The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  black swan, belonging only to the water and the woods of the bayou . . . and to Tom himself. It would be a heart-wrenching day when they left and Adam remained behind. The day of Zoe's visit was to be the beginning of losing Adam.

  On Saturday, Zoe Tremain dressed simply in a full-sleeved pink lawn gown with a rose-colored sash and presented herself to her son for approval. Not that Adam would be much help. He approved of everything she did. Too much so. No mortal woman could live up to what Adam thought he saw in his mother. The man who sought such unrealistic perfection in a life mate could only be disappointed. As he grew older, and looked far more like a man than a boy, his idealism worried her.

  This day, however, wasn't the occasion for such worries. She placed a dainty hand on his arm, a picture of impeccable simplicity. Zoe, only five feet tall, looked up at Adam in wonder; how had she ever produced a son of Adam's proportions? Then she smiled in secret happiness, remembering his father, the source of both her greatest jOy and her greatest sorrow.

  In her youth she had carried Adam within her, thinking herself blessed beyond measure to have that child. After his birth came the long trial-blighted years—^hardship and abuse at Paul Tremain's hands. None of it had been able to mar the intrinsic beauty that shone through Zoe's soft hazel eyes.

  Like Adam's, her hair glowed with the bright sheen of health, covering her well-shaped head in a mass of unruly black eurls. In it were the first traces of gray, making her seem more like a child with whitening in her hair than a middle-aged woman past thirty-two.

  "You'll like UUah, Ma," Adam said, helping her into the flatboat.

  "I'm certain I will. And Tom as well."

  "Angela too. She's like a little fairy princess."

  Zoe listened as Adam talked about the bayou house. She'd heard most of it before. He spoke of little else these days. In the beginning he'd rarely mentioned Tom, but of late Tom was as much a part of Adam's conversation as Ullah and Angela.

  Tears formed in Zoe's eyes whenever she heard Adam speak of Tom. After Paul Tremain's death she never

  wanted to be near another man. So Adam grew up first with a man who loathed and resented the sight of him and later with no man at all to guide him. Then Tom had come, freely giving Adam what Zoe hadn't been able to provide and what Paul Tremain had sullenly withheld.

  Zoe could never explain to Tom all he had done for her son and herself, but she could express her gratitude. She could be UUah's friend without reservation, and without revealing her secret reluctance. She'd never been the equal friend of a Negro. She knew no one who had or who would approve. Zoe had practiced for days thinking of Ullah as a woman, not a black woman. Her hands clenched slightly as Adam sniffed, smelling the succulent odors of the barbecue.

  "We're almost there, Ma."

  She'd rather die than embarass Ullah and thus her son and herself. Once again it would make Zoe responsible for hurting Adam, and Adam's sense of honor would bar him from the people who represented the best thing that had ever happened to him. She said a quick prayer that she'd know what to say and how to act.

  A squarely built sandy-haired man turned from the roasting pit to wave a greeting. In the middle of the yard stood a small golden-haired child, dressed in a white ruffled dress embroidered painstakingly with tiny rosebuds. She was the picture of her name—an angel. Behind them was a weathered-gray patched house. On its stoop stood the woman Zoe knew to be Ullah, uncertain and nervous.

  Zoe's heart went to her. She remembered afternoons when she felt as Ullah now looked. Afternoons when Tjoq had prayed that just once Paul Tremain would leave the cork in his whiskey bottle, that just once he would lack the drink-induced courage to reduce her to shame, making her plead that he let her son alone. Ullah stood with her hands wrapped in her apron, prepared for her humiliation.

  Zoe, placed on dry land by Adam's sure strong arms, headed straight for Ullah, her hands extended in greeting as though they had been friends for a lifetime. "Mrs. Pierson, what a pleasure to meet you! Now I can thank you in person for your many kindnesses to my son."

  Ullah, coached by Tom, said softly, "Welcome to our home, Miz Tremain." Then the mask of tension broke as she smiled happily, looking first to Adam, then to Tom.

  Angela ran up to hug her mother just as Ben and Beau came hooting their way from the woods.

  The.barbecue had begun. Zoe laughed freely at the boys* antics, eating, at Tom's and Ullah's persuasion, more than a lady should or her stays would allow.

  The afternoon sped by, with easy talk and laughter. The sky changed from blue to the multihued ribbons of sunset. She watched as the birds passed over the bayou. In the woods crickets and katydids made their music.

  "We*d best be getting home, Adam. Much as I hate to leave such pleasant company, it is going to be dark soon."

  "Oh, no! We can't leave yetl" he cried. "Not until Ullah dances."

  UUah protested, frowning fiercely at Adam before her eyes darted to Zoe.

  Adam grinned at her. "Where'd you hide my drums? Come on, Tom. You've gotta dance too."

  "Can*t," Tom groaned, his hand resting on a jug of wine. "I'm a set-down hog."

  "Would you dance for me, Ullah?" Zoe asked softly.

  "You're going to dance too. Ma," Adam declared, his eyes merry.

  Zoe's mouth opened in surprise. "Adam . .. I .. .**

  "With me. Ma. Ullah, where are the instruments?"

  As they had so many other nights, they sat around the low-burning fire. The evening breeze made the glowing warmth welcome. The scent of roasted pig was still thick in the air. Angela sleepily rested her head on Ben's knee as he began tapping a slow rhythm on the bones. Beau played the gourd fiddle.

  Zoe's eyes lighted softly as she watched, hardly able to recognize her son and his two best friends. Then she looked at Tom, who had managed to get to his feet in spite of his protests, performing some sort of nearly indecent dance with his wife. Zoe found she liked watching the strangely entrancing movements. She even liked the idea that Tom was so unabashedly in love with Ullah that feelings more properly kept private were not being hidden this night. But she would never, never allow Adam to lure her or bully her into moving her body about in so sensual a fashion.

  Adam, reading his mother's thoughts, put down his drum and whispered into Beau's ear. Before Zoe knew what

  had happened, she was in her son's arms, being whirled swiftly over grass tufts and patches of bare earth with joyous abandon. The pace was the fastest, and Adam by far her wildest partner. Her skirts flew out behind her as she clung to him.

  "Adam! Please! 'Greensleeves' is not a polka!" she begged breathlessly. "Do slow down, dear, please!"

  "I can't. Beau is playing it like a polka." He laughed and kept her dancing. Her black curls came loose from their pins, caressing her face as her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened with excitement.

  She went from Adam's gracefully reckless stride to Tom's shorter-stepped solid version of Beau's waltz. Ben and Beau also took turns, until, exhausted, Zoe sat down on the log next to Ben, no longer caring if she remembered to lower herself gracefully to her seat as a lady should. UUah came and sat near her. "Ah jes' wanta thank you, Miz Zoe. Ah ain't never had a day like this in all mah life."

  Zoe placed her hand on UUah's. "Neither have I. I'll be eternally in your debt, UUah. May I say we've both gained from this day?"

  Under the light paths of the Hunter's moon Adam took his mother home. They were singing, Zoe's soprano blending with her son's baritone and the tenor voices of Ben and Beau.

  Oh, potatoes they grow small over there! . . . 'Cause they plant 'em in the fall—

  and then they laughed to hear Tom's voice calling over the water—

  And then eats 'em tops an' all over therel

  Chapter Seven

  "We have to leave, Ullah," Tom said. The barbecue was over. The time had come.

  She was quiet for a time, pondering. "Where? What place gwine want us any better than they do heah?"

 
Tom had no answer. In the South he knew they wouldn't be welcome. In the North he would never feel welcome. "Maybe Southwest . . . into the new territories. I'm not sure, honey. We'll look until we find a place where people haven't already got their minds set. Most likely that will be West, where folks are just beginnin'."

  She said no more about it, that day or any other. It was not in Ullah to defy her master or husband directly, but she had her ways of procrastinating so that Tom might have the time to reconsider.

  Tom didn't hurry her, for he too believed he had time. The longer he stayed, the easier it was to think that he had allowed himself to panic when he saw Edmund in New Orleans. The peaceful tempo of life in the bayou house lulled him falsely. The days slipped into weeks.

  December fifth was warm and pleasant, with the breeze from the Gulf pushing heavy white clouds in long, smooth streamers over the patches of woodland and water. The air was fresh, the bayou inviting. Early that afternoon the three boys came to the landing near the woods. Adam gave the sharp whistle that Tom could hear anywhere on his property.

  Tom strolled through the woods to meet them. "What are you monkeys up to today?"

  "Filling Ma's larder." Adam gestured toward the rifles and some large kettles. "We spotted a bee tree yesterday. Couldn't you use some honey?"

  "I'd better not come," Tom said regretfully. "If I don't get Ullah to packin', we're never goin' to get out of heah.'*

  "What's one more day?" Ben teased.

  Tom shook his head. "You three are worse than Ullah. Next year I've got to plant somethin' or starve. The way we're goin', we won't be anywhere when plantin' season comes."

  "You're not going to leave tomorrow, are you?'* asked Adam.

  Tom scratched his head, his eyes already shining in agreement. All reason cried out against it, but they were tipping the boat crazily now, laughing and shouting, tempting him with their antics. And as always, he wanted to go. Just one more time before he left the bayou behind forever.

  « « «

  Ullah had sent Angela out to play after breakfast. Angela wandered everywhere, causing her mother to spend most of her day worrying over what had taken her daughter out of sight so quickly. Now she peered anxiously out of the cookroom window.

  Running as fast as she could on her short, sturdy legs, Angela was making her way toward the woods. Ullah shouted her daughter's name, then gave up, knowing she would have to go after the child.

  She removed her apron, deftly foldmg it and placing it on the table, and hurried to the main room. Her smile faded. She stopped suddenly, her heart thumping vdldly.

  In the outer doorway stood a tall, slender man, impeccably attired down to the brilliantly shining black leather boots. In his left hand he loosely held a whip, its tails dangling. On his head was the outsized grotesque Mardi Gras mask of a boar with sharp, curling tusks. Behind him, crowded into the opening, were five others. A Goat, a Snake, an Alligator, a Raccoon, and a Bear all thrust their huge, leering heads into the room, tipsily jostling each other for the clearest view of her. The laughter from the menagerie was drunken, distorted, hollow.

  Ullah backed away. Their lau^ter and their unintelligible talk ran together deafeningly. She grabbed the folded apron, pressing it against her as though by some magical power it would shield her from the boisterous animals advancing with terrible purpose into her house.

  "What you want?" she stanmiered. "Who are you? What you want?"

  The tusked Boar laughed. "Why, Ullah, don't tell me you've forgotten so soon. You know all of us... intimately, I would say."

  UUah's sight darkened. More terrified of what he would do if she fainted than she was of facing him, she grabbed hold of^ the back of a chair and forced herself to keep looking at the tusked mask.

  **What you want, Mistah Revanche?" she asked, her throat dry. 'Tom ain't heah. Ah jes' cleanin' up this house fo' hhn."

  TTie whip spanned the distance between them before Ullah even realized he had moved his hand. She felt the cutting sting, then looked down to see the neat slashes across the front of her dress.

  "I don't tolerate niggers lying to me, Ullah. Seems like

  you've forgotten most of the training you got at Gray Oaks. You're not cleaning for Tom, you're his wife. Now isn't that so, Ullah?"

  "Nossuh. No! Ah ain't nobody's wife. Nossuh, Ah ain't. You wrong. Ah ain't nobody's wife."

  Edmund flicked his whip, slashing her arms, her face, until she was screaming and crying for him to stop.

  "You're his wife." The words were no less menacing for their calm tone.

  "Yassuh! Yassuh, Ah is," she babbled, clutching at herself.

  "You're a damned uppity nigger, Ullah. You've gotten above yourself."

  "Yassuh. Ah do dat. Ah do dat, suh!"

  "What happens to a nigger who forgets her place, Ullah?"

  "Ah ... Ah doan know . . . Ah—"

  "What happens, Ullah?" Edmund's cold, controlled voice sent her into spasms of fear. He fingered the length of the three-tailed whip.

  She felt the hair on her neck rise. Gooseflesh covered her lacerated arms as she hugged herself in terror. "P-please, Mastah, Ah didn't mean nothin'—'*

  "What happens, Ullah!"

  "They gets punished . . . they gets punished!" she screamed, all but incoherent. Wildly she glanced from one of the looming masks to another. Inescapable, they moved toward her. Ullah backed away sobbing and trying to stifle the screams that wanted to loose themselves.

  "You've played enough, Edmund. Let us have some fun with her now."

  Ullah sank to the floor, curling up, trying to protect herself from the sight of the animals and the dread of what was to come. She moaned, crying and pleading to deaf ears, "Oh, please, suh! Mastah Edmund, hoF 'em back! Oh, Lawd! Oh, Lawd!"

  "When do we get her, Edmund? This is a citizens' committee, not your private party," the Goat's head said, with more authority now.

  "All right. She's yours, but take her outside," Edmund commanded. "When we get Tom, I want him to see everything."

  The whip cut across Ullah's buttocks. She made a sound, half scream, half whimper.

  "Get up off that floor!" Revanche commanded.

  She scrambled up. The Snake and the Alligator grabbed her roughly and forced her through the front door into the yard. Suddenly the Snake jerked her off her feet and leaped on her as she fell backward to the ground.

  "There won't be any fun and games this time, nigger," said a voice that sickened her with remembered fear. As he had done that terrible night, he grabbed her dress by the neckline and pulled. He jerked her again and again until the fabric gave way and she was exposed.

  There was laughter from the masks that crowded closely around her.

  "Chrissakes, Ross, can't you get it in?" growled the Alligator. "We can't spend all day!"

  Ullah, her heart pounding, watched the fangs of the Snake come nearer. It was useless to fight this man; he would tear her apart. She lay waiting, limp, feeling her legs jerked apart and his harsh invasion of her body. She braced herself, held herself stiff until he was done and the Snake's head rattled with his hoarse breathing. In a daze, she heard the drunken cheers and shouts from the other animals as Ross withdrew from her and the Goat moved to take his place.

  The leering face and the long curved-back horns terrified her even more than the Snake had; but worst of all, she recognized the rank odor of Sleath, Revanche's overseer. She knew he would kill her if the others didn't. Sometimes late at night he would come to her cabin, pulling her out of bed and sleep, and force her ahead of him down the long row of whitewashed buildings, his whip biting through her thin shift every step of the way. When at last they would reach his cabin, he'd throw her onto his putrid bunk and ...

  "Oh, Lawd! Lawd!" He wouldn't do it to her this time without a fight. As he came near, her knee came up forcefully into his crotch. He gasped and fell heavily onto her. She thrust her hands through the openings of the mask and drove her thumbs as hard as she could into his eyes. Sleath screa
med, drew back his fist, and broke her jawbone.

  Tom, laughing as he watched the shouting boys in their crazily rocking boat, heard Sleath's cry, "J'hoshaphat, what was that?" He heard nothing further, except Adam, Ben, and Beau. "Sounded like a painter!" he said jovially.

  Then Ullah's animal screeches were the only sound he could hear. They went on and on, mindless, hair-raising, sending a taut tingle through all his veins. Ashen, he began to run. Never had his legs seemed shorter then when he went crashing up the woods path, splashed through the clinging muck of a small pond, climbed its bank, and emerged, still running, from the edge of the woods.

  What he saw was something out of hell. In a rough circle were three gaudily painted animals, yelling, leaping, and prancing insanely around a fourth who was attacking a flattened object on the ground. A Goat sat nearby, holding himself and drinking clumsily out of a flask. The animal heads bobbed in outsized grotesquery, urging the attacker to greater speed, to greater heights of lust and brutality. Slightly out of the radius of the circle stood a curved-tusked Boar, his arms folded and his booted legs apart, holding a three-tongued whip. Somehow, on the evil painted face, Tom sensed a smile of satisfaction.

  Tom caught a glimpse of blue calico with white flowers' on it. UllahJ Mounted on her, rocking obscenely to and fro, was a soft-eyed Raccoon with his fawn-colored breeches pulled down.

  Screaming Ullah's name, he raced for the circle of attackers. Only the Boar noticed his approach. Tom plunged into the group, knocking aside two of the animals as he dived for the Raccoon, hitting him with the full impact of his hurtling body, rolling into the dust at the feet of the Boar. He grunted in pain, feeling a sharp crack as the Boar's shining boot kicked him in the side.

  "Ullah! Run! Run!" he screamed, struggling to regain his feet. He swung his fists wildly, his wrists absorbing the shock each time he connected with a solid body. He heard her voice strange sounding, piteously cry his name once, then a hard slapping noise and a hollow laugh of unholy glee as the next man took his turn.