The black swan (12 page)

"Bring him into the house, Adam," she said in a voice so calm that it frightened her nearly as much as the sight of Tom and the rigid, bewildered look of shocked pain on Adam's face.

More than anything she wanted to close the door, reopen it, and know that neither Adam nor Ben would be standing there holding the two corpselike bodies.. Ever since Beau had come running to her with Angela and garbled tales of animal heads, the day had turned to nightmare.

As one should in a nightmare, Adam walked with the slow buoyancy of a man moving through water into the front parlor. There he stood stupefied, his face a dry-eyed, staring mask.

"Ben ... is that UUah?" Zoe hardly believed what she saw.

Ben nodded, not able to look directly at her.

"Put her on the sofa," Zoe said more firmly. Her concern was for Adam, but it was Ben to whom her words gave release. He laid UUah down, rubbing at his arms where she had touched him, and he cried. In his eyes was

the desire to share the hurt and shock of the day, a longing to be touched, to be comforted and healed by the warmth and imperfect understanding of the living.

Zoe looked at her son, but could not speak to him. "Help Adam take him upstairs, Ben. I'll wake Mammy. She'll know what to do."

"They killed her, and we couldn't stop them," Ben sobbed.

Zoe pressed her hands against her mouth. She wanted to run from the room to seek the security of Mammy's all-knowing affection. Taking a deep breath, she tried to sound calm. "I know, dear. You did all you could, and that is all that can be asked of any of us. But now we must see to Tom. Do as I ask you, Ben. Help Adam take him upstairs." How unfeeling her words sounded to her own ears! She walked over to Adam, placing her hand on his back.

Adam flinched away as though she had hurt him, and grasped his unwieldy burden tighter. "Let him alone. I'll take him upstairs," he said with a cold, hard possessiveness.

"Let him do as he wants," Zoe said hastily, and hurried to the back of the house, where Mammy slept.

Mammy was old. She had been old for as long as Zoe could remember. She had reared Zoe's mother, Zoe, her sisters, and Adam. In Zoe's eyes there was nothing on this earth that Mammy hadn't seen or known about.

The old woman was a mountainous bulge beneath the cream-colored blanket, her face a huge black oval against the white sheets. Zoe shook her gently. "Mammy! Mammy, wake up." The old servant's mouth moved, mumbling. She rolled over, snoring again. "Mammy, I need you. Please, Mammy!" Zoe said urgently.

Mammy's eyes fluttered open. "Miz Zoe," she muttered. "Miz Zoe!" She turned her great white woolly head to see Zoe's pale face in the darkness. "What you doin' heah, baby? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Mammy, there's terrible trouble!" Zoe cried, no longer having to be calm and strong. As she had told Mammy of her fears and sorrows during her life with Paul Tremain, she now told her what little she knew about the afternoon. "Adam, Mammy ... he's so strange. He won't even let me touch him. I don't know what to do."

"Fetch me mah wrappah," Mamroy ordered. Zoe hurried to do as she was told. "Miz Zoe, doan you be lettin'

de young masta sees you all upsot. You does yo' cryin' on Mammy's shouldah, you heah?"

"I hear."

"Den dry yo' eyes. You be strong, Miz Zoe. Ah takes care o' Masta Tom. Doan you worry no mo'." Mammy gave her favorite child a pat, then rumbled down the hall to the main part of the house, the stairs and rail creaking under her ponderous assault.

Shivering, cold as ice, Adam knelt by the bed where he had placed Tom. His eyes were still dry and staring, his face set in the same horrified grimace, as though he would never again see anything but the loathsome spectacle of that afternoon.

"What you done brought home dis time, Mas' Adam?'* Mammy asked. Then she saw Tom lying on the bed, and her face creased in a deep frown. "Git outa mah way. Ah gots plenty to do." She ordered him about as she always did. Now, though, no twinkling blue eyes deviled her, no fond teasing remark replied to her high-handedness. He didn't seem to have heard her at all.

"You in mah way. Now, git up. You heah me?" she said sharply.

"Mammy . . ." Zoe said hesitantly from the doorway, "maybe you shouldn't be so brusque."

Mammy turned on her. "Doan you go tellin' me mah bizness, Miz Zoe. Ah knows what Ah's about. You go "down stairs an' see to Mas' Ben. Ah takes care o' Mas' Adam an' Mastah Tom."

Zoe touched Adam's head, feeling beneath her fingers the soft, springing curls, but she did as Mammy asked.

Mammy pulled Adam to his feet. "You does what Ah sez. You ain't no li'l boy, not affer dis. You gits up an' be's a man."

Adam stared blankly at her.

"You gwine he'p me or stan' 'round all grieved up fo' yo'seff? Dat's bettah. We got to gits his clo's offen him. Take dem boots."

Adam moved stiffly, with fumbling fingers. Mammy worked with youthful efficiency, praying for Tom, praying for strength, and roundly cursing the Devil, whose work this was.

"Mas' Adam, fetch me a bucket o' col' watah, a bar o' dat white lye soap, an' lotsa clean rags. Heah me?"

He nodded jerkily, moved a few steps, and stopped. His

face, greenish white, covered with a sheen of perspiration, twisted as he looked back at Tom.

"You done brung him dis far, boy. You wanta lose him now?" Mammy roared, and shoved him through the door. She went back to Tom, her deft old fingers moving over his body, seeking broken bones and internal injuries through the swollen puffiness of his flesh. She shook her head, muttering angrily.

By unspoken agreement Zoe and Ben had moved into the kitchen, avoiding the mutilated thing that lay on the parlor sofa. As Adam came near, Ben was telling Zoe, "My daddy's gonna raise Cain. He'll see those men strung up."

Adam rushed into the room, grabbed Ben's shoulders, and shook him. "Don't you say a word! Do you hear me, Ben? Not a word to anyone!"

"Adam!" Zoe gasped at his look of venomous hatred. "Please . . . your behavior!"

"I'm warning you, Ben. Don't you let anyone know where Tom is!"

"What about those men? They should be punished— they—"

"What men?!" Adam screamed at his friend. "Who are they? What men?"

"The ones with the masks—"

"We don't know them. But they know Tom. And Angela."

"But what will I tell my parents?"

The veins of his neck stood out, but Adam's face remained ghastly pale. "Nothing!" he shouted. "We went hunting! That's all!"

Zoe got up from her chair, no longer able to bear watching him. She tried to put her arm around his waist.

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?"