by Cave, Hugh
"I asked him if he knew you, and he said yes. He said you're doing a wonderful job out there. But"—she paused, frowning—"I'm not sure I should tell you this, Sam."
"But what?"
"He said you made a big mistake in antagonizing that voodoo man. The one we ran from that night at the street dance."
"Fenelon," Sam said. "And we didn't run. I just didn't want any confrontation while you were with me."
"When I said I was a friend of yours, this Georges Baptiste told me to warn you. He was dead serious about it. He told me to make you realize you're in danger. Fenelon is one of the most powerful bocors in all Haiti, he said."
Sam looked at her in silence.
"So," she said, "if you didn't have a bottle in your room that night—and you've already said you didn't—the answer to what happened just might be something Fenelon did after seeing us at the bamboche and being reminded how much he hated you. All right?"
"If you believe people like Fenelon have powers."
"Don't you?"
"I'm not convinced."
"Sam," she said, "we've both been in this country a good while. We both came here stone cold to do a job of work, not full of far-out preconceptions. And we've both seen enough to convince us—to convince me, at any rate—that people like Fenelon can be dangerous."
"All right. I'll buy it if you insist."
"What will you do about him?"
"Ease up, I guess. If he's that powerful, my people out there aren't going to stop seeing him. To be truthful, they haven't. He still gets a lot of the money I'm helping them earn."
Silence. Then Kay unrolled the drawing again and restudied it, shaking her head over it with a slowly developing smile on her face. "Sam, this is wonderful. Really. Do me one?"
"That one is for you."
"Thank you. I'm going to have it framed for my room at the hospital." Letting the picture roll itself up again, she rose, put it on the bureau, then walked over to the bed and lay down so that her position approximated the one she had assumed in the jeep that day, her lips under Sam's and one leg outthrust. A little later, Sam reached out to switch off the lamp on the bedside table.
It was their first real sleep-together—you couldn't count that weird night in Jacmel—and they were still in bed at daybreak.
Now the woman in Sam's arms was the daughter of Dr. Roger Bell, and she appeared to be dreaming.
Thinking about Kay Gilbert, Sam had not slept. But Mildred had. With her head on his shoulder and her arm limp on his chest, she had moved only occasionally, and then only to squeeze her belly and thighs hard against him at times, as though responding to some subconscious need. He was sure she didn't know she did it. She made no sound.
Now she was moaning, and her movements were twitchy, jerky, almost violent at times.
Sam raised his left arm and looked at his watch in the lamplight. It would soon be daylight, and they ought to make an early start. "Milly," he said, moving his hand from her breast to give her shoulder a shake. "Hey. Wake up."
She awoke with a prolonged shudder and began to make crying sounds, though she was not really crying. "What's the matter? Dreaming again?"
"Yes."
Sam turned to face her and looked at her for a moment, then gently shaped his mouth to hers and held it there. It was a quiet kiss, meant to let her know she was not alone with her troubles but had someone to lean on. She surprised him by reading more into it than he intended.
It was a strange kind of lovemaking. Not a word was spoken. Mildred simply pressed her open mouth to his and when the kiss had lasted two or three minutes with her arms around him, she found other uses for her hands than simply to hold him against her. The top of the white pajamas never did come off; only the bottom. What she wanted or needed, Sam suddenly realized, was not the touching, teasing, laughing kind of love-play in which Kay and he had indulged that night at the Calman, but sex plain and simple, quick and sweaty, fierce and frantic. She was under him before he could even get his shorts off.
For a moment he was sure he wouldn't make it to her satisfaction. This kind of lovemaking was so alien to his nature. When he did, and felt her go limp beneath him, he was merely relieved. Getting up, he stood there looking down at her with no idea of what to say. What he finally said was, "Milly, if we're going to make Legrun tonight, we'd better get out of here."
She lay there looking up at him, one foot still tangled in the kicked-off bottom of the white pajamas. A beautiful woman, blonde where Kay was dark, her body so white that the yellow light from the lamp made it look gilded.
"Sam, I don't think Daddy is in Legrun," she said.
"What?"
"I had a message last night. He's not there."
"You were dreaming. You were moaning in your sleep."
"No, it was more than a dream. He said he isn't in this place we're going to. He's in Port-au-Prince. I had a feeling he is in some kind of trouble or danger. A very strong feeling." For the first time, she seemed aware that she was lying there naked from the waist down while talking to him, and, reaching down, pulled up the blanket that had covered both of them during the night. "Sam, what should we do?"
"He's in the capital?"
"I'm sure that's what he was trying to tell me."
"You and your father really can talk to each other this way?"
"Sometimes."
He thought about it. "Well, look. If we start now, we can be in Legrun tonight, and since we've come this far we ought to see if he's there, don't you think? If he isn't, we can go right back. Did he tell you where in Port he is?"
"No.''
"Okay," he said, extending a hand to her. "Let's get going."
She used his hand to pull herself up from the cot, and stood there facing him. Suddenly, she put both arms around his neck and pressed herself hard against him, fiercely fastening her mouth to his. Then, just as abruptly and without a word, she let go and began to get dressed.
23
After the first hour, Kay's fear of being alone in such a place was slowly subsiding. It had been real enough earlier, despite the bravado she had feigned for Joseph's benefit. But, after all, she was not really alone. She had Tina. And the trail was not so formidable now. At least, it hadn't produced any more Devil's Leaps.
She and the child talked a lot to push back the stillness. Something had to do that because the silence was immense here. Mile after mile produced no sign of habitation, not even an isolated caille such as the one they had slept in last night.
Nothing but forest and mountains and bird song and leaf rustle. And each other.
"Will you be glad to see your mother and father, baby?"
"Oh, yes!"
"What are they like? Tell me about them."
"Maman is pretty, like you."
"Bless you. And your father?"
"He works all the time."
"Doing what?"
"Growing things. Yams, mostly. We have goats and chickens, too."
"What's his name?"
"Metellus Sam."
"And your mother's?"
"Fifine Bonhomme."
Not married, of course. Few peasants ever married. But many living in plaçage were more faithful than "civilized" people in other countries who were married.
"Will you be glad to see your sister and two brothers too?"
"Yes, Miss Kay."
"Are they older than you?"
"Only Rosemarie. The twins are younger."
"Your brothers are twins? I didn't know that. That must make your family very special." In voodoo, twins played important roles. There were even special services for the spirits of marassas. She and Sam Norman had attended one in Léogane.
"Would you like to know about my village, Miss Kay?"
"I certainly would. Tell me about it."
"Well, it's not as big as the one we rode through this morning. Vallière, I mean. But it has a marketplace, and a spring for water. . ."
Just talk, to pass the time. And when they tired of
it, Kay let her thoughts drift from Tina Sam, who at this moment was the most important thing in her existence, to the other Sam who had also been important for a time. Riding along in silence, she found herself reliving that last night in Port when he had finally turned up at the Calman.
Nearly midnight. The servants had long since retired to their quarters at the back of the yard. There were no guests other than herself and the missing Sam Norman. She and Victor sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, she still full of a suspicion that something had happened and was being covered up. For the past hour, Victor had voiced only variations on his original theme: "Don't worry. He'll come. He won't spend his last night in Haiti just driving around feeling sorry for himself."
The sound of a jeep in the driveway. Sam had driven a jeep in from Jacmel, Victor had explained, because it needed some repairs. Otherwise, he would have had someone drive him in on this last trip to the city.
She stood up and went to a window. The yard lights were still on. The jeep was the one she had been riding in when her foot had borrowed the sandal.
Sam was walking to the back door.
She opened the door before he reached it. Got a good look at his face as he came toward her. He didn't appear to be drunk. Tired, yes. Wooden with fatigue. But not intoxicated.
"Hi." He reached for her hands. "Sorry I'm late. I got tied up."
She led him to the table where Victor was still seated, pulled back a chair for him and anxiously watched him sag onto it. "Coffee, Sam?"
"I guess so. Thanks."
"Where have you been?"
"Oh, around. Things to do, my last night here." She brought him coffee. Sat and looked at him. "How come you brought the jeep back here?" Victor asked. "You said you were going to leave it at the garage."
Sam seemed puzzled. "I said what?"
"You told me it needed rings and you were leaving it at Sylvain's."
"Oh? Well, yes. They don't have the parts." He stopped his cup at his mouth and frowned at Kay. "What time did you get here?"
"Just after three." She told him about the bus accident and the pile-up of work at the- hospital. "I would have called you, but our phones were dead."
"I know. I tried to call you."
Something was wrong. He wasn't drunk. As far as she could tell, he hadn't even been drinking. But something was wrong.
The cover-up. Victor hiding something. The maids hiding something. Was he in on it too?
Hiding what?
Victor said, "What time do you want me to knock on your door tomorrow, you two?" He knew, of course, that even though they paid for separate rooms they never used more than one anymore—Sam's, because the bed was bigger.
"My plane leaves—"
"I know when the plane leaves, pal. I run a hotel here, remember?"
"I have to start back early," Kay said sadly. "Strict orders. If I hadn't promised, I wouldn't be here at all."
"How early?"
"Daybreak."
"Well, then," Victor said, rising, "I think it's time we stopped sitting here wasting the night, don't you?" He looked at them and smiled, but even his smile was not quite right, Kay thought.
She and Sam went upstairs.
While they were undressing, it began. She began it.
"Sam, where have you been all afternoon and evening? Didn't you know I'd get here just as soon as I could?"
"You were supposed to be here yesterday."
"But unexpected things happen in a hospital sometimes. You know that."
With everything off but his shorts, he turned to direct a glare at her. Not just a questioning look, but one of sullen anger.
Foolishly, she continued. "No matter what you had to do, you could at least have come by to see if I'd got here. I've been here nine hours, Sam."
"I'm sorry."
"Well, what were you doing? You haven't said yet."
"I had to take the jeep to Sylvain's."
The garage. Not more than six blocks away. "Oh, come on. That couldn't have taken more than half an hour."
He didn't answer, and she stopped undressing. She had everything off but her bra and panties, and she stopped. He hadn't even kissed her yet, she realized. She hadn't expected it downstairs in front of Victor, of course. He wasn't that demonstrative, except for the time he had nearly knocked the woman off her donkey. But since coming into this room and closing the door, he hadn't touched her.
Defying the look he was directing at her, she walked up to him, stopped six inches away, and jabbed her fists against her hips. "Sam Norman, are you just a little drunk?"
"Kay, for Christ's sake, this is our last night together!"
"I know it's our last night together. But something's going on here. Something I don't like. First Victor and the girls clammed up on me. Now you're doing it. What's happening?"
"Nothing's happening. You're sore because I had things to do. And it's your own Goddamned fault, because if you'd got here when you were supposed to, we could have done most of them together."
"Most of what?"
"The things I had to do! What the hell's wrong with you? Can't you listen?"
"You're drunk," she said. "I can't smell it, but you're drunk. You have to be."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, knock off the inquisition and come to bed." Wheeling, he yanked back the top sheet and threw himself onto the bed with such force she thought it would collapse. "Come on!" he yelled, pounding the side she slept on.
"What?" His face took on an ugly, twisted expression of disbelief.
"I'm not getting into that bed until you give me an explanation."
"Well, Goddamn you!"
"Don't swear at me, Sam. There's something wrong here, and I want to know what it is. And it isn't just that I got here a day late. You and Victor and the girls are hiding something from me. Now let's have it, huh?" She was trying hard to keep her voice down and her temper under wraps. And was on the verge of tears too, knowing she was on the wrong road to a reconciliation but had passed the point of no return.
Sam was glaring again. "Listen, you," he said. "I'm sick of this shit. Are you coming to bed or not?"
"Not until—"
"Get out, then, Goddamn it!"
With her fists still on her hips, she stood there staring back at him. Sick inside. All twisted up and full of pain inside. But determined not to show it. "What is this? A replay of the night you barged into my room naked in Jacmel?"
He sat up in bed. "You'll never let me forget that, will you?"
"I did let you forget it. I even helped you to forget it!"
"Now you're rubbing my nose in it again."
"Because you're doing it again. ‘Come to bed.’ What am I supposed to do—crawl in there and make love to you after you've left me sitting here the whole day while you've been out doing whatever you've been doing? I'm supposed to love you when you haven't even had the decency to say you're sorry and kiss me?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, my God, Sam, what's wrong with you? What's happened?"
"Either get into this Goddamned bed or get out of this room!" he yelled.
"Say that again. I want to be sure I heard you right."
"I said get into this bed or get out of my room!"
"Out of your room. All right. That's what I thought you said." As she backed up to the chair on which she had dropped her clothes, she knew she was shaking all over. Knew she must be as white as the bed sheets. More of the same kind of talk boiled up in her, but she clamped her mouth shut on it. Let him talk that way if he wanted to. She wouldn't.
Knocking the pile of clothes to the floor, she sat on the chair and reached for her stockings and pulled them on. Stockings. She hardly ever wore them but had this weekend because she wanted to look extra nice for him. Grabbing at her dress, she stood up and yanked it down over her head and reached behind her to zip it. Thrust her feet into shoes.
Savagely, she said then, "That's all you ever wanted, isn't it, you bastard? Just someone to sleep with. I should have known."
"Wh
at else would anybody want you for?" he snarled back.
She walked to the door. When she turned to look at him, he was still glaring. Her nurse's training would not let her slam the door behind her as she wanted to; she closed it quietly and went down the hail to her own room. Inside, with her door shut, she sprawled on the bed fully dressed and lay there sobbing until sleep came to take her out of her misery.
The rest of that ghastly night was not so vivid in her memory. She recalled waking to a sound of stumbling footfalls in the hall and thinking, Here we go again. He'll open my door and be standing there to rape me. But the footfalls went blundering the other way, to the stairs, accompanied by other frightening sounds as he apparently reeled into the corridor walls. Then she heard a whole series of thumps and crashes as he fell down the staircase.
By the time she had her wits together and staggered from her bed to the door and got the door open and at last reached the top of the stairs, herself, it was too late for her to do anything. He lay in a heap at the bottom, face down, and Victor Vieux was kneeling beside him. Unable to utter a sound, she went down the stairs as if walking in her sleep, one slow step at a time, but fully aware of what she was doing, and stood there looking down at him and smelling the rum. If he hadn't been drunk before, he was now. She could have leaned on the rum fumes and they would have held her up.
Victor, on his knees, said, "You'd better look at him, Kay. He may need a doctor."
She knelt at Sam's side. He was still dressed as she had last seen him, in only his shorts. She ran her hands over his familiar body as a doctor would have done, until she could say with authority, "He's all right unless he's hurt inside."
"Can we get him up to bed, then?" Victor asked. "I don't think I can do it alone."
They almost couldn't do it together, but got him upstairs at last and laid him on the bed. She drew the top sheet up over him and nearly, but not quite, succumbed to the temptation to pull it right up over his face. Turning away, she saw the empty bottle of Barbancourt on the chest of drawers. It hadn't been there before.
She looked at her watch. It was twenty past two.
A fifth of rum in two hours?
"Kay," Victor said as he followed her out of the room and shut the door, "I'm sorry about this. Believe me."
