brass rails, grasped the companionway ladder, released it, and stood back to examine masts and rigging. "I haven't forgotten."
"Dat mean we's gwine sail soon?"
"I don't know, Rosebud. I don't know anything right now.*'
Rosebud said ponderously, "Dat jes' be a tempe-airy sitchy-ation. What we gwine name dis ol' boat?"
"Ship, for Christ's sake—when will you learn to call it a ship!"
"What we gwine name dis ol' ship, Boss?"
Adam, laughing, gave up. "R.B., I think you've already named it. As you said, I'm the Black Swan, and your people are waiting. We might as well make him big enough to see from a long way off."
"Yassuh Yassuh! Dat what we gwine do. We gwine sail on de Black Swan," he chanted, dancing around the deck. "We gwine soar on de wings o' de Black Swan. We gwine sail to de promise' Ian' on de wings o' de Black Swan"
"What's going on up there?" Ben shouted. "Someone to see you, Adam."
Rosebud preceded Adam down the companionway, singing and chanting. "Dis ol' boat she be name de Black Swan. Hey, Boss! How kin dat be? De boat she's a girl, an' de Black Swan he be a man! What we gwine do 'bout dat?"
Ben looked at Adam. "You really going to name it the Black Swan? I know how you felt about Ullah, Adam, but after what we did to Revanche, it's just like wearin' an advertisement for him. You don't need—"
Adam's face set. "I hadn't thought of it. But it's the best damned reason I know for naming her the Black Swan. Who wants to see me?"
"Glory. She's on the wharf. Damn you, Adam
, I swear I don't understand you one bit. Why make things harder for yourself? If I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted Revanche to skin your hide off you."
Adam grinned, then slapped Ben on his back. "What makes you think you know me so well?"
Ben eyed him suspiciously. "Shit, I don't know. You sound all right, at least you did 'til now. You do know about—I mean, you're not still wanting to go back to Andros ... for anything?"
Adam's face grew hard. "No, I'm not going back to Andros."
Ben clasped Adam's hand. "You know how I feel . . . about Dulcie."
"How do you feel, Ben? Why wouldn't you go with me to find her?"
Ben spoke in a whisper. "She can't be alive, Adam. Not after all that time, and you—Jeez, Adam—look at yourself. You're a scarecrow! The men didn't even recognize you. How could I agree to go to that God-awful island and let you go through that again when I know in the end you'd come back without Dulcie?"
Adam watched him for a moment. "Let's go see Glory."
Ben held back. "Adam? You do understand? There's nothing I wouldn't do to help you if I could."
"I understand, Ben. You believe she's dead, and you're doing what you think is best."
"Adam, you believe she's . . . don't you?"
"I don't know what I believe."
Glory, her gown a tame shade of gray, stood on the dock. She put her arms out to him. "Adam, I'm sorry, so sorry."
He allowed her to kiss his cheek, then pulled away. "We're all sorry," he said flatly. "Let's think about other things, like christening my new ship properly. Come on, Ben, you can tell me why I shouldn't name it the Black Swan."
Ben looked at Glory, his face grim, but he followed along v/ith the others. Adam headed directly for the Halyard Light.
Ben stopped outside the door. "Not here, Adam. This is—"
"It's as good a place as any. Don't you like associating with the common man, Ben? Being a ship's master gone to your head?"
"I was thinking of Glory. It's not a place I'd take a lady."
"Well, Glory, we'll leave it up to you." Adam's smile was hard.
Glory matched him stare for stare. "You can't fool me, Adam Tremain. I know what you're doing. I'm not that easy to shake off, and I'll tell you something else. I'd like to know why you're trying so hard to get rid of every friend you've got. Let's go. I've been in tougher places, for worse reasons."
A gust of smoky air burst out of the Halyard Light as Glory pulled the door open and was engulfed in the murk of the interior. She minced her way to the back of the smoke-clogged room and sat down at the f armost table. Her eyes met Adam's. "Aren't you going to sit down, Adam? Don't tell me your enthusiasm has waned."
"My enthusiasm hasn't waned, Glory." He waved at the bartender.
Glory laughed. "Am I supposed to think about that reply, figure out I've been insulted, and flounce out of here in a huff?"
Adam shrugged. He poured himself a drink, offering none to Glory or Ben. "Do as you like." He drank quickly and refilled the glass with equal speed.
"Look, Adam," Ben began. Glory shook her head. Ben leaned toward her, saying low, "Enough is enough. I don't know what the hell's come over him, but I'm damned if I'll sit in this stink hole and listen to him all night."
"I don't recall forcing you to join me. Ben. Matter of fact, seems like you came to my ship and interrupted what I was doing."
"You son of a bitch! I was trying to help you. I've known you all my life—'til now, Adam. And we've been through a lot together, but no one, not even you, is gonna talk to me like that!"
"No? Then you'd better leave now." With a bottle before him he was feeling playfully mean. It was better than feeling haunted.
Glory coughed. "I do hope you gentlemen are enjoyin' yourselves. I'm certain you're making my stomach turn. I've never seen the like of you, Adam Tremain. Your wife dead, and here you are—"
Adam slammed his fist down on the table. "She's not dead. She is not dead! Don't say that again. Not ever!"
"Come on, Glory. I've had a bellyful of this."
"Adam—what do you mean she's not dead? Ben told me—"
"Oh, yes," Adam said sarcastically. "Ben said. Ben should learn to keep his mouth shut about things he knows nothing of."
"Dulcie's dead, and Vm done with listenin' to you blather crazy nonsense about chickcharnies and natives and devil children!"
Adam swallowed the contents of his glass, "Get away from me, Ben."
"Stop it!" Glory cried. "Adam, what makes you think she's alive? Oh, Ben, listen to him! If there's the slightest hope—"
"There's not," said Ben.
His speech thickening, Adam concentrated on Glory and repeated the story of his weeks on Andros.
Glory listened avidly. "Adam, she must be in that terrible house. Who in their right mind would name a house Satan's Keep? Are you certain you looked everywhere? Cellars! Were there cellars?"
Adam shook his head. "No cellars.*'
"What about the native huts?"
"Couldn't. Ben wouldn't go back with me, an' Rosebud would—"
"Well, we will go! We'll search every hut in every village on Andros, and we'll find her!" Glory reached out to take Adam's hands.
His eyes on Glory were bloodshot, poorly focused. "Well all go," he whispered. "We'll . . . bring her back."
"Oh, yes! There is hope! We'll keep looking until—^we find her."
Adam held fast to her hands. "You go, Glory. You go and . . . find her for me.'* In a strangled whisper he added, "I can't."
Ben turned away, not able to watch or listen any longer. Adam went on in the same slurred, hoarse whisper. "I wanted her to make that trip. She went because I wanted her with me. I should have surrendered to the Federal ship. My God, if I'd just surrendered. Why didn't I, Glory? Why did I go on?"
"You did what you thought was best, Adam.'*
He shook his head violently. "Captain's responsible . . . responsible. I killed her. I killed the baby—^my baby. Christ
Almighty, why did I do it?** He put his head down on the table. His shoulders heaved. "Find her, Glory. Please go find her. Make her come back."
Glory said pleadingly, "Adam, it wasn't your fault. Please, honey, you couldn't help what happened. It was the storm. You can't stop a storm. Adam—please.*'
Ben put his hand on Adam's shoulder. He said gently, "Come on, Adam. It's time to go home."
"No! No, don't want to go back there," he muttered.
"Then come to my place.**
Adam groped for the rum bottle, sloshing liquid into his glass. "Gonna celebrate th' new ship."
As he spoke, a drum rolled, giving his announcement inadvertent fanfare that pleased him. Ben slumped back, determined to wait until Adam's mood improved or he passed out. He was certain he wouldn't have to wait long. The rum bottle was already more than half empty.
Ramona Rose, the Halyard Light's claim to fame, stepped up on her rickety stage, clad in many layers of colorful robes. With each drumroll she shed one garment. Tonight, unlike other nights, she stepped from the stage and moved through the room, teasing the patrons at the tables.
Her coarse hair hung down her back like writhing cot-tonmouths. At the center table she sat on the lap of a prosperous-looking seaman. She thrust his head back. The man's mouth hung open. Her deep, sensuous laughter floated across the room as she poured his malt down his throat. Laughter burst out. Ramona, quick and elusive, was on her way to another table before the seaman could grab her.
Glory watched her, wide-eyed. "Oh, Lord, Ben, to think I wanted to be a stripper. My God, she's horrible."
Ramona slithered out of a pale green robe and left it twined around the head of the next nftan she approached. Two tables away from Adam, Ben, and Glory, Ramona was assisted in removing her golden robe by a leering drunk, whose hands and eyes were so busy, he never felt her remove his money pouch, carelessly tucked in his belt. Over his head, Ramona dangled the bulging pouch, encouraging derisive laughter. As the robe floated to
the floor and the man's hands reached for the last garment, Ramona dangled the pouch in front of his nose, moving away in quick dancing steps as his expression changed from
lust to anger. She dropped the pouch and watched as he scrambled to retrieve his scattered gold coins.
She sauntered to Adam, only a virginal white robe covering the scanty costume she wore beneath. Her dark eyes snapped with disgust. "Well, gentlemen and lady, is he alive or dead? Shall we find out?"
Deep in his morbidity, head slumped on his chest, Adam was only vaguely aware. Ramona, bumping her hips at Ben, whirled and swiftly straddled Adam, pulling his head against her chest.
Drunkenly, he shook his head, smiling vapidly.
"Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?" Ramona purred. She pulled his head up by his hair, looking deeply into his eyes. "Wanna go see the queen, pussycat?" She laughed, and the others joined her, hooting and stomping.
Adam watched blearily as Ramona wriggled on his lap, pleasing her audience, driving them to frenzy. He grasped her robe at the neckline and ripped it from her as he stood up, thrusting her away. "Slut!"
Ramona lay stunned, then she began to laugh, running her hands through her hair, rolling and moving on the floor as suggestively as she had while dancing on the stage. "Now there's a man!" she shouted. Quickly she went back to the stage, murmured instructions to the musicians, then looked to the back of the room where Adam sat. "This one's for you, pussycat! All for you!"
The drummer rolled a fanfaronade while Ramona Rose gyrated her hips in voluptuous suggestion. Her long, sharp fingernails moved sinuously along her body, caressing her breasts. Then as the drummer hit three hard echoing licks, Ramona swung her pelvis forward, in a movement obscene and explicit. Her eyes never left Adam. "I can do that all night with you, pussycat!" Her audience cheered lustily.
The band played a rocking, bawdy tune. Ramona paced the small stage, her steps calculated to inflame her audience's lust. At intervals the drummer hit a hard note echoed by a soft one, and Ramona flung out one thigh and held the pose, running her hand up to caress the scanty sequined green triangle between her thighs. The gaze from her black-fringed eyes compelled Adam's on her.
