Drum (67 page)

But in this matter of Qees, he realized, he should have kept his mouth shut. Naturally Clytie had gone as fast as her legs would carry her to tell Clees. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now except to hope that neither would be found out and place the blame on him. He consoled himself that there was nothing either Clytie or Clees could do about the matter. If Hammond had decided to sell the big buck, he would be sold regardless of Clytie's warnings. Her telling Clees would make little difference. Still, Drumson decided, it would not be wise for him to be absent from the house, too. Big Pearl would have to wait until some other time.

Soft footsteps were approaching through the pantry and although he was not expecting Clytie from that direction, he stood waiting, holding the one candle which he had not ex-

tinguished. But it was not Clytie. It was the fellow Bruno, Holcomb's body servant, smirking and looking mighty pleased with himself.

Drumson had felt an instinctive dislike for Bruno from the moment he first saw him, and he had resented Hammond's directing that the boy bed down with him. This Bruno boy was far too pretty to be a man. His face had the rounded cheeks, the bee-stung mouth and the long lashes of a girl, veiling deep brown eyes as lambently luminous as those of a cow. His pale ivory skin glowed with an underlying pinkness that made him appear to be continually blushing. Long black hair, falling in curling locks to cover his ears and banged straight across his brow, gave him the appearance of wearing a curious sort of a cap. His body was as lithe as an adder's and he crossed the kitchen floor as though his feet barely touched the scrubbed boards.

"I'se a-sleepin' wid you tonight, man." His smile to Drum-son was as inviting as though he himself were playing the host. "Where we-all a-sleepin', man?"

"Upstairs." Drumson pointed to the stairs which led up from the kitchen. "Not much time for sleepin' tonight. Got to git ourse'ves up early in the mommg, come four o'clock. Mos' midnight now." He lifted the candlestick to light Bruno up the stairs. Brutus was sleeping, sprawled across the bed which he had so recently shared with Balsam. Neither the light nor the entrance of the two fellows disturbed him and he did not awake even when Bruno tiptoed to the edge of his bed and looked him over carefully.

"Glad I'se a-sleepin' wid you, man, 'stead of him," Bruno snickered, holding his hand in front of his face and moving his shoulders as though it were some little joke he and Drumson shared together.

Drumson did not answer him but pointed to the side of his bed towards the wall.

"You sleeps on the inside," he said as he started to undress.

Bruno made short work of his own undressmg. He shucked off his shut, pants, socks and slippers in an untidy pile on the floor and jumped up on the bed, staring at Drumson as he slowly removed his clothes, folding them carefully and placing them over a chak. Drumson caught Bruno's eyes appraising his body and he suddenly felt embarrassed. There was something about this boy he could not

understand. Brutus had never looked at him this way and neither had any other male.

Quickly he blew out the candle and sank down on the bed. A reek of perfume, mingled with musk from his companion's body, lay heavy on the air, permeating the room with an odor that was sensuous and at the same time repellent. Drumson felt awkward and ill at ease but he punched his thin pUlow into shape, stretched his long legs down straight and then turned over on his side with his back to Bruno, his body balanced on the edge of the mattress. The sleep he sought did not come and the silence in the room seemed pregnant with unspoken words and disturbing de-su-es. The strangeness of having another person's body, warm and odorous, in his bed, and to know it was a body he could not touch, kept him from slipping off into sleep. He had a strange desire to reach out and touch this man beside hun, yet the thought of touching his flesh was repugnant TTie rustle of the husks as Bruno edged closer, the warmth of his breathmg on Drumson's back, the overpowering scent of his body, the very nearness of him which promised so much and yet denied the very release Drumson was seeking kept hrni awake, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. He was missing Elvira; he was missing his afternoon excursions to Lucys cabin and the frantic wrestling with Big Pearl in the sun-striped darkness. Who-ee! The next time he saw Big Fearl she would have nothing to complain of.

His side ached from the cord that pressed through the edge of the mattress and he yearned to turn over onto his other side, but he did not want to face Bruno who he knew was not sleepmg. For so long he had slept on his other side, with Elvira m his arms, it seemed unnatural to be facing the outside of the bed, listening to Brutus' snores and the soft breathing of Bruno. Perhaps if he were to change beds ^d go over with Brutus he would feel more comfortable He could see, in the dim light, the black form of Brutus sprawled diagonally across the bed. If he were to wake him now It would be difficult to explain, on the morrow, his reason for changing and his inexplicable dislike of this Bruno tellow Evidently his tension was transferred to Bruno for he could feel a certain rhythmical movement from the other and feel his breath even closer on his back. Bruno's movements quieted and his breath came more naturally and Drumson unable to stay longer 'on his side, eased himself over on His back, staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

Then he felt the warmth of Bruno's fingers as they slid along under the sheet and came to rest on his side, barely touching, yet evident. For a moment the fingers remained still, as if they feared to be brushed off, then, gathering courage, they advanced, creeping up his thigh. Drum-son stiffened, his muscles taut, his mind wary, but the fingers continued their slow advance. Without having been rebuffed, they became bolder and abandoned their furtive timidity. TTiey clutched, and although their grasp was unwelcome, at the same time it was strangely satisfying. Drumson took a long breath. The warm grasp of the hand was so rapturous, yet unwanted. He resented the motion that hand was making but he was powerless to stop it for it produced the very ecstasy he had been seeking. And yet the ecstasy itself was odious. He suffered it to continue another long minute then, fearful of results, he reached down and grabbed the supple hand and flung it away.

"What you think you doin'?" His whisper was not loud enough to wake Brutus and strangely enough, he was unable to put into it the anger he thought he felt.

Bruno's lips nuzzled his ear, and Drumson felt the warm wet tip of Bruno's tongue trace a quivering path across his cheek. He moved his head slightly so it would not touch his mouth.

"Don' yo' want me to pleasure yo', man?" The lisping words came softly, "Kin do it fine. Masta says I better'n any wench. Been hopin' all day to pleasure yo'. Don' get de chance to pleasure black boys much. Masta don' 'low me."

Drumson struggled to find courage to push the boy away. He did not know whether he wanted to throttle him or clasp him tightly in his arms.

"Go to sleep, boy. You gettin' me all 'cited."

The hand returned and for another small moment. Drum-son suffered it, through sheer inability to push it away.

"See, you likes it. You goin' to like me too. You goin' to 'joy ever'thin'." Bruno's soft words were insistent.

Drumson knew the moment had come. If he remained another second he would succumb and something inside himself fought against his surrender. His hand pushed the soft fingers away and with a leap he was out of bed and onto the floor.

"Whar you a-goin'?" Bruno whimpered. "Come back,"

"Don' know whar I a-goin' but ain' a-stayin' here. Ain' a-lettin' you slobber over me. Ain' a-lettin' no man do those

thin's. Girl is all right but man's different. Howsomever," he smiled into the darkness, "if'n I was a-goin' to let a man do sech thin's, think I'd let you." Drumson reached out in the darkness and found his pants. He drew them on and sought with his feet to locate his slippers. A glance at Brutus' bed showed that he was still sleeping.

"Come back, man. Come back," Bruno was pleading.

"Ain' comin'." Drumson could laugh now that he had escaped from Bruno's embraces. A plan had already formulated in his mind which offered far more than Bruno's synthetic pleasuring. He could afford to offer a palliative to the boy he was leaving.

"Look, Bruno, try Brute here. He's a-sleepin' and he think you his li'l Balsam come back."

"Don' like him so much's you. Come back, man?"

"Ain' a-trustin' myse'f 'gain," Drumson laughed as he stepped out on the stairs and closed the door.

"Reginel" Without knowing it, he spoke her name out loud.

She was what he needed—^not Elvira and not Big Pearl and certainly not the unnatural embraces of Bruno which had already excited him to the point where he had to find someone. Reginel Tonight of all nights he could have her. Why had he wasted time on Bruno? She was alone, on the floor above him. He slipped off his shoes and took the stairs two at a time.

It was hot and breathless in the long corridor that ran the length of the third floor. All the doors along it were closed. Hammond's orders were strict ones. It was he who chose his slaves' bed companions, not they themselves, and few dared to disobey him. Dnmison realized the punishment he would receive were it to become known he had been with Regine, Hammond's own bed woman, would be far more brutal than it would be for taking any other wench. But no threats of future punishment could deter him now from quenching that desire which his own thoughts and Bruno's soft fingers had engendered.

His hand, in the darkness, counted the doors as he went along the hall. Qytie and Lucretia Borgia were in this room. Had Qytie returned? He opened the door a crack and could see in the moonlight from the window that her bed was still whitely spread and unoccupied. Lucretia was flat on her back, a shapeless black mass, snoring loudly. Drumson backed away and closed the door. He knew that Clytie and Clees must be together somewhere and the mental image of

what they might be doing further inflamed him. He passed the room of Cassie and Berenice. There was another place where he would be welcome but neither of them were what he desired. Jackson's rooml He should have put Bruno in with Jackson.

The next door was Regine's. He lifted the latch so that it made only a faint sound as the metal scraped against the wood. The door pushed inward with a sharp creak of the hinges and he stood breathless for a moment, frozen into immobility. Nothing stirred and he entered, closing the door behind him and latching it. The window of the room was open wide and he could hear the noise of night insects outside and the booming of a bullfrog down in the creek. But the sound he listened for was the regular breathing of the girl on the bed. The light from the window showed her black hair, spread out in a wide circle over the pillow. The privacy and the heat had prompted her to dispense with any nightgown, and as Drumson took two soundless steps across the room, he could see her body, shadowed and darker against the sheet. She was sleeping soundly and he had not awakened her. She was lying on her back, one arm upflung over the pillow and covered with the murky blackness of her hair.

His knees creaked as he knelt on the floor beside the low cot and his hands poised over her, hesitating to wake her for fear she might cry out. There was a way to avoid that. He lowered his lips to hers to stifle any cry that she might make, and then let his hands touch her. She stirred and awoke and would have sat up, but the pressvu^e of his lips and hands held her down.

"Don' be fearsome, Regine. It's Drumson. If'n you don' wan' me to stay, I go. But I hopes you do wan' me. I wan' you so much, Regine honey."

She turned her head to free her mouth.

"Drumson?"

"It's me, Regine."

"Oh, Drumson!" Her arms encircled his head and.pulled him closer. He slid out of his trousers, easing himself up beside her without his lips leaving hers.

All that he had dreamed about for so long was actually happening, yet it seemed as strange and unreal as any dream. Was this soft, pliant, full-breasted woman under him the gentle, soft-spoken Regine of the downcast eyes? How different she was, as she writhed against him, overpowering him more completely than the Amazonian onslaughts of Big Pearl.

Never before had he felt the fire coursing through his veins with such fierce burning. He felt that he was going to faint from its very fierceness, only to be brought back from the brink of losing his senses to a newer intensity. Could this be the gentle Regine, this she-animal who shrank and clutched, moaned and cried, twined herself around him in one moment, only to withdraw in order to lead him on to greater abandon? This was not Regine, not one woman alone, but one woman multiplied into all the women of the world and each one of them a deadly tropical flower that opened wide its moist petals to ensnare him, and then closed around him, imprisoning him within their lush embrace, taking from him everything that he possessed and then giving it back to him in a round of ecstatic tortures that stretched on into an orgiastic eternity.

Even when the last gasping cry of complete and utter surrender had been wrung from his lips, she was unwilling to abandon him. Her mouth, fingers, hands, lips and cavernous depths united to produce another shrieking climax until, when every nerve fiber had been outraged and all his senses twisted into tight knots of unendurable rapture, his every sense again exploded in a cataclysmic deluge of molten fire that seared his eyes, lit up the walls and ceiling with scarlet flames, gilded her body and his with flickering tongues of unendurable heat and left him panting in a vermilion void of unreality.

Gradually the air came back into his strained lungs and he tried to orient himself in this strangely bright room, where the moaning woman, still writhing convulsively beside him, was tinged with a strange scarlet glow. Where was he? Had he passed in some strange journey of imearthly passion into an inferno where flames reached out to lick at his very body? With a gasp, he struggled to raise himself to his elbow but Regine pulled him back.

"My man," she panted in his ear. "If you only knew how I wanted you and how I still want you."