The Plot (10 page)

“Thoreau, again!”

“Thoreau, but also Jamey, also Jamey!” He had peered at Louis, then closed his eyes.

This had been his chance to slip the question in naturally. “Well, Thoreau wrote it and gets credit for it. Aren't you going to write anything else, Jamey? It seems to me”—he knew his voice had trembled with the effort to make it sufficiently offhand—“it seems to me that you ought to write your autobiography.”

“Does it seem so to you, dear boy? My autobiography?”

“You have some things to say none of the others have said. Don't waste them on me. Put them down.”

“You flatter me, dear boy.”

“Won't you do it, Jamey?” He had not known then—or now—whether he would be glad or sorry. “Won't you write it, Jamey?”

“No, dear boy, no, indeed, and I will not permit you to accompany me on my morning walks again, either. Is it the rivalry of the young against the old? There is that in you which muddies these waters.”

He had gone back to the house right after that, saying that Maum Cloe was doing them philpy for breakfast and that it was horrid if you kept it waiting. Louis thought:
There is that in you which muddies these waters
. He spoke to Ethel, who had been quiet, watching him as if she could read his thoughts. “Ethel, did you know that Jamey was particularly interested in the Indians of this region, the Seewees of Seewee Bay?”

“That's new to me. Why?”

“He told me about them—apropos of what—that the Seewees had become discontented with the prices the white men gave them for their pelts.” Louis made one of Jamey's gestures, he spoke in an imitation of Jamey's voice. “These hot, young braves, dear boy, seeing the white man's ships constantly coming into the bay from England, conceived the idea of building themselves a mammoth canoe and reaching England themselves, thus eliminating the profit of the middleman. This they did. In 1696, they set out in the mammoth canoe, all the dear, hot, young braves of the tribe, Louis, and a gale came up and they never were seen again. That was it. What do you make of that, Ethel?”

“It means his mind is wandering, Louis. He's becoming senile. The Seewees of Seewee Bay! He won't write his autobiography because he can't. If Jamey ever was your rival—and I told you I think you're the writer he would have been had he ever been a real man—his day is over. Finished!”

Standing there, underneath the live oaks, in the warmth, Louis remembered the movie about the rival seals. The old seals kept all the females in their harems. The young seals were not even permitted to come near the females. The young seals lay around, growing stronger, brooding, engaging in mock fights with each other to learn strategy. What Louis remembered, underneath the live oaks, in the warmth, was the battle between one old seal and a young contender. It had been a terrible fight, the two great blubbery panting and screaming things goring with their great tusks. The old seal had been beaten in the end, Louis remembered. He had slid and rolled and crawled down into the water to bathe his huge wounds. Oddly enough, since it had not been a color film, Louis could see the water become reddened with the old seal's blood. He put his hand over his eyes because of this red he saw.

Ethel said, “Now will you do it, Louis?”

“The time has come, the walrus said.” The time has come, the young seal said. The water was blood, blood red. Louis took his hand away from his face and stared at his palm as if it were bloodied. He said, “Let's go back.” He began to walk so quickly that Ethel had to run to keep up with him.

It was Ethel who noticed, as they walked past Jamey's room, that his door, which should have been closed, was open. It was Ethel who noticed, clutching Louis' arm, turning pale, that Louis' door, which he always left open, was closed. Both of them heard the sounds inside, the high thin humming.

They stood there listening to Jamey's footsteps as he moved around the room. Ethel whispered, “The manuscript! If he's seen it, Louis!”

The manuscript was blood, blood red. Louis, taking Ethel's hand off his arm, detaching it forcibly, for her fingers were digging into his flesh, hoped that Jamey had seen it. He hoped, as he opened the door, as he walked into the room, that when Jamey turned to face him, he would be holding the papers in his hand. Louis said, “Hi!” There were no papers in Jamey's hand. Jamey's hand was empty.

Jamey clasped his empty hands. “Oh, dear! I didn't want to be discovered in the act!” He held out both his hands. “Oh, dear! Caught redhanded in the very act!”

Behind Louis, Ethel's voice was hoarse. “What do you mean, Jamey?”

“Isn't it obvious? I hoped to pitty-pat in and out of dear Louis' room undiscovered.”

Ethel said, “Why? Why?” She looked at the desk on which in a thick pile, seemingly undisturbed, Louis' papers lay. “Why, Jamey?”

“Why?
What
have I been up to?” Jamey giggled. “That you will have to find out for yourselves. Excuse me,” he said, then stamped his foot. “Out of my way, Ethel dear; I wish to pass!” Ethel moved aside, and Jamey went by her, his long robe slithering. He stood in the hall and giggled again, then closed the door, shutting both of them in the room.

Ethel said softly, “If he had seen them, he would have said something. He would have certainly asked, if he had read enough to show him what it was.”

“Then what did he come here for? What was he up to?” Louis realized from Ethel's face that she was trying to readjust, to plan, but he wasn't planning. If Jamey knew what the manuscript was about, he would tell Jamey that he wanted to publish a biography of him. He would read it to Jamey. He would leave it up to Jamey. Whatever Ethel felt, Louis felt a great relief. He said, almost idly, “What do you think he came in here for? He never has before.”

“What did he come in here for?” The terrified expression, the probing planning face, changed completely. She flung her head up. She almost laughed out loud. “I know what he came in here for, of course I know! Don't worry; he hasn't seen the manuscript. He wouldn't bother with reading matter, don't worry!” She strode to the closet and pushed the button that opened it. There was a suit hanging in full view. “Jamey had it made for you by his own tailor, and you'll find a robe and pajamas, stuff like that, in the chest of drawers. Aren't you touched, Louis? He dictated the letter to me. He appears to have your measurements down perfectly. Well, even if your mother doesn't ever get that fluffy nightgown and a soft bed and that satin footstool,
you've
got them now, Louis!”

Staring at the closet, his face turned dark red. “God damn him! God damn him!”

She did not say anything, but went to the desk and picked up his papers and held them out to him.

Louis took the papers from her; he slapped the pile of them against his thigh, considering for the last time. When he went to the open closet, stooped, and hid the papers under the shoe shelf, pushing them far back so that they could not be seen, he did not need to say anything, either. Ethel took a deep breath; she released it slowly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Louis was standing in the curve of the great window. The skin of his neck and arms was brown against the faded blue of the basque shirt. Ethel, carefully holding up a bunch of purple grapes she was eating, came very close to Louis. “I told you she would be turning up. Isn't she an eyeful, Louis?” Because of Alex' beauty, she saw herself freshly. She hated Alex because she saw herself. Louis was pretending that he had not heard Ethel.

“Really, Jamey darling,” Alex said, laughing, throwing back her head so that her black hair touched her bare shoulders. (So that Louis wanted to touch her bare shoulders.) “Really, Jamey darling, wouldn't you think I would know by this time?” She turned to Louis. “This is the third time in the six years that Jamey's had the old place that I've been sent for. Command performance, once in the middle of the night, incidentally, because Maum Cloe wanted to see her chile. Maum Cloe was my dah, you know, my nurse. It was a great honor for me to have Maum Cloe come out of the kitchen and go into the nursery, and now I have to pay for it.”

“Is Maum Cloe ill, Alex? Is that why she sent for you? There has been no falling off in her cooking, or I would have tasted it immediately.”

“There has been no falling off in anything, Jamey. The old witch is just the same, exactly the same, but you know Maum Cloe. She can
see
things! She see something, an oneasiness—and Joseph Reas gets sent to Charleston to send me a telegram, and, as soon as I can make it, here I am. Maum Cloe is a great tyrant.”

Jamey was thoughtful. “Maum Cloe is a great woman.”

“That's because of her cooking, Jamey?”

“Not that alone, my dear. Now, why is she oneasy?”

Alex looked at Louis and blushed. “Oh, it's all nonsense. She's a silly old Maum Cloe. Have you met her, Mr. Daignot?”

“No. But I know about her.”

“And she knows about you. She hasn't laid eyes on you, but she knows all about you.”

“She knows all,” Jamey said. “She is Alex' guardian angel from infancy and my adopted guardian angel.” Jamey pointed to Louis. “He doesn't approve of my feudal attitude toward servants. Shall I say she is my hired guardian angel, will that be better, Louis? At any rate, as long as I continue to pay Maum Cloe her wages, she will protect me. Maum Cloe, Alex, Ethel—how protected I am!”

“And your mighty pen, don't forget.”

“And my mighty pen. I am invulnerable here, a fortress.”

He was puny and weak. His hand shook from the effort of pointing a finger at Louis. A fortress. Invulnerable.

Alex had been perched on the end of Jamey's chaise; now she rose and went to the fruit bowl. She was charming, walking to it, moving easily, rather slowly, moving silently on red heelless slippers. She was charming standing in front of the peach bowl, finger to her lips, wavering between the choice of a peach, a pear, a cherry, or a grape. She popped a cherry into her mouth, pulling the stem off. “Ah, well, even if Maum Cloe's oneasiness is certainly imaginery, I was homesick anyhow. Once an overhomer, always an overhomer, Jamey darling.” But she studied the small face anxiously. “Do you mind if I stay at the big house awhile? I won't bother you too awfully much, will I?” Maum Cloe had said badevil. She had pointed to the end of the kitchen, where badevil hung from the rafters, like a bat.

Jamey yawned. “You are bothering me now, Alex. And you chattered all through my chess game.”

She made her elusive drawl broader. “Forgive me, darling. I'll never do it again. From tonight on, cut open my heart, and you'll find your precious schedule engraved there. And I'll run off this instant, suh.”

“Miss Wilcoxen.” Louis had to clear his throat to say her name; it seemed to him the noise he made clearing his throat was thunderous. His heart, banging, beating, protesting, was almost as loud. “Miss Wilcoxen …” Something had flared between them from the first moment.

“Mr. Daignot?” (“Is it the young man, Maum Cloe? Is he bad, Maum Cloe?” Bad or good, she thought. Oh, this is ridiculous; this cannot be happening to me.)

Louis turned to Jamey. “It's late, it's dark out; Miss Wilcoxen can't walk all that way back alone, Jamey.”

“It's perfectly safe, Mr. Daignot. You heard Jamey. Maum Cloe will protect me from the evil she insists has come here.” (I will not let it happen so easily. Love at first sight. I will fight it. Even if Maum Cloe is wrong about him, not so soon. Not yet.)

Ethel spluttered, “What evil? What nonsense are you talking?” She turned to Louis to see whether this mention of evil had troubled him, but he was still staring at the girl and hadn't heard what she said. From now on he wouldn't hear what she said. Ethel, poor old Ethel—to hell with poor old Ethel. Incautiously, refusing to follow the lead of her quick perceptions, which told her she must be poor old Ethel to Louis if she was to use him, she disregarded the disguise. She stood straighter, it seemed, her eyes bulged, her voice was firm and angry. “I should think you could do better than repeat that nonsense, Alex!”

Louis didn't hear this either, or see the transformation in poor old Ethel. He was thinking that when you looked at Alex, you became conscious of the importance of color. You saw how white white was, what blue really meant, for her eyes were startling. When she raised her eyes, unveiled her eyes and looked at you, there was a shock of recognition of the blueness of blue. Louis repeated, “She shouldn't walk all that way alone.”

Jamey saw Ethel, heard Ethel. “But Alex was born here, dear boy. Her father and her father's father walked through these grounds. The geography is in the soles of her adorable feet.” Louis is too ridiculously modest, Jamey thought. He hasn't even seen that dear Ethel wants him.

Louis said, “The geography in my feet is quite different. I have the geography of the slums of New York City in my feet, but even so——May I come with you, Miss Wilcoxen?”

Ethel was waiting for Louis. She said, “Now that you've met Miss Alex Wilcoxen, you won't mind staying on.”

“You're quite wrong, Ethel. Since I met her here, I might as well not have met her.”

“Ah, your conscience, your delicate conscience! Well, a clean conscience isn't going to count for much. It has to be more than a clean conscience with Alex. What about your family tree? Is that clean enough?”

“She's no snob, Ethel.” What was between them had come from her and himself, from both of them.

“The hell she isn't! She's a snob and a schemer. Don't you see how quickly she came flying down here once Maum Cloe alerted her to the danger to her inheritance? What do you think she came for if not to safeguard her property rights? Are you naïve enough to believe she came down to comfort that old nigger?”

“I never heard you use that word before.” He looked at her and realized that this hard mouth was formed to emit precisely that kind of vocabulary. “And yes, that's just what I do think she came for.”