HF - 01 - Caribee (15 page)

Then she was content to be the victim. She sat against the trunk of a tree, and smiled, mouth sagging. He knelt beside her and dragged his fingers through her hair. How long had he wanted to do that. And kiss her eyes, and her nose. This mystified her, but she liked it, judging by her expression, as she liked him to stroke her breasts. Small breasts, but throbbing mounds of womanhood,
with
strangely flaccid nipples, even when aroused. Or perhaps he had not yet fully aroused her. But she preferred him to explore her belly, moved it and thrust it in his face, and exploded into more delighted laughter when he allowed himself a gentle bite.

And then the laughter died, and he straightened in some haste, gazed at Wapisiane, felt fear rising from his own belly to meet the strength coming down. The
Indian
boy was unarmed, but he had his hands and Ins teeth, and he too had tasted blood at the feast.

He asked a question of Yarico, and the girl tossed her head, and answered him, vigorously and angrily. Wapisiane gazed at Edward for several seconds, seeming to be drinking him in with his eyes, and then turned and disappeared as silendy as he had come.

Yarico laughed, touched Edward with her forefinger, and then thrust it between her legs, before cupping her hands and encircling her belly.

‘
You mean he would have you mother his childrenr" Edward asked in horror. 'But then...

She shook her head,
gently
, from side to side, and an expression of u
tt
er contempt crossed her face.

'But he is angry,' Edward said. 'He will tell your father,' He pointed at the village, waved his arms above his head, fists clenched.

Yarico gave another of her unforge
tt
able shrieks, and again her head was shaking, from side to side, slowly. But now her arms were reaching for him, once again.

The sun, Yarico, rose at dawn and declined at dusk. The moon, Yarico, was already high in the sky on most nights, and remained there, bathing St Christopher in its unforge
tt
able light. The tobacco, Yarico, took to the fields and grew like weeds, sprouting forth in unimaginable profusion. The yams, the fish, the coconuts which were their staple diet, all contained Yarico. Every dream, every waking moment, was but an aspect of Yarico.

Even the men contained Yarico. But with them he must be careful. They saw his c
ontentedness, and were pleasantl
y surprised. But then, they were content themselves, and put his obvious happiness down to the withdrawal of the stern command and criticism of his father. Certainly Berwicke was more easy. Or perhaps life itself was more easy. There were some hours' work needed on the tobacco every day, and there was some cooking and laundry to be done. But now they could smoke their own crop, and Painton had left them delicacies like cheese and even a few bo
tt
les of wine. They dreamed, of Tom's return, with ships and men. And women. Tony Hilton m
ight spend hours watching the
Indian
girls going about their various tasks, but he remembered too well the blood rolling down their chins to wish more than that. He too was content to wait. And so they assumed that Edward also dreamed, whatever boys dream about. They had forgo
tt
en, as
they
had forgo
tt
en snow and hail, market days and storms at sea, King James and Steenie Villiers, and all the ills of life. There were none here.

But they were also a reminder that one day Father would return, and with him, Mama. There was onrushing cataclysm. Which made him the more anxious. He spent his leisure hours climbing Brimstone Hill, where he would be sure to find her, and his nights escaping the solitude of his house and seeking her behind the tobacco field, for she was always there. They sought love and found it with a passionat
e intensity which frightened h
im, when he thought about it, but which could not be resisted when he was in her presence. He endeavoured to introduce some aspect of rationality into their relationship by teaching her English wh
ile they were both regaining their strength
s, and indeed she proved an apt pupil, for she was intelligent and anxious to please him in every way. Yet he could not escape the overwhelming feeling that to her he was no more
than
a large toy, fascinating in the colour of his skin, the texture of his face and hair and flesh, the innocence which she delighted in destroying, for she taught him to use his mouth and teeth on every part of her body, and she cared not where he made his entry so long as she felt him in her and against her. But how to know where pleasure ended and sin began? Or did sin belong here at all, in this enchanted, heathen place? Could he sin with a girl who had torn a living man to pieces with her teeth. Was she not, equally, his plaything, to be done with as he chose? There was a satisfying thought, and when he remembered the law laid down by Father on their first day here, he could not convince himself that sin had come into
that
at all. Father had been afraid of antagonizing the natives. He was just as afraid of that, and lived for some weeks in terror of what Wapisiane might do or say, but Yarico was reassuring, and certainly it seemed
that
she knew her people, and her designated husband, for Tegramond was as unfailingly good humoured as ever, and every day his women made the trek

along the beach with their fish for the white men, and stood and giggled together and pointed at whatever took their fancy, and seemed amazed that the men should choose to keep to themselves.

Surely, no sin in paradise. Nothing, in paradise, save unchanging sun and heat, daylight and darkness, a dawn breeze and a midday rain shower, the rumble of the surf and the desire of Yarico. Until the day that she was not on the hilltop when he got there, towards dusk, as was usual. For a moment he was too surprised to think. It had been an unnaturally hot day, even for St Christopher, and so they had done less work than usual, and now he was surprised to discover that it was as hot at dusk as it had been at noon. The breeze was absent, yet the clouds still moved, and when he looked at them from this vantage point he saw that they were far more numerous than usual, and thickly clustered, and in many places dark grey and even black, instead of fleecy white. And strange, now his interest was aroused, there were no In
dian
children bathing off the village, usually clearly to be seen from up here. The Island gave the appearance of having been deserted, save for the three Englishmen below him, lying on the sand and smoking their rolled leaves, and dreaming aloud to each other.

The breeze puffed against his cheek, returning without warning, and he looked up in surprise. There was no twilight in these latitudes, but this transition from light to darkness was too sudden. It was caused by the cloud. It was huge, and black, and it spread and spread and spread to the eastern horizon, and the breeze was suddenly filled with rain, moving along, stinging his face and hands, filling his belly with fear.

But Yarico was here. She stood amidst the trees, arms outstretched. 'Hurricane,' she said, and pointed. 'Wind.' And waved her hand.

He ran to her, and they ducked into the trees. But this was Guyana again, as the huge raindrops crashed downwards, only here there was wind, stinging and sending branches thrashing to and fro. And then there was a louder sound, a noise he had never heard before, a growing whine as if every bird in the world was gathered together and rushing at St Christopher, crying and beating their wings in unison.

Yarico threw herself to the ground, and he dropped with her. He watched her digging her toes and fingers into the earth, hands scrabbling to find some solidity, and wondered if this was a new means of self-satisfaction. Then she was gone, and he was gone. He did not know how or where. He felt no pain, just an enormous dizziness, and looked up. But he saw nothing, although his instincts told him
he had been rolled off the path
and down into the jungle below. How long he lay there he had no idea. The howling of the wind became one continuous roaring in his ears, shu
tt
ing out all possibility of thought. The rain pounded on his face and body, hurting him, but not suggesting that he move. And then, sometimes, it would stop, and leave only the wind, before returning again with incessant power. The night grew ever darker, and the noise around him, when he could hear it above t
he wind, the crashes and the th
uds, the huge booms of the breakers on the beach
far below, the rumble of the th
under and the crackle of the lightning which cut vivid slashes
through
the darkness, grew ever more terrifying.

In time, Yarico came to him again. Certainly she was as terrified as himself, but she had experienced such a storm before, and besides, she loved. This night he truly realized that. She was a savage, a bloodthirsty cannibal, and he would never be able to forget her as she had been on
that
terrible day, but she loved, with a protective desire which made nonsense of differences hi
language, and religion, and outl
ook, in past and no doubt in future, in present. Where there was a love of this calibre, there could never be sin.

And again in time, there was dawn. The wind dropped, although it remained a gale, but the terrifying whine and the equally terrifying clouds had passed away, and the sky was a more brilliant blue than he had ever seen, a drenched blue, washed clean by the pounding rain.

He sat up, and then stood up, cautiously, because his muscles were cramped and he cou
ld not help but wonder if anyth
ing was broken. Amazingly he was unharmed, and so was the girl. In their mossy hollow they had lain in safety. Not so the forest. A giant hand had swept across St Christopher, plucking and flicking, enjoying itself with all the gusto of the Caribs destroying the man from Dominica. The analogy came strongly to mind as he looked at the uprooted trees, the overturned boulders, the swathes of bushes and sca
tt
ered shrubs, almost as if a gigantic scythe had been at work. And the wind had come from the east, so there had been the mountain between them and the worst. What the windward side of the island must be like did not bear consideration.

And the beach. 'By Christ,' he shouted, and ran from Brimstone Hill. Yarico came behind, more slowly. She knew what he would find.

He stood on the lip of the hill. T
he beach was obliterated beneath
the huge foaming breakers which still hurled themselves at the shore, ripping up the sand with horrific force, smashing it and swirling it, and sucking it back out to sea. The village remained above the high water mark. Tegramond had made them build wisely. Above the high water mark. But not above the high wind mar
k. There had been a village. Th
is much was evident in the discoloured sand, the timber which lay sca
tt
ered across the grass and into the field. But then, there had had been a field, and the field had contained an almost rip
e tobacco crop. Now it was noth
ing more than a scar. Even the seed beds had disappeared, the carefully prepared earth demolished as a child might have demolished an unwanted san
dcastle. He was obsessed with th
is relationship to childis
hness, to the childish fiendish
ness of the Caribs, and now of the weather. He wondered how any responsible adult mind could conceive of destruction on such a vast scale, and then implement such a concept.

But there had been people here. He ran down the path, panting, amazed at his selfishness, for his soul cried out, no, I cannot be the only white person left alive in this terrible community. No love there, no feeling to Tony and Hal Ashton and Berwicke. No love such as had brought Yarico feeling her way through the darkness and the danger to find him, last night. Such as brought her behind him now, scurrying down the path, anxious for his friends because he was anxious for them, alt
h
ough her mind must be consumed with worry for her own people; the Carib village was much more exposed.

He reached the foot of the hill, found the sand piled up in huge drifts much like the Suffolk snow, thrown against the grassy banks as if to protect the land beyond. But it had not protected the land beyond.

He kicked his way through the sha
tt
ered timbers. They had been so proud of their huts, of the way they had been constructed, of the wooden utensils they had carved. They were here too, and so were the remains of the wine bo
tt
les, and even one of the muskets, sticking up out of the sand.

'Edward? By God, 'tis the boy.' Ashton came staggering out of the trees, bleary eyed and shaking.

'Ned.' Hilton was behind them, face ashen.

Last of all came Berwicke. How he had aged in a night. Perhaps there had always be
en a considerable amount of whi
te in his hair,
but it had been kept sufficientl
y concealed behind the remaining black. Now it was all in eviden
ce, and his round cheeks had shr
unk, and his shoulders were bowed. 'Edward,' he said. 'Thank God, for that at the least'