Wild Swans

by Patricia Snodgrass

  “What about your wedding plans?”

  “What about them?”

  “I thought you had a tea or a shower or some such nonsense to go to.”

  “You know I don’t care about any of that,” Althea said. “All I want in the whole world is to be with you.”

  Jake said nothing as he took the pole from her and pushed deeper into the current. The sun glistened on the water as they floated upstream. “I know where to go,” he was saying, his voice low, barely audible over the slosh and flow of the water. “Somewhere wonderful. Like Shangri-La.”

  Althea knelt behind Jake as they floated past her lover’s house. The huge old antebellum monstrosity glared down at them as they passed by.

  “Do you suppose anyone saw?” she whispered as they floated away. “I know your mom doesn’t want any trouble from mine.”

  “Mom is on her way to the grocery store. Dad’s at work and the only one there is Mrs. Seffy and she’s busy hanging out the wash. Even if she did see us she wouldn’t say anything. She don’t care what white folk do. All Seffy cares about is her Friday paycheck.” He grunted as he pushed down hard on the pole.

  Althea relaxed. “I’m glad.” She undid the bottom of her red and white checkered blouse, and tied it neatly under her breasts, letting her bare midriff show like Jane Russell did in a movie poster she saw but couldn’t remember the title to. She reclined, shielding her eyes from the sun glistening off the water. Jake rowed. The rise and fall of the raft and the sloshing sounds of the river made her drowsy.

  “How much further?” She asked.

  “We’re nearly there.” He leaned against the pole and pointed. “Just past that bend.”

  “I love your secret places,” she said.

  Silence fell between them. Jake used the pole to drag the bayou bottom. The raft bucked slightly and settled back into the water as it gracefully slid to a stop. Willow branches held up a heavy blanket of wild wisteria. Its grape-like leaves spilled down onto the banks. Red and white honeysuckle twisted around the vines and entangled themselves in amongst the throng. Hummingbirds flitted amongst the petals by the hundreds, competing for airspace with huge tiger swallowtails and newly transformed monarch butterflies.

  “It’s beautiful,” Althea breathed, noticing the hollow space underneath the limbs and flowers. “And the scent is heavenly. How did you find it?”

  “This is the remains of an old indigo plantation,” Jake explained as he navigated the raft up into the bower. “If you go up on the bank you can still see the old tanks. They’re all rusted out and stained. We couldn’t lie in them or anything.”

  “It’s better to stay here anyway.” Althea said. She propped up on an elbow as they slid into the bower. “You don’t suppose some fisherman is going to catch us here do you?”

  “Nobody can see in.” Jake grunted as he worked the raft. “I already checked.”

  The tip of the raft bumped gently against the bank, sending a shower of wisteria blossoms and crepe myrtle down on them. Butterflies and hummingbirds shot up into the air, settling back down again to feed as soon as the raft disappeared under the foliage. Althea giggled as she shook the flowers out of her hair. “I love it,” she said. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Leave them in,” Jake said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you look like Venus.”

  Althea outstretched her arms and he joined her. He kissed her fully and passionately, his hand sliding over her firm bare belly and into her shorts. Althea broke off the kiss. “Jake,” she whispered. “I want us to go all the way.”

  “You know we can’t go all the way.”

  “I know.” she replied. She untied her blouse, the garment falling back onto her shoulders, again reminding her of Jane Russell. “But we can go as far as we can.”

  ****

  “Do you love me, I mean, really love me?” Althea asked as she rested, in his arms.

  “Sure I do.”

  “Then why don’t we go away together? Right now, just sail this raft all the way up to Shreveport and get married. ”

  Jake scowled. “Lord, Althie I don’t know about that. I have good prospects here, working at the cotton gin. I’ll make foreman in a few years. I just can’t up and leave, and why should I? I know you don’t get along with your folks but mine are all right.” He slid his hand back under her bra. “Besides, I have everything I need right here.”

  “Then why don’t we just go get married?”

  “You know why. You’re mom would kill me deader than hell.”

  “Then I’ll let you have your way with me. I can get pregnant and then there’s nothing she can do about it.”

  Jake swore under his breath. “Dammit, Althie, can’t we just have one day of peace without all this nonsense?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Mom was right. You don’t care about me at all; all you want to do is get into my pants.”

  “I’m not like that. I love you, I swear I do.”

  “Then prove it and take me away from this awful place.”

  “It wouldn’t work. You know your old lady is crazy. And she’s got the Church on her side, too. She’d hunt us down even if we went as far as China. She’d find us and drag you back. And probably have me thrown in jail to boot.”

  “But if we’re married there’s nothing she can say about it.”

  “She’d get it annulled and we couldn’t say anything about it. That’s why.”

  “Even though I’m of legal age?”

  “That won’t matter. Not to her.”

  “Are you not going to fight for me at all?” Althea asked, the color in her face rising. “Am I worth fighting for?”

  Jake groaned and rolled his eyes. “Please. Stop.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the soft sloshing of water against the bank, and the raft creaking beneath them. She could smell the wisteria and feel gentle petals dropping like rain against her smooth skin.

  “I do love you,” Jake whispered in her ear. “I know you think this place is awful, but I love it here and don’t want to leave. And you’re going to be married in a few weeks. Can’t we just make the most out of what time we have?”

  “Then I might as well let you then,” Althea said as she traced the outline of his groin with her finger. “At least that’s one choice I can make of my own free will. And maybe after that, my prospective husband won’t want me after he finds out I’m not a virgin any more.”

  Jake hovered over her, pulling up her blouse and gently caressing her breasts. She moaned, her heart hammering. She slid her hand between their bodies, and unbuttoned her shorts. Jake lowered his head to sample her breasts. She held the back of his head, the hair soft and fine between her fingers, her body hot and starved. He stopped, his body rigid. He turned his head and looked away from her.

  “Jake?”

  “Hush.”

  In the sultry afternoon, dragonflies buzzed and water spiders skimmed along the water’s surface. A squadron of yellow swallowtails flitted just above the water. Hummingbirds abandoned the honeysuckle and disappeared into the willows. Somewhere out of sight a catfish broke the surface. Jake’s face was turned aside, and all she could see was his profile. His jaw was working, the tendons expanding and relaxing, showing his inner agitation.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, rising. “Who’s here?”

  Jake clapped his hand over her mouth. Jake’s breath caught, his face white, his eyes wide.

  “For God’s sake be still,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. His body was rigid against hers, and she knew beyond a doubt that whatever he was feeling didn’t have anything to do with her. He took his hand from her mouth and whispered, his lips barely moving as they brushed past her ear, “Don’t move, whatever you do. You mustn’t let it see.”

  “But—”

  “—Quiet.”

  “Jake, let me up, I can’t breathe.”

  Jake put his hand over her mouth again,
his eyes wide with terror. He slowly shook his head.

  The bayou was still and quiet. Even the water ceased to flow. The air was stifling hot and heavy. Falling wisteria and crepe myrtle stopped in mid dance toward the water and stayed suspended in the thick air. Althea’s eyes widened, shocked, as a hummingbird, no more than a few inches away, it’s throat ruby red, its wings a brilliant green, moved in slow motion. The sun seemed oh so much brighter, the hummingbird’s colors too vivid to view. Althea swallowed hard and turned away. She felt her fingers digging hard into Jake’s sides, her heart taking the express elevator to her bowels.

  A thick, profoundly black shadowy-thing glided above the glistening water. It moved as if it were searching for something. It reminded Althea of how hound dogs search for drowned bodies of foolish fishermen who come to the bayou when the river that fed it was at flood stage. The creature moved silently, the bottom edge sliding just above the surface, yet not leaving a reflection. It stopped, and seemed to regard them as they hid amongst the flowers.

  Althea felt something rush through her, like heavy water, cold and as pure as ice. Tendrils of flashing lights obliterated her vision. Her head pounded as if she were in the midst of a cataclysmic migraine. She held Jake tighter, her heart hammering in her ears, her mind paralyzed, too terrified to think, in too much pain to cry out.

  The headache left as quickly as it came. The shadow resumed its journey. It slipped away quickly, silently. Jake trembled as he lay on top of her, his face shoved into the nape of her neck. She felt dirty, violated in the deepest most secret part of her soul. Tears flowed down her cheeks. As soon as it was gone, a murder of crows took to the sky, cawing in fear and anguish. It wasn’t until Althea released her grip on Jake that she realized he was crying.

  ****

  “The plantation house ain’t much to look at, especially if you were expecting a big mansion like the ones in New Orleans,” Ruby was saying as she and Mr. Lindt mounted the wide gray planked steps, “but it’s home.”

  “I think it’s charming,” Mr. Lindt said as Ruby led him into the foyer. It was a small unfurnished room, wallpapered in the same drab blue and tan. The floor was rough hewn hardwood. The foyer emptied into a narrow passageway separated by two doors. The stairwell was at the back of the hallway just a few feet away from a smallish stone fireplace. A few feet from the mantle, a set of double doors opened into the kitchen; a holdover from when the house was meant for single family use.

  Ruby led Mr. Lindt to the door on the right hand side. “This is it, and you’re lucky because you’re right next to the kitchen. There’s an ice box and deep freeze in there but since we all use it you’ll probably want to put your name on whatever you buy to avoid confusion.”

  “An excellent idea,” Lindt replied.

  “The mail boxes are at the end of the driveway. This is apartment two, and that number corresponds with the mailbox you’ll use. I assume you saw them as you drove in this morning?”

  “I did indeed.”

  She took the key from Mr. Lindt and opened the door. The scent of musty wallpaper and bleach stung her nose. “This is it,” she repeated, stepping inside so Mr. Lindt could enter. “The kitchenette is this way, but don’t expect to cook much in here. There’s only a hot plate, and enough cabinet space for a coffee pot.” She shrugged. “Mrs. Bristow started to put kitchens in all the apartments, but it was too expensive and she decided against it. As I said before, we all use the common kitchen. The only rule is that you be sure to clean up after you’re done.”

  “It’s perfect,” Mr. Lindt said. “The apartment I mean.” He smiled in a way that Ruby suspected might be charming, and then added, “It will be just fine.”

  “We usually eat dinner on the veranda in the evenings. No matter how you run the ceiling fans or have the windows open it never gets quite cool enough in the summertime. So we all take our meals outside. This of course is purely optional. There’s always the diner in town if you prefer.”

  “I think it’s great. A wonderful way to meet the neighbors,” Lindt replied.

  Ruby shot him a glance. “I have a daughter. She’s getting married in a couple of weeks,” she said.

  “Congratulations,” Lindt replied.

  “You being an older gentleman and from up north, I must assume you might not fully understand this is a very rural area and we still hold on to southern proprieties and expect our neighbors to do the same.”

  “Completely understandable,” Lindt said as he set his suitcase on the small divan. “And I appreciate your candor, Mrs...”

  “Miss. Ruby Thibodaux. There is no mister.”

  “Miss Thibodaux. I will of course honor all customs during my stay. If I fall astray I am sure you can set a foolish old man straight.”

  “I expect I can,” replied Ruby.

  “Do you and your sister own the grocery store next door?”

  “We’re leasing it,” Ruby said as she folded her arms across her narrow chest. “It was originally a part of the plantation, along with a cotton gin that used to be over there.” She unfolded her arms long enough to point out of the window overlooking a broken down chute steadily being overtaken by a wild tangle of giant salvinia, cypress saplings, and kudzu. “The gin closed down back in the thirties. About ten years later the swamp took it over. Around here cotton ain’t as kingly as it used to be.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway this is it. I collect rent on the first of the month. And I don’t take late payments, so don’t forget. There’s a phone in the foyer, and you have to pay for your own calls. There’s a washer out back but you have to hang your clothes out on the line. If you want to hire a girl to do it, Mrs. Seffy down on Cornhouse Row does a respectable wash. I don’t do anyone’s cooking or cleaning but my own, and I don’t think Mrs. Seffy does either. But you could ask her I suppose. If anything breaks down and you need a repairman let me know and I’ll call Mrs. Bristow so she can send her man out.”

  “Not a problem.” Lindt smiled. “I think I can manage.”

  “Well,” Ruby said. “I’ll leave you to rest then.”

  “Miss Thibodaux?” Mr. Lindt inquired.

  Ruby turned from the door and asked, “Yes?”

  “May I ask a favor from you?”

  Ruby’s expression hardened. “What kind of favor?

  “I mean what I say about cherishing my privacy. If anyone should come by asking about me, will you let me know?”

  Ruby cast him a suspicious glance. “You ain’t on the run are you? I’ll shoot you myself if I find out you’re an escapee from Angola or something.”

  Mr. Lindt laughed. “Oh my no, it’s nothing like that. I have business associates and I know they’ll put me to work during my holiday if they get the chance.”

  “Well, I don’t know...”Ruby hesitated.

  “Please,” Lindt added, “let me know if someone comes by, would you?”

  He offered her his most winning smile. Unimpressed, Ruby grunted, nodded a curt affirmative and left.

  ****

  Cally finished slicing up a stick of bologna. She wrapped a pound’s worth in butcher paper and taped it closed. A radio on the counter above her was playing “When I was Seventeen.” and Cally’s mind drifted along with Sinatra’s melancholy tone. She slid the bologna back into the display compartment and extracted a long brick of cheese. Mrs. Wainright would be along shortly to pick up her order, and the order was always the same. On Wednesday, she called in for one pound of bologna sliced thick, one and a half pounds of sharp cheddar cheese, and two loaves of white bread. In the eighteen years Cally lived on Eldred’s Bend, Mrs. Wainright’s dietary habits towards luncheon never changed.

  Cally finished slicing the cheese and made a little package of it too, in the same nondescript white butcher paper and tape. She wrote cheese on the top of this package, placed meat, cheese and bread into a brown paper bag. A shadow flitted across the wide porch. Cally stopped, loaf of bread poised in mid air. “Mrs. Wainright?” She calle
d. “I’ve got your order ready, hon.”

  Mrs. Wainright was ninety-seven years old, and although her minister’s wife assured the elderly lady that she could catch a ride with her anytime (Cally had heard Reverend Simon’s wife tell Mrs. Wainright this herself) she preferred to walk the mile and a half of what everyone called the deer trail down to Eldred’s Bend every Wednesday afternoon to pick up her small bill of groceries. After her arrival she would sit outside on the long wide deck in a rocking chair Ruby set out just for her, and sip a Royal Crown Cola and have her little dip of snuff before heading back to her house up bayou.

  “Would you like me to bring you an RC, Mrs. Wainright?” Cally called as she moved to the large blue ice chest near the front door. “It’s awful hot for you to be walking out in this weather. You should have let Mrs. Bristow or Mrs. Reverend come get you. I’m not scolding or anything, but you know how I worry about you walking in those woods by yourself, especially out in this heat. There’s gators out in that bayou, you know.”

  There was no response, which was very unusual, because whenever Mrs. Wainright walked up the steps and sat herself down on the rocker, she would always call out to let Cally or Ruby know she was there. Again, the shadow loomed high on the porch, looking for all the world like a long black cloak. It moved away, and a normal looking shadow spread itself on the porch just in front of the door.

  “Mrs. Wainright? Are you out there?” Cally called.

  For the first time in all the years she and her sister resided on Eldred’s Bend, Cally had never once been afraid. Even when the Klan dropped by one night ten years ago to warn them against selling to Negroes, she didn’t bat an eye when she and her sister stood on the porch and exchanged insults with bigots wearing sheets.

  She even put buckshot into the backside of Stanley Cruder, whom she dated briefly, and left him when she realized he was one of those sheeted stooges out in the yard that night with a torch in hand. Despite the fact that he denied it, she knew. She could tell by his big feet jutting out from underneath the sheet and the stench of his pomade. And then there was the little matter of him neglecting to tell her about his wife and four kids. She put a stop to that real quick at the business end of her sister’s twelve-gauge.