Wake of the Perdido Star (10 page)

Read Wake of the Perdido Star Online

Authors: Gene Hackman

BOOK: Wake of the Perdido Star
11.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Early the next morning, as the O'Reillys were helped aboard the boat that would take them to shore, Jack looked back at his friend who stood forlornly at the rail. Paul, a rescued, penniless refugee, was low on the order for boat assignments. If he took a position on crew as an apprentice seaman, a possibility he had discussed with Quince, he would be even lower. Paul's sad face and slight build provided a strong contrast to the robust first mate, who stood at the rail next to him, shouting orders for the men handling the boats.
Jack looked beseechingly to his parents. “Father, mother—may Paul come with us? I'd love for him to be with us when we set foot on Cuban soil.”
“No,” his father said. “You'll see him soon enough, I warrant, when he reaches shore with the later boats. We have
much to do!”
“But—”
“No, Jack!” His father's clipped voice carried a mild warning. His mother, who had been about to speak, held her tongue.
At this point the first mate yelled down to the boat. “Mr. O'Reilly, sir, would you mind taking one more passenger in your skiff?” His hand was on Paul's shoulder. “It would help us in scheduling the departures.”
“Certainly, Mr. Quince, we'd be glad to, if it helps,” Ethan replied. “Send the lad on down.” Jack tried not to smile for fear his father would reprimand him. His mother gave Jack a knowing wink and raised a finger to her lips for silence.
Paul climbed down the ladder, Ethan giving him a hand into the boat. Jack ventured a glance at Quince, who, without changing expression, winked as well.
The oars slapped the water with a vigor Jack had never seen from the sailors; even these worldly seamen couldn't hide their excitement and the launch fairly leaped through the mild chop, approaching the wharf with its load of old salts and young men, all wide-eyed with anticipation.
Habana's din met them as the boat's bowline was handed to a waiting sailor on the dock. Whitewashed buildings looked like a backdrop for dingy streets that were hardly visible through the throngs of people, most wearing colorful sashes over white cotton, a brightness that Jack was sure could only be found under a tropical sun.
As soon as they were all gathered on the wharf, Paul tried to engage Jack's parents in conversation. Though Jack had introduced his new friend to them on the ship, they had spoken only a few polite words to each other. The young man quickly charmed Pilar, and Ethan seemed to like him as well; but Jack could see his father was distracted by his desire to talk to the captain who was standing not far from them, engaged in business with dock officials. And Pilar was anxious to check on the whereabouts of Count de Silva. She hoped he had received her letter. She had bribed one of the port officials to deliver it to him the day before. She knew their arrival would be a great surprise to him. As the manager of her property and its closest neighbor, the count would be the best one to give her the news about the condition of her fields, and to verify the good news about the harvest which her friend Dolores had mentioned in her Easter letter.
Abruptly, Ethan and Pilar excused themselves, moving in opposite directions.
Jack signaled to Paul that he wanted to observe his father's dealings with Deploy, so the two of them positioned themselves a few feet from the older men.
“Captain Deploy, a moment of your time, sir,” Jack's father said.
The captain's weathered face was expressionless as he listened to Ethan, who might have been a fly buzzing about the docks.
“As you know, the tools of my trade are not easily moved. Since I understand you don't intend to load cargo for your next port right away, perhaps I may leave my smithing wares and gun parts in your care for a short time?”
“Impossible. We head for Boston with the morning tide.”
“Boston? Sir, I—well, I . . . was told you were carrying merchandise to the South Sea whaling fleets and wouldn't leave for a fortnight.”
“What in blazes are you saying, smithy? Boston? I said we head for Papeete, probably two, three weeks hence.”
“Uh, well, very good then.” Ethan was clearly at a loss. What had the captain not understood? “So, Captain, may I leave my wares on board temporarily?”
“Makes no mind to me as long as they're in the forward hold, out of the way when we first start loading.”
“Thanks so much, sir—”
“Aye, your thanks and five dollars for lease of space will be gladly accepted.”
“Five—” Ethan's face sank. “I thought it would be a simple courtesy.”
“Matters not what you thought, smith. You've heard the terms. Take 'em or leave 'em.”
Jack felt that a sane man would have dealt with his father more fairly. Instead, he was being swindled by this drunken old despot. They both watched in silence as Ethan walked away, beaten. Jack's body tensed, his entire being wanting to retaliate. Paul laid a hand on his arm. “Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad,” he said.
Jack made no move to intercede, for he knew it would only elicit displeasure from his honest father. He vowed not to let it distract
him from the intoxication of being in a new land. “It's the way he is,” he told Paul, who obviously understood.
Across the boardwalk, Pilar located the count quite readily. One of the harbor officials had directed her to a man whose manner of dress seemed more appropriate for attending a ball than for standing around a harborfront. Outfitted in a long satin waistcoat, lustrous pantaloons matching a pink jacket, and a shirt with a fragile high-collared neck, he was surrounded by an entourage of people courting his attention. The sun reflected onto the nobleman's face and he turned toward her. Pilar recognized him from her youth. Count de Silva had not changed much, she thought, only a little older and he was more pompous in his bearing than she had remembered. With some trepidation yet resolute, Pilar approached the stately gentleman and introduced herself. Immediately the count came to full attention, and greeted her grandly. He said he had come to search for her as soon as he received her letter. He extended every courtesy, making his personal in-town villa available to her and her family until they could get settled on their own. Within minutes, he ordered his servants to go with her to collect her baggage and find her family. He sent one carriage off to the villa with their belongings and invited them to ride there with him in his own carriage; but when the O'Reillys and Paul learned it was only a short distance, they politely declined. They chose instead to walk the few blocks, finding a joyous pleasure in stumbling now and again as they tried to regain their land legs. Jack and his mother delighted in Ethan's drunken steps and apparent dizziness while the count, holding back his carriage in step with them, tried to keep up a continuous dialogue with Pilar. Jack watched as his mother conversed with this Spanish grandee. He lengthened his torso out of the carriage window, straining to participate in the O'Reillys' good mood. He tried much too hard, to
Jack's way of thinking, and his elation about seeing Habana was put off by his cautious instinct about the count.
The villa paralleled Jack's imagination of the Arabian Nights more than the reality of Habana. The entry was guarded by two grand oak doors at least ten feet high. Hexagonal clay tiles led them into an enormous atrium beautifully festooned with exotic plants and flowers. Ornately carved designs framed windows and doors. Servants stood waiting with cool drinks as they were ushered to their rooms. A far cry from Hamden, Jack thought. A far cry indeed.
Settled in the count's villa, Jack told his mother that he and Paul were headed off to explore the streets of Habana. With a warning to be careful, the young men fairly bounced in their gait, their excitement evident as they took in the exotic environment.
But beneath the exhilaration, their young eyes could not ignore an underlying sense of oppression. The streets were crowded with black Africans, sometimes chained together, herded along as if cattle. Jack noticed Paul's attention drawn to a side street. An incident was unfolding, a scuffle between some overseers and a procession of African slaves. One slave protested openly to ill treatment and was quickly disciplined, two quick slashes delivered across his face by a riding crop wielded by a heavyset Spaniard. Several kicks from another Spaniard directed the slave, blinded by blood and rage, back to the procession. He staggered, his hands clutching his face, trying, it seemed, to withdraw to a world behind his fingers.
Jack was troubled by the high visibility of the slave trade. Here slavery was not simply a tolerated evil, as in New England—or an institution, as in Virginia—but a booming business, dominating all other forms of commerce. Indeed, almost all the ships entering and leaving port had some degree of investment in human cargo.
Paul had explained to Jack the problems he had with his father's keeping of slaves. Understanding Paul's sensitivity to the issue, and given his own discomfort, Jack tried to steer them away from slave-processing areas; his superior height allowing him to see further
over the heads of the crowd than Paul. At one point, Jack spied an enclosure in which a number of slaves were being prepared for whipping; he quickly changed direction—and they ended up walking straight into a plaza where an auction was in progress. The vendors handled the Africans like livestock, opening their mouths to the crowd of potential buyers and voyeurs, there to see the latest crop. It mortified Jack that much of the bartering seemed to be carried out in English.
The auctioneer made the women strip and actually squeezed the breasts of one of them to show milk spurt forth, proving her healthy and of child-bearing age. The fact that the child she had borne was to be sold elsewhere seemed of no apparent concern to anyone but her. Jack could not forget her haunting eyes. Her indifference to the humiliation came, he knew, from her realization she would never see her child again.
The seller turned a “buck” to face the crowd, grabbed up his privates and winked. “Imagine as how this will serve to keep yer herd producin'.”
Jack was disgusted at the laughter of the men and the red-faced laughs from some of the ladies. Yet, despite his growing discomfort, he was determined to enjoy the wonders of Habana. He knew he must distance Paul from the auctioneer before his friend's heart overpowered his brain and there was trouble. He grabbed Paul's shoulder and turned their stride toward the Casa.
There was to be a party that evening on the waterfront. The Casa, colloquial for Casa de la Contratación, or House of Trade, sat in the center of the excitement. It had been the controlling force for over two hundred years of Spanish trade in the New World, an Iberian predecessor of the East and West India companies that later developed in England and Holland. The count, a peninsulare or native of Spain—not born in Cuba—was a highranking official at the House. The gathering that night was to be held in honor of the newly arrived residents of Habana, who, in the count's words, would “obtain their just rewards” from Pilar's
birthright. The O'Reillys were to be formally welcomed to Habana, home to people of many nationalities, much like the recently formed United States.

Other books

Queen of the Darkness by Anne Bishop
A Small-Town Homecoming by Terry McLaughlin
My Lucky Star by Joe Keenan
Aussie Rules by Jill Shalvis
Featuring the Saint by Leslie Charteris
Asteroid Crisis: Star Challengers Book 3 by Rebecca Moesta, Kevin J. Anderson, June Scobee Rodgers
As The World Burns by Roger Hayden