The following morning, the Captain's eulogy was brief. "We are guests on this earth. We come and we go. No one knows when or how his time will come. We can only have faith and abide."
He nodded to the Count, who was seated next to him, his cello poised between his knees. With a dramatic flourish the Count launched into a Bach suite, only to have two strings crack out like pistol shots.
As if a curse had been lifted, a faint breeze suddenly shivered across the water. Overwhelmed by this sign of grace, passengers and crew turned their swollen faces towards the breeze. The Finn shouted, pointing to a frigate bird hovering off the starboard bow. Cox sank to his knees. The two Germans raised their hands over their heads, reaching for handfuls of wind. Zebulon shook the Finn's hand. The crew hugged and slapped each other on their backs, then scurried aloft. Sails snapped and billowed and the ship began to move, slowly at first and then at a brisk five knots.
They crossed the equator under full sail. The Captain, true to his word, ordered a grand celebration, even providing a generous selection from his private stock of Chilean wine, Mexican mescal, and Spanish rum.
That night the crew appeared on deck in white jackets and stand-up collars. The passengers wore their finest European and New York clothes. The Count was resplendent in a combination Russian-English military uniform of red and black striping, Delilah elegant in a high-busted Parisian evening dress and white bonnet. Zebulon, accompanied by cheers, appeared in a leather overcoat that he had borrowed from the Finn, topping it off with an improvised hat made from sail cloth and a piece of the Captain's French underwear.
The Captain fired three pistol shots.
The passengers, except for Cox, who had crossed the equator before, were ceremoniously dunked into a large tub of salt water. After their bodies were smeared with red and yellow dye, they were made to crawl through a gauntlet where the crew spanked them with paddles. After a long, incomprehensible speech praising Neptune and local maritime deities, the Captain announced that Zebulon would be given a special sacrificial role, a decision greeted with wild cheers and foot-stomping approval.
After Zebulon's head was shaved, a blue circle was painted around his face, followed by two red lines across his forehead and down his cheeks.
When the Captain asked him to dance, Zebulon shuffled around the deck, crying out a vision prayer with two sailors prancing behind him, one playing an accordion, the other pounding an African drum:
He stopped in front of Delilah. "You are the spirit who lives where the sun goes down, who takes care of all the waters in all the lands. Tell me if that ain't true."
"If you wish it to be so, then it will be," she replied.
Taking a cigar from the Captain, she blew smoke over his face and head. Then she gave the cigar to Zebulon, who repeated the act on the Count and then on the rest of the passengers:
"Listen here, Wakan Tanka, Great Spirit!" he cried out, walking back and forth. "Listen to this man askin' to purify himself. Because of you the wind has come again and our journey goes forward. Now we're on the move! It's no flatlander or greenhorn that's callin' out to you. It's an old mountain wolf askin' for enough power and light to shake us all loose from where we've been stuck between the worlds. Is that too much to ask? Any way you look at it, it's a job that only you, the Creator, can handle; after all, Wakan Tanka, you're the one who gives the birds and fish the power to fly and swim.... Listen to this man, Wakan Tanka! Give us a sign. Let us know we ain't lost: Hecheto wa~elo!"
Drums pounded and horns blared as the Captain, along with the crew and passengers, wept and sang and shouted their thanks through the night.
hen Zebulon woke at dawn the passengers were still passed out on deck, all except for the Count and Delilah, who were standing by the ship's rail.
Suddenly the Count pulled Delilah's hair, jerking her head back.
"Foolish woman," the Count said. "After all that we've been through, you still cling to hope."
When Delilah slapped him across the cheek, he forced her to her knees.
"Confess your failures," he ordered her.
He pushed her chin to the deck. "Let me remind you: Failure to amuse, failure to polish my boots, failure to listen."
Her eyes found Zebulon, who was on his knees, staring back at her.
"Failure to refrain from ignorant betrayals," the Count continued. "Do you want more? I have several in reserve."
"No more," she said softly:
She pushed the Count with such force that he fell to the deck.
As Zebulon stood up and walked towards her, the Count held one of her ankles, then struggled to his feet and wildly tried to embrace her, kissing her neck and breast as they both cried and yelled at each other in Russian. When she broke away, he tried to reach out for her, but she stumbled and fell backward over the railing.
It was only when Zebulon had jumped in after her that he remembered he couldn't swim.
He sank below the water with closed eyes, his lungs bursting, as if his descent - a slow drop towards what he imagined to be a giant open mouth - was controlled by an unseen force. Or had he already been swallowed and was now being digested? The reality of surrendering to a black crush of water brought a certain relief: that he was finally facing what he most feared. It was a fear that he had never confronted, one that had been inside him ever since he had been a small boy, when Hatchet Jack had tried to drown him in the stream in front of the cabin as a way of making himself known to his new adopted family.
He was brought face to face with his own death, and suddenly life and death weren't the same. They were different and he had a choice, only it was too late.
As he began to lose consciousness from water filling his lungs, an arm underneath his chin pulled him upward towards the light.
"Lie still," Delilah instructed, holding his head above water.
But he felt only panic. He shoved her off. The sky was too empty and far away, with no beginning and no end.
As he sank down again she reached out for him but he pushed down on her head, trying to hoist himself up - an act which made them sink even faster, their arms and legs entwined, until she yanked his head towards her, smiling at him even as they were drowning. Somehow the maniacal gesture released his panic and he went limp in her arms, allowing her to guide him to the surface.
Treading water with one hand, she held him underneath his chin, comforting him like a frightened child. "I'm holding you. Don't be afraid. If you fight me, you'll drown."
And so he floated, his body on hers, staring at the sky until a lifeboat appeared and they were pulled up over the side.
NCE THEY WERE RETURNED TO THE SHIP THEY WERE GIVEN hot mugs of brandy and escorted below, where the Captain waited for them behind his desk.
"Count Baranofsky has been confined to his quarters," the Captain said to Delilah. "I am assigning you a spare cabin."
"What happened was between the Count and myself," Delilah replied. "No one else."
"Dear Lady," the Captain said. "Let me remind you that if it hadn't been for the heroic actions of Mister Shook, you would have drowned."
"I demand to see Count Baranofsky," she said.
"You will see him when we land. Not before. If we're graced by favorable winds, that will be in less than a week."
He turned to Zebulon. "I am ordering you to keep your distance with both of them. If you stray one inch, I'll have you arrested."
With an abrupt wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
As Delilah and Zebulon passed the Count's cabin, they heard his cello repeat the same scales over and over.
Delilah leaned her head against the bolted door. "Ivan?"
His voice was almost mute. "Did you enjoy your swim? Everyone else seemed to."
"We went too far," she said.
"Perhaps not far enough," he replied. "I would have jumped in, except that I can't swim."
His fingers began a lingering vibrato, the bow sliding slowly to the end and then back again. "Do you remember that b
eautiful song we heard at the royal court in Vienna; the one in which the Maiden is confronted by Death?"
He played the notes, reciting the Maiden's plea:
He paused as Delilah sang Death's reply:
They sang the last two lines together, the Count's cello rising in a mournful crescendo of grief and joy:
"Which one of us will sleep safely in Death's arms?" the Count asked. "And who will play the part of Death, sweet Death? Or has that role already been assigned?"
He played a melancholy chord, then stopped. "I had a chat with the Captain. Everything has been arranged. All it took was a large donation to relieve his financial situation."
Delilah leaned her head against the door. "Ivan, I can no longer go on."
"With me or with the journey?" he asked.
"Both. As soon as we land I want to go back."
"Back?" he asked impatiently. "Back to where?"
"France, Egypt, Russia. Does it matter?"
"You know that I have been banished from those countries," he replied. "Listen to me. We go on or we perish. The Captain and I have discussed the situation. He agrees that a brief separation will benefit both of us. And now that the wind has started up again I'm quite content to be in the cabin. I see it as a kind of retreat. A gift and a privilege. Amazing how certain dramas affect one's state of mind."
As the cello repeated the first stanza of "The Death and the Maiden," she turned and walked down the companionway to her cabin.
he was sitting on her bunk, staring out the porthole when Zebulon appeared behind her. Not taking her eyes off the horizon, she allowed him to undress her, then lower her down on the bunk.
"Slowly," she whispered as he raised her legs over his shoulders.
"Too late for slowly," he said and plunged into her with such force that she cried out for him to stop.
He kept on even when she bit into his arm and chest.
Finally they collapsed and she rolled over on her stomach, her head on his thigh. For the first time he noticed the tattoo of a three-headed snake swaying up her back.
"When I saw you in Vera Cruz," she said, "I wanted you to rescue me... but just now, in the water, it was me that rescued vou.
When he pulled her to him, she went limp inside his arms.
"Do either of us know how to surrender?" she asked.
Surrender? It was something that he had never considered.
He shut his eyes and she placed her hand on his stomach, then slowly moved it up to his chest as she leaned up to kiss him, positioning her body on his as she opened her thighs. Once he was inside her, she matched her breathing to his, dissolving his resistance and confusion. When they were both empty and her stillness had become his, she laid her head on his shoulder and wept.
She whispered into his chest. "When I first saw you, I thought you might be a ghost."
"And I thought you were a witch."
"I am a witch," she said.
He suddenly felt overwhelmed by anger and a confusion that he couldn't deal with.
"Did Ivan buy you?" he asked.
"I am expensive, if that's what you mean," she said evenly. "I have certain skills. I know how to deal with men. I speak English, French, and Spanish, as well as Russian and several African dialects. I cook and wash clothes."
"Who are you?" he asked.
She went on: "My mother was French and Abyssinian, my father Ethiopian and possibly Turkish. He would never say. They were killed when I was captured by an Arab raiding party. I was taken to Djoubouti on the Red Sea and sold to a French arms trader. He was cruel and he beat me, but he taught me about the world. We traveled through the Sudan, then across the Sahara to Egypt. When we reached Paris, Andre - that was his name - began to gamble and smoke opium. When he lost me to Ivan in a card game, he shot himself."
She propped herself on an elbow, looking down at him. "Ivan will do anything to save me. Even if it means losing me."
He stood up and pulled on his pants. She didn't look at him when he went out the door.
Later that night he appeared in her cabin. When he lay down beside her, he let her wrap her legs around his waist and slowly guide him inside her.
HE NEXT DAY CAPTAIN DORFHEIMER SUMMONED ZEBULON to his quarters. Delilah and the Count were already seated. Neither of them looked up as the Captain waved him to a chair.
The Captain cleared his throat before he spoke. "We have been discussing a painful situation. But I believe that we have arrived at a solution. No one has been hurt. Everyone appears to have forgiven one another, and I see no grounds for punishment or any kind of further restriction. However, because it is obviously awkward for all of you to live together in such close quarters, I've decided that as soon as we land, it would be best for Mister Shook to find another ship, one that will carry him up the coast to Panama, where he will be able to take a train to the Pacific and then a ship to San Francisco."
"If anyone leaves, it should be me," Delilah said.
"I thought we had reached an agreement," the Count said impatiently.
Delilah looked at Zebulon, then at the Count. "Why don't both of you go to California? If we all reach Sutter's Fort, then we can decide if we want to go on."
"Dear lady," the Captain protested, "you're contradicting everything that we have agreed to."
"I am not a dear lady," Delilah objected.
"You've obviously gone mad," the Count said.
"Are you referring to yourself?" she asked.
"You know very well what happened," the Count said.
"Do I?" she asked. "I'm not at all sure, except that you dictated the terms, as you always do."
When there was no answer from the Count, the Captain lifted a bottle of rum from a side table and poured them all drinks.
"I have a proposal," he said. "I'm prepared to wager five hundred dollars that Zebulon Shook will never arrive in San Francisco. That somewhere along the trail he'll disappear or find something or someone else that holds his interest. After all, he's a man whose fate has always been decided by the prevailing winds."
Delilah nodded towards Zebulon. "Do you agree?"
"Do I have a choice?" he replied
"At this particular moment, no," the Captain replied.
"How will I pay for my passage across Panama," Zebulon asked. "And then up to San Francisco?"
"That will be arranged," the Captain said. "A hundred dollars should be enough."
"I'll match the Captain's hundred," the Count said.
"And if you show up in San Francisco, I'll give you two hundred," the Captain promised. "With no strings."
"And if you don't show up, I'll do the same," the Count added. "A man with your tracking abilities should be able to find us."
"And if you find us," Delilah said, "you will have your job back."
"Double the offer," Zebulon said.
The Count looked at the Captain, who nodded his approval.
"Done," the Count said.
The Captain lifted his glass: "To long life, prosperity, and wind in our sails."
The Captain clinked his glass against Zebulon's, then did the same with the Count and Delilah.
"Have faith and abide," the Count said, saluting Zebulon as he went out the door.
wo days later The Rhinelander put in for supplies on the northern coast of Columbia. It had been raining for two weeks and the streets and the squalid collection of fishing shacks that were spread around the crumbling cathedral were covered with green moss and mud.
When Zebulon left the ship, Delilah was waiting by the gangway, oblivious to the sheets of rain slashing across the harbor. It was the first time they had seen each other since the meeting with the Captain.
"Take care of yourself," he said, as if she was nothing more than an acquaintance.
She pressed a gold necklace lined with rubies into his hand. "You'll get a good price. It belonged to the Czar's cousin."
He handed the necklace back to her. "You'll need this more than me."
She fast
ened the necklace around his neck. "If a person refuses a gift from someone to whom they are special, the one who offered it will die."
As he made his way down the gangplank, she called out to him: "I will find you.... You are no other than myself, even though I am not... now... you..."
The rest of her words were drowned in the rain and wind.
'EBULON SPENT HIS DAYS WAITING FOR A SHIP ON THE veranda of the port's only hotel, a crumbling two-story wooden structure surrounded by wilted stalks of hibiscus and oleander. Occasionally he was joined by the sallow-faced manager of a nearby sugar plantation who spoke only three words of English: woman, gold, and money. Not that they could have heard each other anyway with the rain clattering like rifle fire across the tin roof.
When he wasn't drinking he shot billiards in the rundown lobby, an activity that he gave himself to with maniacal concentration despite a tilted table that sent all the balls rolling into the same corner. One afternoon he was interrupted from his hopeless activity by a piercing whistle from the harbor. Walking out to the veranda, he watched five men slog down the washedout street towards the hotel, their heads lowered like penitents beneath the rain. Stumbling towards him, they collapsed on rickety whicker chairs. Their leader was a large white-haired man wearing a blue and red hand-tailored naval uniform with enormous epaulets hanging in clusters over a chest full of medals and ribbons. Tufts of hair splayed out of his nostrils, and thick sideburns ran down the side of his massive thick-browed face. Banging a fist on the table, he ordered one of his men to check inside the hotel, then shouted in broken Spanish for hot lemon water and rum.
Five minutes later the man returned. "He's not here, Commodore."
The Commodore focused on Zebulon, who was seated on the other side of the veranda. "We're lookin' for a short little bastard. William Walker. Green eyes, prettified, carries himself like some kind of poo-bah East Coast royalty."
The Drop Edge of Yonder Page 7