The black swan (71 page)

Luz smiled in satisfaction, then shouted after them. "You git back, I talk oV storee. I tell you what you doan know. or storee calm de water."

Later, near a small fire in the clearing, Mam'bo Luz began her "old story" in the traditional way:

Dis was a time, a very good time, Not in my time but in ol' people time, Monkey chew tobacco an' spit white lime.

"Dere was a king, big king 'cross de sea. King say to Gilmartin, I gib you some Ian'." ,

In the strange singsong cadence of her language Luz wove the story of the white man's invasion of the isolated native world of Andros Island. The first of the luckless Gilmartins had been given a land grant by an English king. Gilmartin had brought with him men from the Congo to clear the wild jungle. Before he could enjoy the riches gleaned from his new mahogany plantation, he died. His son mherited the wealth as well as the curse that seemed to hover over the Gilmartin family. The son, too, died young, leaving behind the riches of the plantation and two children, William and Kenneth, to lust after it. William, the oldest son, inherited. At his untimely death his property went to his young son, Justin.

"Kennef t'ief de Ian' from boy Justin. Den Kennef tek a wife. De wife Helen. Helen gib Kennef li'l girl baby. Helen look on Mam'bo Luz while she got baby in belly." Mam'bo Luz smiled now, remembering how her power had

soared when Helen had given birth to Dorothy and the child had had a birthmark that remained bright red all her life. Helen had looked on Luz, and the natives had believed Luz had marked the baby. They still talked of it today.

Luz chuckled maliciously as she told of Helen's second child. "Helen belly git fill up one odder time. Sen' Mam'bo Luz away 'cause Luz be pinto woman. Helen doan wan' pinto spots on baby. Mam'bo Luz call on de gods. Call Erzulie. Call guides. Mek de ritu'l when baby git bom. Mam'bo Luz mek de baby speerit evil!"

Mam'bo Luz's laughter rang out in the dark night. The natives shivered, sensing her maniacal aura. "Luz pow'full Luz han'maid ob Erzulie! Kennef know dat. Dor'fy know.'*

Luz, insane with the notoriety the Gilmartin's misfortunes gave to her, took credit for everything that befell them. Her people witnessed her incantations, calling down the spirits to plague the Gilmartins further.

Luz performed her rituals day and night. The Drum of the Thunderbolt split the heated night air. The wild singing and dancing went on and on until Luz triumphed.

Helen Gilmartin had died giving birth to the deformed child, whom Kenneth had hated on sight. Drinking and raging over his land like a madman, Kenneth had shouted blasphemous vilification at God. Deep in the woods he had cursed the land, pounding on the earth until his hands were bloody. He renamed his jdantation Satan's Keep and his only son Lucifer.

Seventeen-year-old Dorothy, horrified by her baby brother and the drunken raging insanity of her father, had run in panicky fear to the dense junglelike forest and become lost.

"Dor'fy disappear—^poof!" Luz smiled slyly. "Nobody know 'bout Dor'fy. Mam'bo Luz know. Mam'bo Luz wise, eh, eh."

The old story went on. Luz described how, bloated with success, she turned her attention to the infant on whom she had placed an evil spirit. "Lucifer so ugly nobody touch. Fadder no touch 'im. Boy Justin no touch. Nobody touch ugly evil speerit. Mam'bo Luz touch 'im. Feed 'im. Ten' *im. Mam'bo Luz got de power ober Lucifer.

"Frum time Lucifer li'l boy, Luz tek de life juice from he root. Sometime she suck it out. Drink de life juice. Mek Lucifer weak. Mek Mam'bo Luz strong, strong, strong'r. Sometime Mam'bo Luz tek he root inter she Sacred En-

trance down below. Hoi' he root tight. Tight. Mam'bo mount Lucifer an' ride 'im till he root gush he life fluid inter Mam'bo Luz. Mam'bo t'ief he power. Mek Lucifer weak, weak. Put 'im in de Mam'bo power."

The others murmured, then quieted, waiting for her to tell them of the future, in what new way she would weaken the fearsome Lucifer.

"Ternight de speerits come in on de stawm. De man come fo' Lucifer. De 'oman come fo' Mam'bo Luz. De gods funnin'. See which serbant be bes'."

Luz's narrowed eyes were hard. The gods had sent two bodies from the sacred land of Ife. One for Lucifer, one for Luz. She saw a contest of strength. Luz or Lucifer would win to reign supreme on the island.

"De man speerit, Guede I'Orage. No good!'* she said violently. "Man he ready to gib he body so Lucifer hab body like a god. Big. Strong." She looked at them slyly. "But nobody tell de man how Mam'bo Luz t'ief de power from Lucifer." She snickered. Her people giggled and poked each other.

Luz stood, her fist stabbing the sky. "Gods punish de man! Put 'im in de pit. Mam'bo Luz pow'ful, eh, eh." Then she swung her attention to her people. "But Luz kin'. We tek keer ob dat man speerit. Treat 'im good, lak he a real people. Mek de medsin on 'im. Mek de food offerin'. Put man in de sacred ring ob fire. Three days. Den we put 'im in sacred boat an' sen's 'im back to de sea. Say, 'Man speerit, git on back ter Ife.' Dis way Lucifer no git de strong body ob de stawm speerit. We do dat, doan we, Pa Bowleg?"

Pa Bowleg smiled toothlessly, nodding. "We do dat, eh, eh."

Mam'bo Luz then told her mesmerized people how she would take the body of the woman as her own. Luz planned her greatest triumph of all. She would enter her own spirit into the beautiful body of the red-haired woman Erzulie had sent on the storm-tossed sea.

Then Luz's eyes became slits as she warned her people to keep her plans secret. "Mam'bo Luz doan wan' ter lay de oberlook on her brown peoples 'cause dey tell de storee to Lucifer!"

Heads shook in negation. "No, no, Mam'bo Luz. Doan gib de oberlook!"

The short, wide woman smiled. "Mam'bo Luz gib her peoples big trick dis night. Wc mek Lucifer de ritu'l."

Faces lighted with sensual appreciation. This was a special ritual, one they highly enjoyed, performed on the ground outside the oum'phor.

"1 talk de ritu'l. Den biddy biddy ban, dis storee en*. Fus' de ogantier clap he bell, mek de big noise dat wake up Lucifer. Den de drums begin. Summon Lucifer. Brown peoples dance. Sing. Happy.

"Be brown men's git de strong hard root like de Sacred Tree. Brown 'omans want fo' root. Brown mens mount brown 'omans. De drum go boom boom boom boom boom. Mam'bo mount Lucifer. Mek Lucifer less, less. Mek Mam'bo Luz strong, strong, strong'r. Mambo use de speerit power to gib her peoples good times."

Smiles wreathed the faces, even as some cast apprehensive looks into the dark beyond the low fire.

Mam'bo Luz shook her asson, a gourd rattle. The or-gantier struck his bell with an iron rod. Then the Drum of the Thunderbolt began its demonic beat

The brown people waited tensely, chanting, wanting to move, to dance, but not daring. The drumbeats stirred their blood with passions of fear and lust.

Mam^o Luz began to dance, her plump body writhing like the serpent. Her people danced, their faces growing dreamily sensual.

The drum assumed a new note, wild, /oa-ridden, uncontrollable. The dancers froze, heads turning to the dark forest path.

Lucifer had come.

Chapter Two

The sun beat down mercilessly, a ball of fire in a shimmering sky. The air hummed, a low, soft buzzing burr that made Adam's head pound. Around him everything undulated, shimmering, unstable.

The ball of fiery sun seemed to be both inside and outside him. Burning with a cold fury from within, scorching

him from without. His leg, swollen from the knee to his toes, shot pain all through him. He shivered, in spite of the hot sand burning his flesh. He moved, and fell back groaning. His stomach heaved with waves of nausea. The sea water burbled up into his throat. He rolled over, pressing his swollen leg, cut by the coral, into the gritty hot sand. He vomited until his body curled, clutching with the effort. Slowly the compulsive spasms subsided. He fell back exhausted, moaning with pain. Against his closed eyelids everything was flaming red, red and pulsing, red and hot, red and deathly cold.

He stirred restlessly in semiconsciousness, his hands weakly searching the sand for water. He drifted into and out of sleep. Nightmare followed nightmare. Dulcie tossed on a green sea. Himself dashed beneath the surface to be dragged along the dark, sharp coral. Shapes dancing and glittering in the eerie light of a ring of fire. Himself left there thirsty to bum from its heat. The blazing sun, burning and peeling Dulcie's flesh. His own skin burning. Hellish faces gyrating, leering, putting hands all over him, lifting him. Itching. Cold. Sun fire. Ring of fire. Blackness. Redness.

Days later he awakened to a gentle rocking and thought he was in a bayou. He lay still, confused, searching the sky for the cool green protection of overhanging trees. Above him was an endless sheet of blue broken only by wisps of shredded cloud. Hunger gnawed at him. The thirst was unbearable.

He drew his breath in sharply as he scraped his injured leg. He reached down to protect it, then he sat up examining himself carefully. The blue duck trousers were tattered, the right trouser leg in ribbons. A long ugly gash ran from his right knee to his ankle. The remains of a poultice clung to the wound. He touched it gingerly. It was not a new wound.

Adam hardly breathed. He felt as though a thousand pairs of eyes watched him, though he could see no one. Shaking himself free of superstitions and fear, he touched his face, his fingers working back and forth over his heavy beard. Five days' growth, perhaps more. Again he felt chilled. Where had he been? Where was he now?

His attention shattered as he saw fruits and nuts, food in clay pots, coconuts and roasted meat in the bow of the craft. Greedily he wolfed down chunks of bread, wetting

it with coconut milk. Glancing about, he craftily shoved the remaining food back into the protection of the bow.

He felt clear-headed and unfevered; still, he didn't trust himself or what he saw. It might be yet another of the hellish nightmares. The ring of fire seemed more real than the food or the gently swelling blue sea. He looked around quickly and fearfully to see if the fire ring were anywhere near him.

Behind him was the ocean. In front of him was the ocean. To his left was the endless ocean. To his right lay a long shoreline. For nearly an hour he let the boat bob along, staring apprehensively at the low, desolate shore. There were no signs of habitation or human activity. Behind sand beach lay a dense wall of deep forest as forbidding and black as the shore was forbidding and bright.

It was as if he had been plucked from some past time and placed here, ignorant and alone in an unpeopled world. The sun was riding low, the sky turning a dusky blue-violet overhead, scarlet and gold nearer the horizon. He lay back tired and fevered again. Without knowing to what he was resigning himself, he shut his eyes, knowing it was easier to let gods or demons control him than it was to try to reach that desolate, unfamiliar shore.

Adam fell into a restless sleep. With darkness came the nightmares. Sound pounding, pressuring, crushing, drumming against his body. He was slammed against the curling wall of green water. The Independence came apart, great pieces of her planking thrown into the ocean. He was thrust down, pinioned and torn on the coral reef so close beneath the raging surface. His oilskins swirled around him, trapping his arms. Screaming in soundless, water-stifled screams, he fought to the surface. His chest burned with liquid fire as the water closed. Again he was thrust onto the lashing coral, the moving water sawing him across the sharp points.

Things touched him in the watery darkness. Then in the clarity of a blazing sunlit day he saw Dulcie swept away from him, her red hair wet and darkened like aged rust, fanned out on the green water. He reached for her, pushing with all his strength for the surface and Dulcie. He was spun head over heels until one darkness became all darkness. He no longer cared if he breathed in the rain-pelted air or the salt-laden sea.

He awakened, his stomach heaving. He leaned over the side of the boat and vomited up all he had eaten from

his cache. Shaken, he lay back, trying to separate reality from nightmare. Then with a shrieking moan that stabbed the night air, he remembered clearly everything that had happened. All that was missing were the fevered days of the fire ring in the night and blazing sky fire in the day. He must find Dulcie.

He ran the boat up on the shore. It was a native longboat a crude, primitive craft designed to skim the shoals and coral-strewn shallows. He took his cache of food and hobbled up the sandy beach, stopping to rest every hundred feet or so. His still-swoUen leg began to ache, blood oozing through the poultice. He began to gether driftwood but gave up, falling down exhausted to sleep in the damp sand.

During the days that followed, Adam grew stronger. He wandered the beach, searching for wreckage of the Independence. He found flotsam, but nothing bearing the name of the ship, no sign that anyone had survived and passed this way, no old campfire or refuse. Nothing.

By the third day his apprehension for Dulcie's survival grew stronger. She would not know how to find food or fend for herself. Every moment he spent tramping the miles of beach he counted as one less moment she had to live. Finally, he realized that while he had lain unconscious and fevered in the longboat, he had probably been traveling northward, with the current of the Tongue of the Ocean. Likely he had been wrecked somewhere south of the area he now searched.

He went to what he supposed to be Andros's North Bight and speared several bonefish, then smoked them, stowing them in the bow of the native longboat. Then he set out south, staying close to the shore, beaching the boat often to walk the shoreline, hunting for signs of life or evidence that he had finally found the spot where the Independence had gone down.

He came to Middle Bight and knew then that he had indeed been on the northern section of the island. Andros was a collection of islands, an archipelago within an archipelago. Stopping just long enough to fish again, he crossed the bight to the largest of the many small islands that made up this section of Andros. Some of the tiny cays were only three to five acres, just small protruberances sticking up above the level of sea and reef.

A stop at the native settlement at Mangrove Cay lent

no encouragement. The natives had not heard of a shipwreck. Adam again headed south, searching the beaches on the north tip of the southernmost island of Andros. At last he found the grim evidence: the remains of a jolly boat, skeletal and partially sand covered. Independence was clearly marked on its good side. The other side and the bottom were stove in. Tucked under the prow was an oilskin.

He picked it up, his hands trembling with the impact of this first sign that someone besides himself might have survived the wreck. He laughed aloud, then he broke into a run, heading for the dense forest that crowded in against the salt grass, certain he would find Dulcie or a crewman from his ship.

Adam tore through the rich growth, ignoring wild briars that ripped at him. Colonies of flamingoes scattered. Pelicans, ducks, black parrots raised an alarm. Screaming "Dulcie," he slashed through the mangroves, sisal, and pawpaw, and trampled over wild cotton, bay lavender, and poppy.

From the dense foliage iguanas scurried to safer domains, and frightened eyes in brown faces watched him. He was the Guede I'Orage—the evil spirit who had appeared in the storm. Thin and haggard, his black curling hair matted and encrusted with dried sand, he looked imploringly at the trees, raising his hands in supplication. Mam'bo Luz had underestimated the powers of this spirit when she set him adrift in the longboat. Mam'bo Luz said she had the power to keep him from giving to Lucifer the body he needed to make him the earth-bound servant to Legba, the voodoo god. But she had been wrong. He had returned.