The Price of Hannah Blake (25 page)

“Oh, God, I don’t know!” She hesitated. “I wanted to ask you. Are there ways? I mean, something you could do?”

“So you don’t get my seed?”

She nodded.

“Of course. Do you want to see?” He was smiling down at her, teasing.

“I think that I know, but…do you mind?”

“Not this time, no.”

She nodded and let her head fall back. “All right,” she breathed. “all right. I think, now… you could touch my clit a little, if you want.” Her hand had slid back and was massaging the head of his penis, slowly, all around, slicking it. She felt his body move down and then the fingers on her pussy. In a moment, she jerked, gasping, and thrust up her hips, “Yes! Right there!”

She thought, now, wildly, that this was more consuming, and unbearable, and wonderful than even the day on the beach, the lips… She wondered if she could stand it, when it happened. She heaved her hips rhythmically, so he rubbed her and she rubbed herself against his fingers. Suddenly, she said, “Now, hurry, hurry!”

And then, she was gasping, “No!” against the pain, and then, “Yes, yes, now…” and then, “No!” again, when the pleasure was all through her and she was laughing.

She scarcely noticed what did. The intensity receded from her pussy, a little, but not her excitement, and she opened his eyes and saw he was there, sitting on her chest, his dark belly and chest and wonderful face filling her vision. He smiled at her and looked down. She bent up her head to see.

It seemed huge; her excitement soared. His hand was there, moving it, and then he gasped—it seemed so loud, was it?—and she felt the hot splashes strike her breasts and one even her face. And again came the ecstasy; her fingers raking his thighs, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow.

His body fell forward on her, heavy, his cheek pressed to hers, and her arms closed around his back. “Okay,” she murmured.

She would not wash or dress, for awhile; she wanted to hold on her skin the memory of his touch and know that his seed was there, on her breasts. But he kissed her, tenderly, now, and stroked her hair, and then rolled to sit up. “You should go, now,” he said. “Dinner. I may not be there, though.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure exactly when things will begin.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Hannah, I’m going to tell you nothing. I told you far, far too much, already, and now we have done this. If something goes wrong, and they suspect you, they will get it out of you.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he said, evenly. “They will and you must tell them. If something very bad happens, and they are questioning you, like that, tell them immediately. Don’t try to keep silent. They will make you tell them. If you have tried to hold out, they will think you are keeping something from them, and keep hurting you even when you have nothing to tell.”

She sat up, clutching her breasts, eyes wide, thoroughly frightened.

“I had to say it,” said David. “It is all I can do for you now, if worse comes to worse. I don’t think it will, Hannah, but did you hear me?”

“Yes. I will obey you, now. You know things about this.”

“Promise.”

“All right.”

“When I’m gone, you may hear them say anything about me, and what happened. Then you will need faith in me, and it will be hard, very hard. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Now, she had gotten up, walked to the basin, and was washing herself. It was time to go, David needed her to leave.

He said, “I don’t mean that you never should accept that I failed.” He hesitated, “That I died trying. But you will know that only because time has passed—and that if I had succeeded, I would have come back for you.”

“I’m so scared, now. I don’t think there is any way out of here, even for you. No one leaves. They say no one ever left. People only leave to be taken East and sold into slavery—or because they died.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Don’t tell me, then,” she said, drying now, hurrying.

‘I won’t. Just this. If I fail, just keep on here, as you have. Fit in, don’t deny yourself any peace, any pleasure you can find that feels right. Because, Hannah, the steps to end all this—” he gestured around him—”started with me, but it won’t end there. So wait, just wait.”

She did not answer. She was at the door. He came now, took her in his arms, held her. They did not kiss, she did not want that, now. And, after a few moments, he released her. “I love you, Hannah.”

“I love you,” and she was gone.

She walked in the garden, as she often did, but the swathes of flowers, the sky, the fountain scintillant in sunlight all seemed more intense, never to be forgotten. At dinner, she took more than she had intended, famished. In all ways, she acted as she always did, as though nothing had changed—although everything had. When Rachael slipped into the seat beside hers, and asked, “What are you doing after dinner?” Hannah replied, “Read, maybe. I want to read more.” And Rachael smiled with a rare pleasure. “That’s what I
always
want to do, but I always have to do it alone.”

“Not tonight,” said Hannah, grinning.

“Do you know I read Urdu and Hindustani?” She had lowered her voice. “Those are languages of India, but there are only three books, here, in Sanskrit, and I’ve read them. But I grew up with English, too.”

“You just told me where you came from,” said Hannah. She said the words in a voice scarcely audible and, as she did, glanced around the room. Rachael smiled sadly: “You looked so happy, this afternoon, I just wanted to tell you. Because in India I was happy, too, as a child.”

“Still, we shouldn’t,” said Hannah. “Let’s go read,” and they got up together.

Later, on her bed, nude, brushed by breeze from the open window, she summoned the moments of rising excitement and felt her body respond. She did not want that tonight, though, to permit any experience to supplant the memory of being with him. So she thought of him, wondered if he had begun and was in danger. She could not sleep, not tonight; that was all right, she would be awake, her mind with him. But the storm that had risen, then swept through her body that afternoon, shaking her, had left a profound ease. Not even images of his danger could dissipate it, and she slept.

He was not at breakfast, in the dressing room, in exercise. Fear edged into her mind, nagging, but he had said he might not even be at dinner last night—and hadn’t been. And so it must have begun. No one took note of his absence; Maria did not seem to inquire. By day’s end, Hannah was preoccupied with the itch to ask where he was, what anyone knew, but she did not. If they took no notice, said nothing, she must do the same. But through dinner her tension increased, like a band drawn tighter, compressing her chest. She felt as though she must choose to take each breath, take deep breaths, and exhale.

She still lay awake as the moon rose, filling her window. She should sleep; it was her duty to David. He had said: survive, live. She flipped over. Was he outside somewhere, under that moon? Hiding? Swimming? The latter thought almost panicked her. When she did sleep, at last, she dreamed of swimming out to sea toward the moon, getting no closer, wondering in fear how she would regain shore. But she kept swimming, the fear growing, because now she never could return to shore—yet, nothing was ahead of her.

Were they all blind? Had everyone but Hannah been told? He had not been seen for two full days! By dinner, her resolve had been weakened by her own inner assault of rationalizations. It would be strange
not
to ask! She timed her exit from the dining room with Darlene’s. They were not chums, but Hannah had avoided coldness toward anyone. As they came through the doorway, she asked, “Hasn’t David been missing?”

“Obviously,” said Darlene.

“Where, do you think?”

Darlene shook her head. “They do with you what they want. People get sick, sent places.”

“I don’t think anyone has been gone two days.”

“Not since you got here.”

“We’ll see I guess.”

“He’s a special guy of yours, isn’t he?”

“Not guy, but I’ve talked to him some. He’s different, you know.”

“No skin on his dick.”

Hannah managed to giggle. “I think it’s cute, but, no, Jews are different. I never had a chance to talk much with one. Not many in…” she stopped. “My town.”

Darlene wanted to be the one who could give you things, the dispenser of favors. Now, she said, “Sometimes Charles knows what no one else does. I don’t know how. Ask him.”

“I might. Now, I want to find a book I heard about. Thanks, though.”

Darlene only nodded, turning to another girl. Now, it would be even harder to be friendly to her. To her, David was a funny prick.

The one person she avoided was Charles. She didn’t feud; she smiled when they passed. She chatted. But what they had said to each other since the night of the fight would add up to a poor paragraph.

Another day. Now, it was Rachael who asked Hannah if anyone knew about David. It became exhausting for Hannah to get through the day. Always there was the demand for attention, focus, and to do that, dragging her mind away from David, drained her energy before she began what she had to do. Charles was leaving the dressing room. She caught up. What price would he exact? What humiliation? She turned to him, with what she hoped was a quizzical frown, and said, “No one knows what happened to David, do they?”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“I am now.”

“What’s so important?”

“Don’t you get worried when someone just disappears? I mean, what do they do with people? And when will it be me? Or you, Charles? Besides, I like David a lot.”

Charles shrugged. “I heard he was sick. Really sick. I heard they were in a panic that it might be contagious, kill us all.”

“He’s with Dr. MacLeod?”

“Was when I heard.”

“Thank you, Charles—really. I hope no one else gets sick.”

They reached a stair and Charles started up. “Thanks!” Hannah called. He did not answer.

Sick, very sick. And they were worried he might die? But how much did Charles really know? How
could
he know so much? Someone said he was close to Maria, the only one of them who was. Perhaps.

But David had said not to believe what they said. To believe no reports, rumors, to have faith in him. He made her promise. Just to wait, to go on with things, to see. But the duke came in two days. Or was it three? That shouldn’t be hard to find out. For weeks, the others had been preparing, working specifically, now, on roles, lines, songs, and dances—although never in the same room as Hannah. She wouldn’t be part of the show—only afterward, in the duke’s room. Then she was the whole show.

Hadn’t David been gone long enough for something to happen—if he hadn’t failed? Three days would be enough. What could he be doing? Not sick, not lying in some room, tended by Dr. MacLeod? How likely that that would happen the very day he planned to leave?

By the next morning, she admitted that David had foreseen this, given her the only possible advice: believe nothing, wait. She hadn’t slept much; if she remained gripped by the rage to know, she would be able to do nothing. And how to explain
that
? She hurried to breakfast; today was just another day, things to do. She was eating alone, focusing ahead on the day, when Charles sat down across the table. He leaned forward, folding his hands. She said, “Hello, Charles.” Did he hear her voice shake?

He said, “You asked about David.”

She nodded, staring at him; she couldn’t help herself. “Did you tell me the truth?”

“What I knew. But now I know more and it’s bad.”

Her hands took hold of the edge of the table. “Oh, it’s contagious?” Now, it was obvious her voice was shaking. She squeezed the table harder. Charles glanced down at her hands.

“He died. Yesterday. Last night, they hauled the coffin down to the wharf. The person who told me saw from her window when they loaded it on the cart.”

He looked up at her. She saw in his face nothing but concern. He was watching her expression. She was telling herself: believe nothing you hear. Have faith. Don’t listen. Just wait. Her heart was thudding. Would she cry? She squeezed till her fingers ached. Charles was studying her. Now, he asked, “Are you all right, Hannah? I know you liked him… But, here... You can’t let it get to you. Or you don’t survive.”

After a moment, he asked: “All right, Hannah?”

She nodded. Kept nodding till she realized it, made herself stop What did her face look like? She had to answer. She said, voice low, “Sure, Charles, and thanks. Thanks.” What else? What next? She said: “Just… so sad, to come here, away from everyone, and… and die.” Her face contorted, but she held back the tears. “Thinking of myself, really,” she said. “That makes it so sad.”

He nodded. “I’ve felt that. You die—first out there, then, someday, you die in here. Twice.” His head was bowed.

“Is it contagious, dangerous?” There! A normal question.

“Well, it took him so fast. Just three days, less. I hear they were terrified, the guards. They wouldn’t approach the body; the doctor had to put it in the coffin, nail it shut, before they would come near it.”