The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (41 page)

He passed a trembling hand over his eyes. It couldn’t really be she speaking. She couldn’t know. He felt all of himself disintegrating, his body moving toward total collapse. “How can you say these things?” he demanded in a barely articulated murmur.

“I will say a great deal more, yet not one word in total condemnation of you.” The dark voice throbbed in his ears. “The taint is in your blood. Can you have any idea of what my life has been? Married, with a small child and a drunken incompetent husband, living with this knowledge in the back country, miles from anyone, in a hideous house, surrounded by darkies and animals.” She paused and looked beyond him, and her voice hardened and began to throb with power. “I saved your mother’s life once. Your grandfather was riding somewhere about the property. I was in the front of the house, dealing with some household problem. I heard something, a shout from the darkies’ quarters I think, I’ve never been quite sure. I looked out and saw a man running along the road in front of the house. As I watched, he turned in and headed straight for the front door and I saw him—a huge buck nigra, stark naked, his feet pounding the ground. I knew immediately that he had run amok. Your mother was romping on the veranda, heedless, directly in his path. I had only seconds to act. I rushed to the door, and out, and ran to her. She thought it was some game and laughed and tried to escape. I could feel the earth shake under his pounding feet. I seized her and dragged her to the door. She began to cry. He was almost upon us. The stench of him filled my nostrils. The air moved around me with the rush of his approach. I flung her into the house and grabbed the door and turned. He was a magnificent creature, his teeth flashing in an insane grin, his black skin glistening with sweat, his muscles swelling. He was aroused, terrifying with potency, a huge black appendage quite rigid. I slammed the door and shot the bolt just as he flung himself upon it, beating it so that the whole house shook. That is the beast that is in me and that I have always fought. It is in you too, and we must fight it.”

She stared straight ahead of her. Even after she had stopped, her voice continued to sweep over Charlie, submerging him in its mesmeric rhythms. He opened his mouth and closed it again. His heart was pounding in response to the fierce passions that beat in her words. It was as shattering and meaningless as a nightmare. Peter had forced this on him; he should never have spoken his name. He would never pronounce it in her presence again.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured at last.

“You shall.” Her voice sank again, as if she could barely bring herself to speak. “My mother was a vile and evil woman. My father was a Negro.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Silence held them motionless as the word bored into his mind. He realized that his mouth was hanging open with slack astonishment and closed it and swallowed with difficulty. It had nothing to do with him. Yet here was C. B. a few feet from him, part of him, the foundation of his life, branded with the word. He thought of an ornate room in Harlem, of a dark face pressed to Peter’s, of an army of monkey-faced servants, children, animals. The word linked him to all of that. His instincts recoiled with distaste. His stomach felt queasy as he saw that she was going to speak again. He didn’t want to hear any more.

“There’s no need to tell you how I learned it,” she said in a spent voice. “My mother was very rich. The man I called my father allowed himself to be used by her, but the secret wasn’t kept. When I found out, your mother was already born and it was too late. I very nearly opened my veins and let the blood run from them. I would never let any man touch me again. Your grandfather died for failing to respect that resolution.”

“You killed him?” Charlie gasped.

“If you wish to know, I’ll tell you, as I’ve always told you everything, though no other living soul knows the truth. We were driving home in the buggy. We’d been to the village for some business transaction. After we’d turned in to the plantation road, your grandfather grew amorous. He’d been drinking as usual. When he persisted, I thrust him from me and whipped the horse. Perhaps I used more strength than I intended: I suspect drink had more to do with it. As the horse bolted, your grandfather toppled over and fell out. His foot caught somehow in the step of the buggy. The horse was a skittish mare called Miranda. There was no holding her, although there were those who found this difficult to believe. She made a dash for home. Your grandfather was dragged for two miles over a rough road. There was nothing I could do to save him. I was prepared then, and still am, to go to any lengths to defend myself from the beast. It’s what you must learn. Your mother should never have married. She knew it, but she was willful and obstinate. By a miracle, neither you nor your brother were visibly marked.”

A chill ran through Charlie at the violence in all her words, but the revelation of her parentage began to acquire some proportion for him. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind; curiosity predominated. It was all so remote. It didn’t really change anything. He was still so shaken by her performance that he couldn’t even quite grasp why she was making these points now. “Did you tell Hattie I shouldn’t have children?” he asked.

“She told me she had no intention of having any. I urged her never to change her mind.”

“Why? Because of color? What about my brother?”

“He is your mother’s child. She must do as she thinks fit.”

“I can’t understand why you haven’t told me of this sooner.”

“You gave me no warning of your marriage. You had had no serious involvement with a girl thus far. I had hoped you had triumphed over your baser nature.”

“Then how could you think all those incredible things about me? The things you said about an obsession.”

“Incredible? Yes. I brought you Peter with the hope that you would find love in friendship. Great men have done so. I couldn’t know that the love I saw in him was the mask of corruption. Only the knowledge of your heritage saved me from turning from you with loathing.”

It finally came clear to him that she was preserving in him her illusion of perfection. It was gallant and touching, but it also horrified him. Any wrong he committed would, in her eyes, be sanctioned by blood. His sleeping with Peter or beating up Hattie were manifestations of the beast. She offered him everything, not just financial security but a life free of all strain or challenge. For the first time in his life, he was conscious of the power he had over her; he could make any demands, except one. He saw himself this morning hunched over on the bridge, unguarded and exposed. Please take me. Abject and pathetic? He had felt more truly himself than ever before, strong with the knowledge of his need. He was emboldened to test the limits of her indulgence. “Even if everything you think were true,” he said, “wouldn’t that be better than risking having a family?”

She lifted a hand and brushed his words away. “Do you wish me to believe that you have a warped and twisted nature? It isn’t true. You were the victim of a treacherous and insidious passion, but you had the strength to overcome it. You must cultivate that strength. It’s a necessity imposed on you by blood. You’ve had your Hattie. Knowing what you do, you doubtless won’t want to marry again. I offer you the life I’ve always seen for you and planned for. We can achieve it together.”

He saw himself leading a life of fastidious celibacy, at least in appearance. What would happen when he roamed the streets at night? Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The beast at large. He spoke hastily as he realized where these thoughts were leading him. “Yes, C. B. I’ll have to think about it.” He thought of Peter waiting in the apartment he scarcely remembered from last night and stole a hasty glance at his watch. He should go soon, but he was no closer to meeting Peter’s demands. C. B.’s revelation had taken precedence; he would seize the next opening.

“I’ve always believed in independence for a man, as you know, but I’d be willing for you to stay here while you’re getting things sorted out if you think it would be agreeable.”

The beast caged. Rather limiting for Mr. Hyde. Watch it, he warned himself. He was aware of the extreme uncertainty of his control. Something was about to give. “Well, I—” he began, but it was too late. A picture of them living here together sprang into his mind, he aging and distinguished, an elegant couple denying all passion, immaculately white in defiance of their dark forebear. He threw his head back and uttered a shout of laughter. He doubled over and laughed until tears came and his sides and stomach ached. He didn’t quite know what he was laughing at, which made him laugh even harder. There was an edge of hysteria in it, but this passed in a clean sweep of laughter. He laughed as all fear and shame and inhibition were lifted from him. She had offered him her last and greatest gift—release. He laughed as he welcomed it. His sex began to hurt with his convulsions, and he struggled to master them. He felt her eyes blazing at him, and he finally subsided with a burst of giggles.

C. B. sat motionless, staring at him. “Get a grip on yourself.” Her voice was icy with command. “I can forgive you anything but this.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what possessed me.” He glanced at his watch again and pulled himself up on shaky legs, hoping he wouldn’t collapse with laughter again. “I really ought to go. I have things to do.”

“Then you wish me to call you at home later about the lawyer? Has Hattie left?”

“No. Well, yes. You see, Peter has—”

“I don’t wish to hear that name again.”

“Don’t be silly, C. B.” He spoke lightly and with affection. “I’ve been trying to tell you. We’re going to live together.”

She sprang up and was on him. She seized his hands and pressed them to her breasts. Her body swayed against him and she held him to her despite his wince of pain. “I will not permit you to do this.” Her voice was hoarse with fury. “You’ve sent him away once. It must not start again. It is too vile.”

“Please, C. B. I—”

“I will not permit you to defile yourself again. You drag me through your filth.”

“I don’t think you should talk about things you know nothing about.”

“Know nothing about? I know your body as if it were my own. I’ve saved you once, but at what cost to myself? All through the summer I suffered in my own flesh as you surrendered to unnameable depravity above my head.” Again there was the exultant note in her voice. She crowded against him, hurting his sex, and he thought of the times when he had found her caresses troubling. He knew it was impossible, but he felt it now as a sexual assault. He held her firmly away from him.

“Just because two men live together, it doesn’t mean it’s depravity,” he said with finality. “It was your idea in the first place.”

“I closed my eyes until he left me no choice. I have made every allowance, and for good reason, but if you give way once more to this disgusting sickness, I could never face you again.”

Charlie looked at her levelly. She knew everything, and the heavens hadn’t fallen. There was no point in beating around the bush any longer. He thought of Peter’s faith in him and found that it wasn’t difficult to speak the truth. “I love him, C. B. He explained it to you. How did he say it? ‘I love him in every possible way, the way men love women.’ I don’t know how it happened, but I wouldn’t want it any different.” Unknown to him, a joyful grin began to spread across his face at finally sharing with her some truth about himself.

It faded quickly as she flung his hands from her and backed away. Her face was contorted into a face he had never known. It hurt him to look at her. “Go. Go. Go,” she repeated with whispered abhorrence.

“Please, C. B.”

She lifted her hand palm outward and moved it back and forth in front of her, exorcising him. He dropped his eyes in pity. “I’ll call you,” he said and turned and left her.

He fled as fast as he could, through long halls, down in the elevator, and out into the street. He couldn’t take the time to make a phone call. He hailed a cab and gave Peter’s address. He rang Peter’s bell, and in a moment the door opened. He stepped quickly inside and Peter closed the door and took him carefully in his arms so as not to hurt him. They stood close together, their heads resting against each other, simply savoring each other’s physical presence.

“At least you’re here,” Peter said. “That’s all that matters.”

“Where else would I be, my baby?” He felt all of Peter’s healing sweetness flooding out to him and was proud that he was at last in some small way worthy of it.

“I might as well admit I was ready for anything. Is this it? You’re here now? Good lord. I was frightened.”

“Frightened? Don’t ever be frightened again, baby. It’s really all right about Hattie? We can relax?”

“Yes. I’ll show you.” They drew apart and Peter gave him Hattie’s letter. They moved into the living room while Charlie read it.

Charlie shoved it into his pocket and shook his head. “Jesus. What a lovely couple we made. I must’ve been out of my mind.”

“What about C. B.?”

Charlie looked at him and shook his head again. “I’ll tell you, but it’s a whole book. All I can say is, I feel as if we were the two most normal people in the world after that.”

“Hell, darling. I’m sorry.” Peter went to him, and they stood with their hands on each other’s waists. Charlie smiled.

“Don’t be. I guess it had to happen. The big news is, I’m a queer nigger.”

“You’re what?”

“Yeah. It seems C. B.’s father was a black. She was very much worked up about it. It’s supposed to make me give up sex.” They looked at each other and burst out laughing.