by Bill Cheng
HE CAME TO AND THE pain came slow, sleep lifting like the tide going out. It prickled at the edges somewhere under skin and meat. Already Robert forgot his dream—like it’d fallen out of his head, and in that skull-space something was hot and pulsing. Piece by piece, the world returned, first his body, skin and eyes, mouth, hands. Then his name. He opened his eyes, and his brain turned over. He let out a moan and shut his eyes again. He tried to lift the blanket over his face, but his arms were too weak.
How you feeling?
Robert tried to turn but his ribs sent up a flare of pain.
He wanted to ask where he was but already his eyes were adjusting. The mildewed ceiling. A vein of daylight played against the wall. He could hear the curtain fluttering on the other side of the parlor.
I fell. I remember I fell.
The voice laughed.
Robert lifted his head up and he saw the man named Eli sitting on Miss Lucy’s desk. He was in his shirtsleeves, the front of his shirt drenched in sweat. Next to him was a pitcher.
The man filled up a glass and brought it to him. He sat down on the arm of the couch.
My arms hurt, Robert said.
All right, the man said.
Robert felt the damp sheet lift off his body. His shirt was gone and his chest was wrapped in gauze. Sitting above his heart was a small flannel pouch. He tried to bring his hand up to it, but it still hurt too much.
What’s this?
The man tilted the glass into Robert’s mouth. Robert swallowed the cool water.
I want to tell you two stories. Just sit quiet and listen.
Once upon a time, God told the Devil, Devil, you been fooling around this place too long. I’m tired of you going all over Creation, causing trouble, making men drink and tell lies and chase women. So I made you this place, what they call Hell, and that’s going to be your place and you do what you want there and leave my stuff alone. And the Devil said, Well, I don’t know. Why don’t you take me around and we’ll have a look. So God took the Devil down to that place, and he showed him where he’d be staying. And it was all dark and full of fire and there wasn’t nobody around except the most wicked of folks. But the Devil, he’s no fool, he says, That don’t look too good to me. I reckon I’ll keep doing what I been doing. Then God said, Too bad, and wrassled him down, and he got him by his tail and he says into his ears, There’s only one boss around here. This is my show so out you go! And that’s how come the Devil come to live where he lives, and God lives where he lives. And they’ve been splitting souls between them ever since, like playing cards, and there is and ever will be but one boss, forever and ever amen.
Now the other story goes like this. It goes that there ain’t no God and there ain’t no Devil, just a lot of Bad blowing through this world. Sometimes that Bad will come up on people, find them out like a length of lightning. It fix its eye on you and dog you worse than God or the Devil or just about anybody. It rides around with you, hanging from your neck there, all through your days. It tell you lies to make you mad, or tie up your feet and make you fall. A kind of Bad that don’t ever come off. You understand?
Near everybody’s got a devil. Some folks got two or three. That one in that bag? That one is yours.
The man was silent for a time.
You don’t understand.
No, Robert managed to say. The boy was wheezing. Little beads of sweat had formed on the faint hairs above his lip.
You are bad crossed.
Crossed?
Crossed worse than the blackest jinx. Bad and trouble is set to follow you through this earth, you understand me?
He patted the pouch with two fingers.
And this’ll keep you safe.
He produced an Indian head penny from between his fingers.
Open your mouth, he said.
Eli placed the penny on his tongue, and Robert could taste the warm metal. Eli untied the pouch. He widened the opening large enough for Robert to peer down. There was salt in the bottom and what looked like a small walnut.
Spit, he said.
Robert spat out the penny, sending with it a glob of saliva, and Eli cinched up the pouch.
You see this little string here? You put it around your neck like this, and you don’t let anyone ever take it away from you. Don’t ever take your devil out, because he might not let you put him back in. Don’t lose it, don’t show it to nobody, and don’t you play around with it. This is your devil, see. You’re tied to it and it’s tied to you. And it don’t make too much sense now, but trust me, Robert, you gonna need each other.
After some silence, the man went out the door, closing it gently behind him. Robert closed his eyes again and let his head settle into the pillow. He worked his arms through the pain and brought his hand over the pouch. He ran his thumb along the stitching. He squeezed the soft flannel and felt the contours of its insides rise to his fingers.
During his stay in Bruce, Eli burned his money on drink and women—fifteen for a girl and three for a handle of gin. All night, he barrelhoused at the jukes, scamming cards and doing the Texas Tommy Swing. He came to be a mainstay at the hotel. There were times he’d get drunk and hire out two big-boned girls and have one on each side when it came time to help him up those stairs and into bed. He liked it at Beau-Miel. The sheets were soft and the girls were warm, and when he woke up, two or three in the afternoon with the weight of God stomping on his head, there was always a little cold breakfast set aside for him by the hotel’s proprietress.
Miss Lucy was a sexy woman—plump and heavy bosomed with a voice that rang deep and sooty. In her eyes he could still see the traces of her younger self—the rude arrogance sparking in those warm honeyed halos. Eli would lose days in her establishment. He’d drink from her stores of bootleg liquor and watch the world dissolve into a blur of sheets and sweat and grabbing limbs.
There were mornings he’d wake up still submerged in a cloud of whiskey and sex and the day would pass easy like a nail traveling a groove. He was outside of himself, looking down. He could see the strings. He could see the hammers as they struck, every man and woman and child a note waiting to be sounded.
In the evenings he’d go out onto the porch and have a cigarette in the open air.
It was good here. Sitting alone on the stoop, the sun going down. He’d let the ember crawl to his fingers as he watched the light die above the horizon. Some evenings, he’d stay and witness the stars gathering in the wide black sea. He’d look up at their mute light and at times, he’d feel nothing. Just cool air, the sear of smoke in his lungs. He could almost feel free.
A low and lonesome mood would descend upon him and inevitably, his mind would track back through the years to the levee camp, to Homer Teague, and his sister, Emaline. In the past, he would touch these thoughts and his gorge would rise and an all-consuming rage would overtake him. But now he felt nothing. No regret nor longing nor sadness. It was something that had happened and that was all.
How capricious this place, this world. She’d been alive and now she was dead and no flannel pouch could change that. He recognized that at any given moment, the world could turn itself on its head—all could be taken, all could be returned. One moment we are free, and alive and full of blood, and in the next we are cold. Inert. Passing into history.
What were the rules?
He wasn’t sure anymore. He could not be certain that he ever knew.
He looked up. A bad moon. An evil wind. Down the road were two headlights slicing apart the dark air.
Soon there would be a reckoning.
Duke had not been back to Beau-Miel in years. The hotel stood in his memory as a place of pause and peace—a temple where he could seek respite in between the long months of crossing and recrossing this country. He would arrive on Lucy’s porch, his head full of dust and road, the ends of his fingers tingling. Everyone needed something to go back t
o. A hot meal. A bed for the night. It was like coming home.
His first stay at the hotel, he’d gotten lost somewhere in the maze of roads outside of Bruce. His head was splitting and his memories of his father had sunk him into a low black mood. He remembered the sky that evening, full amber, the air aquiver in the heat. In the burgeoning dusk, the building looked almost violet, its gas lamps all aglow.
He went in and had a drink in the hotel parlor with an attractive black woman. He could not remember what they talked about, only that he felt an ease and comfort he had not felt in a long time. She was in her large red chair and he was on the stool beside her, turning the glass of strong gold liquor in his hands.
Are you staying here?, he’d asked her.
You could say that, she said. I own this place. This is my hotel.
He felt the rush in his blood. She was young and exotic, and she locked her eyes against his. They drank together into the early morning, one glass after another. He could feel himself losing himself. The world spun away from his feet. He hung all his memories of Beau-Miel around this moment. Lucy propping her head on her palms, her eyes looking lazily back at him as if there was nothing left for him to understand.
Here, all things were possible.
IT WAS DARK WHEN DUKE came at last to the hotel. His head was thrumming and he was aching for a drink. On the front stoop, he could barely make out the figure of a man. He called out to him, thinking it was Eli, but the man stood up and went inside. Inside, one of Lucy’s girls was at the front desk, asleep in her chair. There was no sign of the man.
He rang the bell and the girl startled awake.
Is there an Eli Cutter staying here?, he asked the girl.
She flipped through the registry.
Yes, she said.
And is there a room vacant next to his?
The girl looked in the book and said that there was.
I’ll take that one, Duke said.
Duke signed the registry, and the girl came around and took him by the elbow. She walked him down the carpeted hall and up the staircase, her small warm body against his. He swallowed and his throat was dry and clacking and painful. When they came to the room, she stopped at the door. She held his key in her hand.
Was there anything else you wanted?, she asked him. She smiled and he could see the small gap between her teeth.
Duke felt a shiver.
There anything you need?
Her voice trailed off.
He could not help but grin.
Yes, he said. He was aware of his size, towering and bearlike over this creature.
My throat is a little dry.
THEY SAT TOGETHER ALONE IN his room, he in his chair and she on the bed, stripped down to her underwear. He lit a candle and watched her as she poured from a jug into a clay cup. With the cup she crossed the narrow space between the bed and the chair and sat herself across his lap. Her fingers raked against his smooth hairless head. She tipped the cup into her mouth, letting it run out into his.
More, he said. Do that again.
She pincered her knees around his sides and hoisted herself up. She guided his hands up her body. He was surprised at the heat—her volcanic body. He could feel her moving through his clothes.
You want more?
She reached for the jug and tilted back his chin, parting his lips. She poured. It was warm and messy and he gulped hungrily. His throat bucked against the sting, but still she poured.
No more, she said, laughing. You’ll get it all over me.
More, he said.
Nuh-uh. Don’t you think it’s time for something else?
She climbed off and knelt beneath him. He adjusted himself as she slid down his trousers. He could feel her begin to work. His breath was pounding. His breath became short and clipped. He could feel his muscles uncoupling.
Oh my, she purred. Aren’t you something?
He could feel her nails raking against his thighs. His skin felt bright and alive. He rolled his eyes back into his head. His head began to swim. He hummed with pleasure.
Do you know who I am?, he whispered. His voice was full of wind.
Mmm . . .
She moved slowly. He felt himself engorging. He clenched.
Do you know the things I can do?
DUKE WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, his throat raw, his skull throbbing. He sat up. The room was a mess and the girl was gone. The floor was littered with empty jugs of rye. He swung his legs from the mattress and hawked a wad of bright red phlegm into a kerchief. He made a halfhearted noise of disgust and rousted himself out of bed. He struggled out to the basin and splashed his face with cold water before finally putting on his clothes.
He went out and knocked on the door of the adjacent room.
There was no answer, only a knot of sheets torn from the mattress and heaped in a nest on the floor. The air was rank with booze and sex. On the sill, he noticed candles melted down into stumps and a row of small unmarked jars. He had heard about Eli’s superstitious inclinations but had yet to have the opportunity to see it firsthand. He crossed into the room and picked up one of the candles.
It was smooth and slick in his hands. He set it down and wiped his fingers on his shirt before going back out. He hunted through the halls and in the kitchen and the parlor until at last he found him outside in the backyard with Lucy. Duke’s head was aching and the bright morning light was a knife in his already battered brain.
The two were sitting on a splintered picnic bench, talking in low hushed voices. Eli’s eyes were bloodshot and his clothes were crumpled. It did not appear he had gone to bed the night before. His face had a telltale sheen of grease, and his hair was matted still from where he’d been wearing his hat.
For a moment, Duke stood at the door and watched her. It was her. He would recognize her anywhere. She had gotten older, certainly, but if anything, her age had made her more desirable—the shock of silver across her temples, her full doughy breasts. She was strong. Powerful. Eli said something and Duke heard her laugh. That same laugh, he remembered. Full mouthed, full bodied—heavy and sticky and golden with sex.
Duke cleared his throat.
’Morning, he said.
He crossed over and they both fell quiet. Duke clapped Eli on the shoulder, perhaps too roughly.
I see you’ve found the place, all right.
This is Miss Lucy, Eli said, standing.
Yes, we’ve met before, Duke said.
Lucy cocked her lovely head to the side. A curl of hair swung down in front of her face and she passed it back behind her ear.
Have we?
Some time ago, yes.
Oh! Well, excuse me, she said. A lot of folks come through here.
She held out her hand and Duke was suddenly aware of how sweaty his palms had become. He bent and kissed the back of her supple hand.
Yes, Duke said, I can imagine.
An uncomfortable look passed across the woman’s face and he realized he’d been staring at her a little too intensely. Duke averted his gaze.
I hope Mr. Cutter here has not been giving you too much trouble, miss.
Lucy laughed. No, no trouble at all.
Mr. Cutter here is a person under my employ. A musician.
Oh, she said and looked to Eli. He never said anything to me.
I’m sure the old boy is just being humble. I’ll have you know that you’ve been acquainting with a genuine star. You see, he’s been waiting for me here these last few weeks, and it seems that we are finally reunited, isn’t that right, Eli?
Yes, boss, Eli said. His voice was dumb, flat.
Duke ran his hand across his nose to hide his anger.
I’m impressed, Lucy said. I look forward to hearing him play one day, Mister—
Augustus Duke, he said. He watched her face but if she recognize
d his name, she did not show it. He bowed to hide his disappointment, then straightened himself, the smile forced hard against his face.
If you would indulge me for a moment, miss, I believe there’s something I’d like both of you to see.
He walked them to the front of the house to where he’d left the car. The A-Model was well worn from hard travel. A skin of dust coated the walls, and the wheel wells were caked with mud. Across the top, the cabinet was covered in a canvas sheet and tied down with ropes. Duke could not hide his excitement. He and Eli unstrapped the thing, and together they lowered it down on the ground. Duke worked the slack of the canvas into his palms. With one hard yank, a cloud of dust kicked into the air. Lucy turned her head, covering her eyes and mouth.
There it was. A small organ with large flat pedals at the base and what looked like knobs spaced above two rows of keys.
That some kind of piano?, Lucy asked.
It’s called a harmonium, miss, Duke said. It uses air and reeds instead of steel cables. The principles are essentially the same.
Oh, she said.
It looked to have been from before the flood. There was water damage to the body and the valves were still caked with river mud. Eli gingerly lifted up the fall board and a cluster of weevils frightened into the keys.
Duke narrowed his eyes.
Is there a problem, Mr. Cutter?
Eli set the fall board back down and said nothing.
Looks like it has seen better days, Mr. Duke, Lucy said.
Some repairs will have to be made, of course, Duke said. But I’m sure if anyone can do it, me and Eli can. Well, come along, Eli, help me get this thing inside.
Inside? That thing is not going inside my place, Lucy said. I keep a clean establishment, Mr. Duke. You’ll have to take it someplace else.
Duke could feel the rush of heat in his cheeks.
Eli cleared his throat. He looked at Lucy, his eyes still and staring, his mouth made into a firm hard line.
