The black swan (72 page)

Adam slumped to the ground, lying back against the trunk of a cabbage paJm. He buried his face in his hands, desolate and half-crazed. He no longer knew what he was doing. His mind would take him no further than two simple thoughts—keeping alive and finding Dulcie.

Wanting to appease the tormented guide, an elderly native crept silently and fearfully from the heavy underbrush. He placed coconuts and grapefruit about ten feet from where Adam lay and vanished back into the wilderness.

Birds screamed overhead, small animals slithered through the ground cover, as Adam remained hour after hour, his head tucked protectively in the shelter of his arms. He was tired, filled with the despondency that offers no hope but

refuses to allow a man to stop trying. It was dusk before he had the courage to come out of his refuge.

He nearly stumbled over the coconuts and grapefruit He stared, puzzled at the smaU pile of bounty; then hunger overcame thought. He ripped open the grapefruit. He took the three coconuts to the ruined jolly boat. He wrapped them in the oilskin, using it as a knapsack.

He continued his search for Dulcie. He rowed south about two miles before he realized that someone had had to bring the food. Just as night fell, he beached the craft and ran back across the open expanse to the woods. Before he had gone a hundred yards, he was hopelessly lost and confused.

His nerves drawn beyond endurance, Adam stood in the dark virgin forest and screamed his frustration. There was nothing. No sound. No human. No hope. No peace. He pounded the trunk of a papaw until he brought down the fruit and bruised and bloodied his hands. For the rest of the night he wandered, trying to make his way back to the beach.

The watching eyes were fearful. The small offering had not been enough to drive the spirit back to the sea. The offerings must be greater. The ceremonies seeking the aid of the moon goddess, Erzulie, though her handmaiden, Mam'bo Luz, must be more holy, or the Guede I'Orage would offer his powers to Lucifer. Mam'bo Luz would make them pay dearly if that happened.

As Adam slept, a small band of them crept, laying out in ritual fashion the foods most likely to please this spirit from the sea. Just before dawn, they placed dried twigs around the Guede I'Orage, a protective circle to keep his powers inside and away from themselves. Then they set fire to the twigs. Immediately there blazed around Adam a ring of fire that brought him screaming from sleep.

Wild with memories of the nightmares, he thrashed through the blazing circle before the natives could gather their wits to run. One by one they eluded him, vanishing into the dark foliage, leaving no sound nor track to follow. Adam ran after one, then another. He managed to collar one small, wiry boy. The youth's eyes rolled deep up into his head, showing only the whites as he sank to the ground, muttering and praying in a strange tongue.

Adam shook the boy. "Did you take me from the sea?"

The boy muttered uncomprehendingly.

"Was there a woman?!'*

Trembling, nearly senseless, the boy bobbed his head indicating first yes then no.

Adam shook him until the boy cried out, gasping for breath. "Answer me! Answer me! The woman! Did you see her? Did you send her out to sea too? Oh, God! What did you do with her? Answer me!"

The boy began to jabber and gesture, pointing west

"She's farther in the woods? You lead me to her." He held onto the boy as he pulled at some vine to tie the youth.

Securely bound to Adam's waist, the boy sat meekly down. Adam pointed to the sky. "At first light you take me to her."

The boy smiled slightly, then curled up to sleep. Adam sat next to him, his back rigid against a tree, trying to remain alert.

At full dawn Adam awakened, the vine still around his waist. The other loop lay empty beside him. The boy was gone. As before, in a ceremonial configuration lay a supply of fruits, prepared meats, and vegetables. Adam ate slowly, scanning the brush. There was no sign that anyone was there.

Perhaps it was the forest that gave him the feelmg of being followed and observed, and the legendary chick-charnies who left food for him. Perhaps it was a nightmare, and he was not really on this primitive, largely unexplored island at all. Perhaps the Independence had never gone down in a storm off the Andros coast. Perhaps he was completely mad. But perhaps the boy had seen Dulcie.

He tossed the remainder of the chicken away and walked deeper into the woods, heading westerly. Before long, he found distinct paths, and the going became easier. He walked for hours, wishing that the little Androsian chick-chamies would feed him again. Hopefully, he lay down and feigned sleep. After an uneventful hour he searched for food on his own. Each sloping, twisting trail took him deeper into the heart of Andros.

He went on, determined not to give up until he had found Dulcie. He continued through the woods, going down one path to its end, retracing his steps until he dropped to the ground exhausted. In the morning food lay beside him. Drawn in the earth was a picture legend

that he read with ease. He was to return to the sea. The figure of a man lay on the beach. Himself. In front of the man's outstretched hands was a native boat. Behind the figure of the man, representing the past, was the stick figure of a woman with flowing hair. Dulcie. The head of the woman was a skull. Angrily he swiped at the drawing, obliterating it with his hands. Then he stood and stamped the earth imtil no sign remained.

He ran down the path, desperate to reach its end. Perhaps it was only madness, but every instinct told him Dulcie was near. He tore down the long twisting, tangled path, his mind wildly racing with hope enlivened by the natives' efforts to discourage him.

The sun was almost directly overhead when he burst out of the woods. Before him lay a wide expanse cleared of forest growth, a large emerald island surrounded by a sea of dark pine and mahogany trees. In its midst blazed a pinking white mansion, unreal and dazzling in the bright light. Intimidated by the sight of a house such as this in an unexplored wilderness, Adam retreated to the forest, peeking out from the broad sisal leaves. Twice he ventured out, determined to go boldly to the house. Twice he retreated. He was no better than the natives, as apprehensive of the unfamiliar as they.

He tugged at his beard. His clothing, what there was of it, was torn and stained from the nights spent in the forest and the water. It was no wonder the natives were afraid of him—but how was he to regain his veneer of civilization and approach this house? It was amazing how quickly he had become a wary, stealthy animal.

Yet Dulcie might be inside that house. He started across the great lawn. Without the cover of the trees he felt exposed, watched at every step. Furtive and wary, he kept looking over his shoulder as he approached.

A slender, plainly dressed Indian woman answered his knock, her dark eyes widening for a moment before her face became a mask again. Her hair was black and straight, knotted at the back of her head. "You come ter see Mistah Gilmartin?"

Adam didn't know whom he had come to see. Tiredly he rubbed his forehead. "I was in a shipwreck. My wife ... my wife went down with it. I've been told ... a native indicated this house—"

"We find no woman. No woman here."

"Have you heard anything? Has anyone seen—**

"Maybe she be buried. Always give the dead to the Lord of the Cemetery, Baron Samedi."

"Amparol Who's that?" a strangely resonant tenor called.

Amparo looked at Adam, her dark eyes filled with warning. "You go now. You go back ter sea. You go."

Adam's hand shot out, holding the door. "No, wait, please. Help me. I must find my wife. Please. You know something. Tell me—tell mel"

A dog nosed past Amparo's legs. The petulant tenor voice demanded, "Move aside! I can't see! Who is it?"

Her eyes scolding Adam for not having left, Amparo stepped aside.

Staring up at Adam from his seat on a dogcart sat a malformed youth. His black beadlike eyes were moist and staring. On his head bristling black hair sprouted. The boy's ears stood out, small winglike protuberances. His mouth was a gaping slit. His torso was large. He had no arms or legs. From his shoulders grew finlike hands, flapping gleefully as he laughed his odd, mirthless cackling. At his groin were two other growths, feet, useless, fleshy.

Amparo said, "This be Lucifer Gilmartin."

Adam mouthed the boy's first name.

Lucifer smacked the hps of his gaping mouth twice. "Didn't you know you've come to Satan's Keep? The home of the damned? I am lord of Satan's Keep. Lucifer. Do you know Lucifer?"

"Yes, I know of Lucifer," Adam said quietly.

The boy cackled. "You may think you know, but you don't. Lucifer outsmarted God. How, then, could you, a mere man, know anj^hing? Or are you smarter than God too?"

"No, I'm not." Adam turned to Amparo. "Could I see Mr. Gilmartm?"

"Nol" Lucifer cried. "No! Talk to me! Talk to me!'*

"I need help. Your father can help me."

"My father can do nothing! I have the power, not he!"

*'Lucho!" Amparo said chidingly. "We'll take 'im ter your father an' let 'im see for himself."

Lucifer commanded his dog to back the cart up. His eyes never left Adam's. An expression of venomous hatred

was on his face. "He's like all the others," he said to Am-paro. Then he spoke to Adam. "What you want to know, I know. I could have been your friend.*'

"What could you have told me?"

"That you were in a shipwreck."

"You heard me say that to Amparo."

"You're looking for a woman," Lucifer said.

"My wife."

Ludfer laughed. "She's not your wife now. She's with the spuits."

The blood rushed to Adam's head. He wanted to smash his fist into Lucifer's leering face. "Amparo, take me to Mr. Gilmartin." He hadn't come this far to be turned back by a boy and a housekeeper.

Amparo motioned Adam to enter. Adam stalked past, not daring to look at the monster boy. Lucifer called after him. "I know everything. You've killed all hope of ever knowing your fate or hers." His laughter rang through the crude adobe inner walls.

Amparo led him to a doorway, then disappeared into a corridor. Adam fought down the impulse to shudder. The deformed youth watched him.

"Costal" the boy shouted. A wizened old servant crabbed his way to the boy, walking in a crouch that made his thin, sinuous muscles stand out like cords. Lucifer stared at Adam. "You see, I am all-powerful. Costa! Lie on the floor!" The man fell to the floor. "Roll over!" Lucifer looked up from his obedient servant, grinning broadly at Adam. "Have you such power over any dog or man? Have all your straight limbs ever given you command? Go see my father, mister fool. Talk to another of your kind." The dog sprang forward. The servant Costa followed, crabbing along behind Lucifer.

Adam entered Gilmartin's study. A fire burned in the overwarm, airless room. In a large threadbare chair sat a drunken wisp of a man, Kenneth Gilmartin, thinning white hair barely covering his pinkish scalp, his clothing soiled and neglected.

He looked up as Adam crossed the room. Gilmartin waggled his hand vaguely. His speech was slurred. "Justin'll have that order ready t'morra, or I'll have the boy's hide. Tha's a promish." He offered Adam a drink out of his own bottle. "Tell me about London now."

"Sir, my ship was wrecked some time ago, maybe weeks.

Can you tell me anything about that wreck? Did your men find wreckage? Or survivors?"

"Your ship wrecked? Tha's strange. I jush got a letter yesterday. You been with Mam'bo Luz? You ain't one o* them livin' dead o' hers?"

"I know no one named Luz. Who is she? Would she know of a woman being washed up on shore?"

"Dorothy?"

Adam sat up alertly, once more hoping. "No—not Dorothy. Dulcie."

Gilmartin's eyes leaked pathetic tears. "She'sh losht Losht."

"Think, sir, please. Could her name have been Dulcie, sir?"

"Saw her long time ago, day that son o* Satan was bom. God-damned demon, he is. Now I can't fin' her."

Adam was on the edge of his seat. "Have you seen her!"

Gilmartin kept drinking from the nearly empty bottle. "Long time ago . . ."

"Damn it, stop drinking, man!" Adam shouted. "I have to find her! She's my wife. She's carrying my child!"

Gilmartin was crying pathetically, cradling the whiskey bottle against his chest. "So long ago . . . Search. Always search. Never give up until she'sh found."

Adam rushed from the study. He went to every door, peered into every room, opening closets, examining the contents of drawers, hunting for anything that might reveal Dulcie's presence. The mansion was a rabbit's warren of passages, one wing of the house connecting to another. Nothing hinted at Dulcie's presence, yet his feeling remained strong that she was there.

At every turn he was stymied by Lucifer, smiling his evil knowing smile, waiting for the opportunity to tell Adam he was a fool. "I am the one to whom you must supplicate. I am the one to answer your wishes. It is to me you must pay homage to gain your desires."

After Adam had wandered through the house several times, Amparo came up to him. "You must leave now, man. Nobody here to help you. Go back to the sea. Go back where you came."

At the edge of the woods he stopped to look back at the strange isolated mansion called Satan's Keep. Thank God Dulcie hadn't been thefe.

The next day he walked south down the beach. He found several pieces of wreckage. One of his charts, ruined by sun and water, lay buried in the sand. In a small inlet a jolly boat rocked, caught on a snag. Inside was the gruesome cargo of two crewmen, blistered by the sun, torn by scavenger birds, covered with insects. Adam hauled the rotting corpses from the boat and buried them in the forest

Beaten, no longer knowing where to look, and afraid of what he would find, Adam returned to the native boat Inside it was a fresh supply of food. He had come to take it for granted. He laid his oilskin on the sand and went to sleep.

The sun was high when he awakened. He lay still, a shadow long and dark falling across his face. He blinked, squinting against the sun, and looked around. All manner of things had been carried to the beach and now encircled him. At his feet was a scarecrow figure, black and eerie against the sun, almost unidentifiable against that blinding brilliance. Behind him a small banana tree had been planted in the sand. Around him lay a circle of banana leaves. From the circle the leaves formed a path to the native boat at the water's edge. To. his right was a pole, a joukoujou painted black, a sign of death. As he stood up, Adam saw the pile of black clothing laid near the pole, apparently for him to don.