The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "My mother is dead!" cried Lucho shrilly.

  Kenneth eyed him. "Here is Dorothy. You said she was dead, too."

  "Lucho, shut your mouth," said Justin coldly.

  Lucho spewed a mouthful of food at Justin.

  Justin brushed his clothing. "Take him, Costa. He can eat alone."

  "I won't go!" Lucho flapped his fin hands, rocking, trying to avoid Costa. He tumbled heavily, yelling in rage and frustration.

  "Let him He, Costa!" Justin took a bite of fruit. Lucho continued to scream, to roll around, until Kenneth rose unsteadily and delivered a sharp kick to the boy's rear.

  The strange tenor voice said, "I will make you die, old man."

  "I'm dead already, dwelling here on the dump heap of civilization," said Kenneth. "Dorothy, I'll have a small serving of that trifle."

  Dulcie shakily spooned out the dessert. Costa watched Lucho, watched Justin. When the boy had been quiet for several minutes, Justin lifted him onto his seat.

  That night Dulcie heard the drums. The ogan^s penetrating clank traveled over the damp night. Then, as the drums called, a door closed, and she heard the light rumbling sound of Lucifer's cart.

  Dulcie hid in the bed, her fear of Lucifer overwhelming. She couldn't think of him as a human being imprisoned

  in a creature's body. He was the Devil. She pulled up the cover, shivering with unconquered fear.

  Justin stood in the adjoining doorway, "Is anything wrong?"

  She strove not to let her teeth chatter. "I'm all right, Justin."

  "It's only the drums, you know."

  Dulcie fell asleep knowing that he was protecting her.

  Sometime before dawn she became aware that someone, something, was in the room with her. Strong flowery incense hung over her. Something rustkd, like a taffeta gown. Dulcie lay rigid, listening. Frightened of what she might see but still more frightened not to know what menaced her, she opened her eyes.

  A figure, shimmering, gossamer, with a pale mottled face moved slightly, leaning toward her, reaching.

  "Adam! Adam, help me!" She began to scream.

  There was a great thudding as a heavy body hit the door. Justin broke the bolt that unaccountably had been fastened on Dulcie's side. The figure darted for the window and vanished.

  He was there, holding her with harsh strength against his bare chest. "Dulcie, wake up, wake up. It's only a nightmare."

  "Oh, Adam, I'm so—" He wasn't Adam . . . no. He felt different, he smelled different. She tried to pull away from him.

  He held her closer, crooning, "There, there, my darling, you're safe." His rough hands turned her covers back, and he took her into bis arms to hold her like a child, murmuring softly, kissing her face, rocking her as he stood. Dulcie moaned softly as long-forgotten feelings stirred in her. She longed for the comfort that she remembered of some man's arms, some man's voice, some man's love. "It was a bad dream, my love, nothing but a bad dream," Justin murmured.

  Dulcie gripped his neck harder, as if by the pressure she could make him something he was not. "Justin, don't leave me alone."

  "I won't—I've been waiting, hoping. Anything you say —anything." He carried her into his bedroom. He pulled her against him, his mouth forceful, insistent. Dulcie tried in vain to push him away, tried to turn her head.

  "Don't turn from me. I've waited. Dorothy . . . IVe needed you so. Why—why did you leave me? I would have protected you."

  "I'm not Dorothyl"

  His mouth closed over hers, his tongue compelling, his hands under her nightgown. Then he tore the nightgown from her. His embrace became harsher, more demanding. His hands pressed her body to his, the hardness of his penis hot against her belly. The room reeled around her. Inside her head repeated the silent cry, Adam, help me! Aloud she screamed, "Justin! Stop! Stop!"

  But there was no stopping him. He threw her down on his bed, forcing his knee between hers. He entered her, stroke by stroke until Dulcie sobbed, her mind a blurring whirl as her body reacted to his urgent motions. Pulling, flexing, thrusting . . . then his cataclysm of heat.

  His hand fumbled on her breast. "Good God. What an animal I've become! Doro—Dulcie, Dulcie, forgive me! I've needed you so.'*

  Tears rolled from Dulcie's eyes. Long ago she had been a part of such a thing as this. It had been an act of love, not of violation.

  He lay beside her, putting her head on his shoulder, his arm possessively around her. He brushed the hair from her temple. "I love you. I'll always love you. Don't try to remember. Be mine."

  Dulcie cried, harsh tears for the life she could not remember, for the man, whoever he had been, who had loved her. She cried for Justin's taking her roughly and calling it love. He stroked her, petted her, he spoke with tenderness he could not manage before. After a long time Dulcie released herself from the yearning for that other loving man. She made herself feel once more safe with Justin.

  Dulcie's memory brought back fragments of other nights, vignettes of feelings, sensations, loving and being loved, sharing passion, rising to heights of earthly glory, nights that were gone because she was lost, he was lost—^the man she had once loved was lost.

  Her hand slowly slid down his body, feeling the heavy muscles, the strong, prominent bones, stopping as her fingers closed around his thick, hot penis. She wanted that now, wanted to feel it throbbing within her, wanted to find the lost glories.

  He did not hurt her, did not hurry this time. Dulcie felt

  the rising sensation of pleasure as he went into her, holding her tenderly, rocking easily against her. She felt his spasms of fulfillment, but for her there was not the sense of completion she sought.

  Justin rained kisses on her face, murmuring ecstatic words of endearment. Dulcie pretended to share his feelings, as though her own burning passion had been quenched. This man who desired her was her only protection in this strange and fearsome house. She clung to that.

  She woke in the morning with Justin beside her. He reached out, to make love to her another empty time.

  When he had gone, Dulcie felt more sure of herself. She didn't know what diabolical fate had brought her to Satan's Keep. For Kenneth she was his long-lost daughter, and for Justin she was to lie in his arms fulfilling long-held dreams. She would perform both tasks. In doing so, she'd learn about this house and its inhabitants—and herself. Perhaps the key to her past was here, needing only to be recognized.

  Dulcie's ambitions reckoned without Amparo.

  "You ain't s'pose ter be trackin' 'roun' the house when Justin ain't here! You stay in that room!"

  Dulcie gave Amparo a level look. "I want to visit with Mr. Kenneth."

  "He drunk as a hoot owl. Justin lock 'im up."

  Since Amparo never called him "Mr. Justin," Dulcie surmised her services to him were all-inclusive. She took a new approach. "Amparo, I'm feelin' better, and I don't like bein' idle. If you'll bring me clean cloths. I'll begin on the parlor."

  "What fo'? Nobody care 'bout how it look."

  "I care! It's filthy," Dulcie replied coldly. "You can help me."

  "Justin didn't say I take orders from you."

  "Shall I tell him you refused to help me clean the parlor?"

  Amparo worked in slovenly fashion, eyeing Dulcie suspiciously. Dulcie worked hard, in an attempt to set an example. That evening she would speak to Justin, suggesting a thorough housecleaning.

  But that night she was so sleepy that she went to bed without dinner.

  Justin, trying unsuccessfully to rouse her with kisses.

  went raging to Amparo. "What did you do to her? I told you she was to rest!"

  Amparo shrugged. "She tell me ter clean. I clean."

  "You gave her something, you bitch!" His hand clutched Amparo's shoulder hurtfully, and she winced away.

  "Miss is sick, won't lissen. Amparo can't help she won't lissen. She get tired too quick." Amparo touched his shirt where it exposed the curling brown hair of his chest. "I take care o' Miss bes' I kin, Justin, but I ain't got
the power to do what can't be done. Miss's body don't rightly b'long to her. De guides sent it ter Mam'bo. You let her go back where she b'long. Amparo make you fo'git."

  "I don't want to hear the name Mam'bo Luz in this house. Dulcie's none of your bloody business, and you keep out."

  "Justin, I bin your mate fo'teen year. You an' me's got two boys. We good as married. I don't 'tend to fo'git that."

  Justin thrust her hand away from him. He walked in cold silence up the stairs to lie beside Dulcie.

  Dulcie had wild dreams that night, of water rushing into her room and bearing her out on its tide, dreams of a faceless man who stalked the beaches and the forest paths seeking her. Things that came and got her, herself running after an unknown something. By daylight the memory faded, and only desolation stayed.

  She got through the weeks and months, some days feeling strong and energetic. Other days she was depressed and vague, tormented by weird mind pictures. Everyone was her enemy.

  On her clear days she cleaned the house. She tried to take Dorothy's place. She even tried to see Kenneth as her father. Then recollection would taunt her with Jem's smile, his turn of phrase, his unexpected irascibilities . . . and slither away. The harder she tried, the less she could remember.

  She became fond of Justin in a superficial way. He was not a happy man, having little to be happy for. But he was kind to her—except when he came to her at night, taking her with rough desperation. Then she endured Justin's approaches as the price of her protection.

  On her depressed days she stayed in her room, unable to face Lucifer. He had a way of silently appearing on his wagon, without warning sound. Dulcie might relax, then

  look up to find him behind her, loosing his maniacal laughter.

  But when she paid him consistent small attentions, he was less apt to indulge in his peculiar misbehavior. She set out to know him better. She read to him, asking him questions about the story. She played dominoes with him, making his moves as he directed. As Justin had said, the boy was bright, quick-witted, and shrewd. But occasionally she caught a look of intense lust that took her back to that night in the oum'phor. He wanted her. He would come at her again.

  She didn't know how long she had been in the Gilmartin household. Probably several months, for it was now springtime of 1863. She had regained her strength but was afraid to go outside without Justin. And she had failed to reach back in her memory beyond the dance of rebirth. Justin knew something, but his usual answer was another question: What did she remember?

  Nothing. Nothing.

  One evening at dinner, for no apparent reason, Lucifer was excited, talking a great deal, interrupting rudely, slopping his food. Justin reprimanded him but did nothing. Kenneth sat in the parlor, drinking and talking to himself. Dulcie, feeling depressed and helpless, could not eat.

  "Miss, you ain't goin' ter git strong without you eat," said Amparo.

  "L am not hungry, Amparo."

  Justin pushed his plate away and rose. "Goin* to bed," he said thickly. His foot kicked a table leg, upsetting a water glass. He grabbed at the table for balance and fell heavily to the floor.

  Dulcie ran to him. His eyes were glassy; he was hardly breathing. "What's wrong with him? Help me get him up!"

  Amparo stood still and smiled. "Justin sleepy.'*

  "Help me! He's ill, terribly ill!" Dulcie tugged frantically at Justin. "Amparo! Costa! Can't you understand? Justin is sick!"

  Neither moved.

  Lucifer began to laugh, a mean chuckle that grew, one breath after another, into a loud, hysterical clamor of fiendish glee. His face grew red. His truncated form heaved. His weblike hands flapped as he rocked on his seat. The demented sound filled the room.

  Dulcie, on her knees, stared at him. He was looking beyond tier. She turned, and her blood froze in her veins, Mam'bo Luz barred the door. Justin had been drugged. They had come for her.

  She would not let them have her.

  She had barely moved before she was tripped by Costa*s outthrust foot. Then Amparo was on her, holding her face down on the floor. Dulcie struggled, managing to roll from under Amparo. She tried to crawl under the heavy oak dining table, but Lucifer, still laughing insanely, launched himself and fell onto her.

  They grabbed her. Costa's grip was surprisingly strong. Amparo, her eyes fierce with hatred, straddled her stomach so that Dulcie could hardly breathe. "Goin' ter git you outer here. Back to Mam'bo Luz, where you b'longs."

  Dulcie fought madly, pinching, scratching. She screamed as Lucifer bit her arm. He laughed exultantly and tried to do it again.

  "Gib her de juice ob de herbs," said Mam'bo Luz. "Keep 'er still."

  Dulcie tried to keep her lips closed, jerking her head about. Grasping her jaw, Mam'bo Luz poured the potion. Spitting and gagging, Dulcie swallowed some of the drug.

  "Doan let 'er choke ter deff," said Mam'bo Luz briskly. "She goin' ter come erlong nice now. Git up off her belly, Amparo."

  Dulcie lay still, gasping, dizzy and disoriented. Mam'bo Luz squatted beside her. "Lay quiet, Guede Vi. We goin' ter tek you back to de oum'phor. Hear dem drums? Dey's drummin' de welcome fo' de speerit ob Mam'bo Luz, wearin' a new body. You goin' ter lak dat, Guede Vi."

  "Why do you call me that? My name is Dulcie MoranI'*

  "Mebbe so one time, but now you Guede Vi."

  Dulcie sat up, her head reeling nastily. "I'm goin' to my husband, Captain Adam Tremainl He's a blockade runner. He'll come and find me."

  Their eyes were all on her; even Lucifer, lying on the floor nearby, was watching. In Dulcie's fuzzy vision Justin seemed to rise. She said urgently "He'll kill you—like he did Wolf!"

  Mam'bo Luz's blotched lips spread in a superior smile. "Luz put de oberlook—" Justin's balled fist struck her. Luz lurched and sprawled on the floor.

  Justin was all over the room, reeling, staggering, swinging with his fists. With an open-handed blow that made her head rock, he knocked Amparo down. Lucifer rolled into a corner and watched, bright-eyed. Costa crouched under the table, his arms protecting his head.

  Dulcie, sick, her nose bleeding, grabbed the bread knife. Lucifer's eyes bulged as she staggered toward him, the thick blade upraised.

  "Dulcie! No! Get—study!" Justin grabbed desperately for support, knocking over a chair. He crashed into the doorframe, his legs sagging.

  Kenneth looked up from his stupor. "Kill him, 'swhat I say. Meant to, day he'sh bo-born. Sh-spawn a Sha-satan.** Dulcie and Justin staggered into the windowless study. Justin fell onto a chair. Dulcie, blood gushing from her nose, could hardly see to lock the door. She pushed the divan in front of it, then collapsed onto the floor.

  The house was unnaturally quiet when they both regained consciousness.

  Justin said, "Ohhh. My head."

  Dulcie lifted her eyelids with effort. Ben? Had he stayed overnight? What kind of party—? It came back to her. "Justin?"

  "Are you all right, Dulcie?"

  She said, "Yes," wondering if it was a lie. She ached. Her ribs felt smashed. Blood was caked on her face. Her nose was swollen. "Are you?"

  "God knows. Christ, what a head! I hope I killed those ghouls."

  "They were goin* to give me to Lucifer!"

  "We're not out yet. If Luz is dead, Lucho will have us killed. I've got to get you away from Satan's Keep." Into Justin's mind flashed pictures of Lucifer raping her, his sadism unleashed and vengeful; of Dulcie, torn asunder, her parts used in savage rituals glorifying Lucifer's demonic powers. "I love you very much."

  "You mustn't! Don't love me, Justin. I'm not free!"

  He said harshly, "You must let me protect you! Marry me.

  "I remember everything—^who I am, where I lived, how I came to Andros. Adam will come for me."

  "You don't know! No one will come!"

  "He-he promised. Adam said no matter whatever might

  happen, he'd always come back to me. He wouldn't break his word."

  "Your husband is dead."

  "He can't be dead
. He's very strong—and he knows the ocean, and . . ."

  Justin waited. "A man came here last summer. Amparo told me after—well, afterward. He'd been in a shipwreck, and he looked through this house, hunting for his wife."

  "Adam!? Was it Adam? A big man? Tall, black-haired?"

  "He looked for a red-haired woman. Luz found you both on the shore. Luz saved your life because she . . . wanted her soul to enter your body."

  "Dear God," Dulcie whispered.

  "She calls you Guede Vi. It means you're a child of the gods. She wanted a beautiful body like yours, so when you were washed ashore, like a spirit from the sea, she seized her chance."

  "How could I have her soul and still be alive? Still remember Adam?"

  "Dulcie, I don't know. I've lived with voodoo all my life, and I know some strange things are made to happen. But this? Luz looks and acts the same as before, even if she does call herself the living dead."

  "But Adam? Tell me! Did she . . . she didn't have him—"

  "Mam'bo Luz used him to gain power. There is something between Luz and Lucifer. She was his nurse, you know. She taught him the black arts from infancy, and Lucifer believes. He'd do anything for a handsome body such as they say Adam had. Luz cheated him of his chance. She told her people that Adam was an evil spirit of the storm, the Guede I'Orage. She had them ... get rid of him."

  Dulcie's breath came in whimpers. "No—no—no—'*

  "They murdered him, Dulcie. I tried to keep it from you."

  "He can't be dead! He can't! Adam was too—" She choked. She had said was. Adam was. "He is alive! I'm goin' to have his child!"

  "When?"

  "In the spring." She began to weep bitterly. It was already springtime, and she would have no child. "Luz kUled my baby too."

  Justin held her while she wept. "I hoped you'd never

  remember. I hoped you'd love me as I love you, that we could have a life together."

  Dulcie shuddered. "Never. Not—not with . . . anybody else."

  "I can be the man I once was, Dulcie! With you, I can live again!"

  "No! I belong to Adam. It couldn't have been Adam who was here. He'd never have given up 'til he found me."