The black swan (5 page)

"We got some fixin' to be done, Mastah Tom." She laughed as Tom marveled that she could still tease.

"I didn't think to look at the inside," Tom apologized. "I guess I was too anxious 'to find a place—any place. I'll keep lookin'." • "What fo'? This'll be a fine place, soon's it's fixed up."

"It's all that was available in such short time, but I'll—"

Ullah shoved at him playfully, her hands against his chest, before she pulled him toward her. She kissed him, smoothing away the frown from his face and the worry from his eyes. "Quit yo' fussin'. Get up on thatYoof, man. Ah ain't gwine stay heah with the rain po'in' down on me." She took the sage broom from the corner. He watched her for a minute; then she turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.

Tom patched the roof with whatever he could find. He would have to make more cypress shakes . . . learn how to make them. He looked down at his red, raw hands. He had always considered his hands manfully hardened; now they looked like uncooked meat, scraped and bristling with splinters. He was far less prepared than Ullah to live this primitive life. Servants had always done his manual labor. It would be weeks before his hands would toughen enough to give him a day's, work he could take pride in.

"Stop awhile," he said as he came back into the house. "You're puttin' me to shame."

"Looks mo' like a house again, don't it?" she asked proudly.

"Yes, it does. I don't know how you did it. But it'll be

sunset soon." He grinned at her. "Spare a bit o' time for me."

Ullah set the bucket of scrubwater on the sideboard of the cookroom, placed her hand in Tom's, and let him draw her near.

"I want to show you the rest of the property. It's not as bad as the house." He kissed her, his hands skimming her torso.

Ullah, her head thrown back, laughed, the sound deep in her throat, soft and enticing. "What prop'ty you talkin' 'bout showin' me, Tom?"

His voice quavered as he laughed and moved away from her. Together they walked out into the dusky Hght. The trees and grass glowed deeply verdant in the rosy hues of the evening. All around them the bayou shimmered, reflecting earth and sky until they were engulfed in its eerie charms, no longer able to tell the bayou mirage from the solid ground.

"We gwine be happy heah." Ullah shivered in pleasure against him, then they walked on, moving away from the house down a winding path.

He led her to a small grove of trees near the woods and knelt, dipping his fingers into the bayou. "It's warm." He looked hopefully at her, his eyes glowing dark as she hesitated, then moved toward him. "Come on, Ullah. Don't be afraid."

Reluctantly, she slipped off her dress and followed him. He swam effortlessly; she floundered dangerously. He put his arm under her, and they floated dreamily watching the evening sky.

Then Ullah laughed, a rich, carefree sound. He drew her closer, her arms twined around his neck, and carried her from the water. Ullah sat down in her graceful way on the long grass that edged the bayou. She looked sidelong at him. "This mighty near sof as a bed."

"I been wonderin' 'bout that," he said softly and reached out to cup her breasts.

Her fingers ran swiftly, adoringly, down his body. "You a mighty fine gent'man, Tom. Doan reckon any nigger ever been lucky like me."

His hands stopped their teasing movements. "Don't say 'nigger', Ullah. Don't ever say it again. Promise me."

She smiled. "Ah try, but Ah doan promise. Now, kin you tell me again how much you love me? Ah like hearin' that."

Like most men confronted with such a request, Tom fell mute. He kissed her eyes, her ears, her mouth, her breasts. His desire rose with the stroking of her fingers; his heart beat faster. In the warm evening glow he gazed upon her lovely face and saw in her drowsy eyes ardent invitation. He lay on top of her, in her, with her legs wrapped over his back. They moved together and then were still.

Tom lay back, content, the grass cool and lush beneath his bare skin. He plucked a long shaft of grass. He ran it over Ullah's skin, making her laugh.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright. "What was that? Did you hear it?"

"Heah what?"

"Someone . . . somethin'—by God! I did! Cover yourself!" He ran toward the woods, following darting flashes of color.

Three adolescent boys ran like startled deer, cannily keeping to the protective covering of trees and bushes. They spread out, running in different directions. In deference to his bare feet, Tom ran as hard as he could after the smallest of the three. He was no more than two paces from seizing the boy when he was hit from behind.

"Run, Beau! Run! I've got him!" the young rapscallion yelled. Then, as Tom regained his feet, the boy began to run again. Tom bellowed at him, 'angry at having been felled, furious at the look of taunting triumph on the boy's face as he stared back at Tom, daring him to continue the chase.

Stark-naked, Tom leaped bushes and hurled himself forward, chasing around trees, bellowing at the boy like an enraged bull. In a stretch of clearing Tom knew he had his iwey. He grabbed thin air as his quarry made a diving leap for an overhanging bough, swinging himself upward.

"You damned monkey, get down here!" Tom glared into the foliage, meeting bright, devilish blue eyes. "Son of a bitch! Get down!"

The boy didn't move, nor did he lose the bold, defiant smile that played around his lips.

"By God, you'll come down if I have to bring you down myself." Tom shook the tree. He began to climb the curving, gnarled trunk. "God be with you, boy, if I do myself harm climbing this damned tree!"

The boy laughed and leaped to the ground. Helpless, halfway up the trunk, Tom stared back at him. The boy

didn't run, nor had he any decent appearance of fright.

Tom pushed off from the tree with all his might, hurling himself at the boy, knocking them both to the ground. Holding his captive securely by the ear and pinning an arm behind his back, he marched him back to the edge of the bayou where UUah waited.

"You all right, Tom?" At his jerky nod she relaxed, her lips twitching at the sight of her naked husband and the very indignant youth being pulled along by his ear.

"Who the hell are you?" Tom released his hold, having no idea why he trusted the boy to remain still.

But his instinct had been correct. The boy stood his ground, his blue eyes blazing and arrogant. He was a handsome youth of about fifteen, tall, broad-shouldered, and well made. His hands and forearms, emerging from the rolled-up sleeves of his rough work shirt, were tanned, as tough and muscular as any man's. His hair was midnight black and curled, unruly and soft, to frame a face that promised strength in every feature.

It didn't improve Tom's disposition to have to look up several inches into the dancing blue eyes of the young hellion. "By God, answer me or I'll lick the livin' lard right outa you, boy."

"You'll not lick anything out of me."

Tom, bristling, moved forward. Ullah put her hand out, her palm warm on Tom's bare chest. Still smiling, she said, "What's yo' name, boy?"

Tensed again, poised to nm, the boy looked at her. He relaxed visibly. "Adam Tremain," he said with defiant hauteur.

"Well, Adam Tremain, you been lookin* at somethin' no nice boy dint ought t'be lookin' at. You got anythin' to say fo' yo'seff?"

He seemed about to make another rebellious reply, then his gaze dropped to the ground. "No, ma'am."

"You will when I'm done with you!" Tom snapped. "It's high time somebody taught you manners."

Adam looked straight at Tom's penis, put his fists on his hips, and said, "You*re going to teach me manners? What kind of manners?"

The blood rushed to Tom's face. Ullah stepped smoothly between them, stern and reproving. "You a mighty sassy youngun, Adam. If you was mine, Ah'd have a mighty lot o' shame over you. You better get yo'sejBf on outa heah."

Adam's haughty expression drained away. He started to speak when Tom said, glowering, "Go on! Don't show your face here again!"

Ullah and Tom watched until Adam disappeared into the thickening dark of the woods. Ullah sighed, her heart aching. She felt flat and sorry. The way he had left, it seemed as though she and Tom had been wrong.

"Ullah! Where in the hell are my britches?"

"You were too harsh with him, Tom." She handed his clothes to him.

"Harsh, hell. I shoulda whaled the tar outa him."

"If you'da thought that, you'da done it. Ah know you, Tom."

"Impudunt young pup! Prob'ly some damn redneck's kid."

"He's no white trash. Not that'n."

"Says who?" he asked sourly.

"Sez somebody that knows," Ullah replied sassily. "That's the trouble with you white folks. Doan know yo' own kind even eyeball to eyeball."

"Will you stop that talk! It's all behind us now!'*

"Not fo' me, Tom. Ah's a nigger. It never gwine be behind me."

"Damn it, Ullah, what's got into you tonight? You're as good as anyone. Better than most. You're no nigger." He put his arm alongside of hers. In the faint light of the moon his showed darker. "See there, by God, you're whiter than I am."

Ullah laughed brittlely, but her voice remained serious. "Ah never say Ah ain't as good as the res' o' them, Tom. But Ah's still a nigger, an' Ah doan wan' us to forget it Ah's a nigger 'cause somebody come over to Affica one time an' took my gran'daddy an' make him a nigger. That's the way Ah gets to be one, and it hain't got nothin* to do with the color o' my skin. It's got to do with people. People who plays the Lawd and make us somethin' we was never meant to be."

Tom put his arms around her. "What is it, Ullah? What are you tellin' me?"

She shrugged. "White folks never sees 'ceptin' they wants to see."

"Why are you makin' me one of those white folks an* you a nigger?"

"Ah doan know. Ah jes' doan know, Tom. Mebbe

Ah's jes' feejin* a little low. Mebbe a little shame fo' lettin' mahseff believe you could take me away from all Ah is by makin' me yo' wife."

"But I have!"

"Oh, Tom, mah people doan make things real by wishin* 'em into bein' real. We lives by the way things is, an' the way you white folks make 'em. Those things is bad, Tom, an' we done make 'em worse. We broke that preten' worl' yo' folks fixed up nice fo' theyseffs. They ain't gwine let us do that. They let us, purty soon somebody else try it, an' afore you knows, that purty worl' they has is all gone.'*

"You're talkin' gibberish."

"Ah'm seein', an' yo' dreamin'I'*

"Then for the love of heaven dream with me, Ullah. I'd rather not live than to lose you now."

Her hand caressed his face. "Ah's not gwine away from you. Not never," she promised softly. "But it doan change nothin', Tom."

He sighed deeply and began to walk back with her toward the carriage. "All this on account of some pukin* little shirttail boy."

*That's a good boy," Ullah said positively. Then she opened her arms, gesturing and talking as though she saw a scene before her. "It's jes* like watchin' a big ol' flock o* swans come down on the lake. In they midst is one big one, a fine big black swan. He different than the res', an' you know that one, he gwine be special. Adam be special"

Chapter Four

Ullah stood to the side of the dray, waiting patiently for Tom to admit it was already loaded to overflowing with supplies for the house on the bayou.

He looked over the wagon again, "ril get everythin' on. How many trips do you think we can make before someone notices where we're goin'? Damn house niggers are talkin' their fool heads off now."

There was no room, and Tom knew it as well as she; but he was letting go of the life to which he was accustomed, one small piece at a time.

Changing wouldn't be easy for Tom. He had never been poor. He wasn't poor now, but he was learning to live as though he were, and he was learning to hve with the continuous threat of reprisal.

There was nothing she could do to help him. Even in the simple things there was a barrier that Tom could cross only by coming to know life as Ullah had always known it. The house on the bayou would never be like the one in New Orleans. It would never hum with the activity of slaves or sing with the gaiety of visitors' revelry. It would never be adorned with the elegance of respectability. The wind would always come through the chinking in the walls and make him cold at night. In the morning there would be no one but him and the dictates of the swamp.

Tom was going to -be a mighty lonely man. He would be tending to things he didn't understand when he'd rather be out riding one of the fine horses he'd no longer own or in New Orleans gambling and chatting with friends he'd no longer have. Ullah sometimes wondered why he had done it He could have had her in any way he wanted. There were laws about concubinage, she knew, but no one paid much attention to those.

But to marriage there was a lot of attention paid. Two equal people married. Anything different gave people, black and white, ideas. He didn't have to marry her, but he had done it. She wondered if it might not have been better for them both if he hadn't. Not understanding him, she left him alone when he struck up against something from his past that would no longer fit into his future and let him find the answers for himself.

In silence Tom drove to the house on the bayou, struggling to understand how a leisurely carefree life had overnight turned into days filled with problems. Only Ullah and Angela made it worthwhile.

He glanced over at Ullah, her face, as always, a picture of sweet patience, and knew his irritation was wrong. He was balancing the value of things against the worth of this woman. Slowly, Ullah was changing his entire outlook on the things he had regarded as true, changing his thoughts and his desires.

As soon as he had finished unloading the wagon, he began to cheer up. The furniture filled the small rooms, making them seem complete and homey. "It looks nice, Ullah."

"When you gwuie start lis'nin' to me, Tom, when Ah

tells you we doan need mos' o' this stuff?" She smiled and kissed him before she moved away to fix his lunch.

He watched her thoughtfully. "When you think about it, most people don't know what it is to live like I have. An' they get along just fine."