by Day Taylor
She cocked her head, hands on hips. Then she thrust her head back, her pendulous breasts quivering as she roared with laughter. "What makes you think you're man enough for Ramona, Pussycat? All I've heard from you are a couple o' lousy drunken boasts. I don't see you got any-thin' no other man ain't got."
"Then call my bluff, bitch, or I'll call yours right here. I'll lay you out like a piece of meat on the table."
They had the attention of every man in the Halyard Light. At Adam's threat they began to chant, "Yeah, yeah, yeahyeahyeah," pounding their tables, urging Adam on.
Ramona Rose hesitated, her tongue making a slow, obvious circuit of her wide mouth. "Why not? I'll take you on."
Adam grasped her arm, heading for the door.
"Naw! Nawww! Do it here!" the men howled, banging the mugs harder.
Ramona Unked her arm in Adam's. "Ya all jes* be sure you're here tamorra night. I'll tell you all about it. Won't be any secrets then. Ramona Rose'll know all this boy's got an' all he wished he had."
Adam shoved her out onto the street. He followed her through a narrow maze of back streets until she entered a one-room house. She pushed the door inward. Adam closed the door, slipping the cross bar into place. He wasn't going to be caught unawares by one of her Halyard Light cronies who thought to rob him while Ramona kept him occupied.
Ramona groped across the room to light the single lamp on the table.
Adam stared, then came for her. He grasped her by the jaw, his fingers and thumb pressing cruelly against the joint until Ramona whimpered in pain. "Breathe a word about me in that dump and I'll unhinge this for you and you'll never talk again."
Ramona could barely move her head, but she nodded, eyes watering.
Adam released her. He began to look around the small room.
Ramona nibbed at her jaw, moving it gingerly. "Who in hell d'ya think y'are?"
"This is a pigsty." He kicked at a pile of discarded clothing.
"So what?"
"Clean it up! I don't like dirt."
"You don't like dirt," she said slowly and emphatically. "What a laugh. Who do you think you're kiddin'. Pussycat. I know you. You're just like the rest o' us at the Halyard Light. Dirt! We're all dirt! Scum! An' you're no better!"
He grabbed her arm, forcing her to bend toward the pile of filthy clothes. "Clean it up!"
She twisted away, throwing the clothes in his face. Quick as a cat, she leaped forward, pounding against his chest. "Get outta here! Go on! Go back to the rock you crawled out from under. Beat it!" She sidestepped his enraged swing, putting the table between them. She hurled a crock of dried, rotting chili. Adam ducked the bowl, swiping its moldy contents from his clothes and face.
Her eyes were wildly bright, her cheeks flushed, her nostrils flared. She hurled every object she could lift at him. He dodged and deflected spoons, candles, a flat iron, hats, dresses, shoes, and all her firewood.
Her rage surfeited, she slumped onto her cot laughing. "All right," she panted. "So you won't get out. What in the hell do you want?"
"Not a damned thing!" He glanced at the door. "Fresh air."
Ramona was there before Adam. "Don't be too hasty, Pussycat. Maybe you're more man that I figgered." Her long beringed fingers fanned out across his chest, pressing against him, digging through the fabric of his tunic to the flesh beneath; then her touch gentled, racing across his chest soft as the touch of goose down.
Adam felt a chill of revulsion. He removed her hands, pressing them hard against her sides. Ramona came up on the balls of her feet, arching toward him, her head back as she bit his lower lip, holding it painfully between her teeth. Adam let go of her hands, grasping both sides of her head. Deep in her throat Ramona laughed.
Adam squeezed the sides of her head, his arms trembling with the force he was using, Ramona's long fingers worked into his tunic. Her sharp-filed fingernails chilled him, making his muscles jump and twitch as she clawed along his
ribs, then moved closer, encircling him, clawing down his spinal column. Without meaning to, he released his grip.
In spite of himself, in spite of his revulsion for the woman, his breathing quickened. Hot, growing response came unbidden into his loins. She worked at the placket of his trousers, teasing, probing. As he grew hard and tumid against her hand, she demanded in her husky voice, "Kiss me, Pussycat, Don't say you don't want nuthin*. This'U say you're a liar." She pressed her hand against his hot, exposed penis. "One thing a man can't lie about, ain't it?"
"I don't want you*' he said through clenched teeth, trying to force control on his own body.
Ramona laughed, her wicked fingers moving everywhere at once. Adam hadn't the will power to move away. He writhed, squirmed, and groaned, his breath panting gasps as she had her way with him. She shrugged out of her robe. She wore only the tassels that covered her taut nipples and the G-string. She moved her hips slowly, her belly rolling forward to touch his penis, then away, touching again, caressing, her eyes sparkling in malicious knowledge. "You're a man an' I'm a woman. Pussycat. That's all it takes. That's all that matters. You don't have to like me, an' I don't have to like you. Anything else is a Goddamned lie. There's fuckin' an hurtin' an' that's all."
Adam, his eyes shut against the sight of her, licked at the blood trickling from his raw, torn lip. Ramona's voice beat at him as though she were inside his skull, pounding on him, hammering as though he were a white-hot horseshoe being beaten on an anvil. She writhed sensuously, her words bitter as gall, twisted from her own cruel despair.
"Come to Ramona, Pussycat. There's jes' you 'n' me. Your pisser an' my cunt. That's all you need. That's all I want"
Sun-darkened hands stroked him, moving along the length of his penis. Her dark hair fell over him as she bent, touching him with her lips then her tongue. Adam drew in his breath as her tongue circled and teased him. Then something inside snapped. He felt nothing.
He saw her as she was, an aging woman, whose curves were sagging rolls of flesh. Her hair was coarse and dry, her hands unclean and ill-kempt, the fingernails filed to points, weapons. She was pathetic and loathsome.
And this—this was evil and dirty. As was he. All night he had been building up to this, to coupling with her just as she said. To do it out of brutish anger and self-hatred. To use her to punish himself and to use himself to punish her.
But to hear her low, sultry voice speaking of coupling, of tearing at one another, claiming that was all there was of goodness between a man and a woman . . .
"I haven't fallen that low, Ramona. Not yet," he said almost in awe. Awkward as a schoolboy, he fumbled with his tunic and trousers.
"What's the matter with the pussycat? Can't you keep it up? I know a little trick." She went to a container of white powder. "Lick a little of this on an' you'll have the damndest, longest hard-on ever."
"No. It's not that—"
"Now, look, are we gonna fuck or ain't we?"
His anger had vanished,- wiped away by her words. Without the armor of the deep self-loathing or the anger, he couldn't talk to her. He had no means to reach into her base, primitive world. She trusted only the animal. Ramona neither knew nor understood anything but the brutish treatment he and the other men had given her at the Halyard Light.
Helpless and mute, he moved to the door. He fished in his pocket, grasping a handful of coins. He dropped them onto the table. Ramona's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. "What's that for? What kinda queer dick are you? What do you want me to do for all this money?"
Adam shook his head. "Nothing. Not a thing. Oh, God! Fm sorry!" He ran from the house, Ramona Rose following into the lane.
"Hey! What is this? What the hell you doin'? You! Bastard! What do you think you're buyin'?"
Her voice followed him dovra the narrow street of crowded little houses, echoing with his running footfalls, hounding him. He could still hear her when he turned the corner and zigzagged through the narrow streets. He ran until he reached the water's edge. Out of breath, his ches
t heaving, Adam dropped to his knees in the cool, wet sand, digging his fingers deep until the water bubbled up and covered his hands.
He shuddered, squeezing his eyes closed. What had he nearly made of himself tonight? He stripped off his clothing.
scrubbing himself with wet sand, until his skin stung and burned. He waded into the deeper water and washed again.
Adam slept aboard the Black Swan. With the first light of dawn he rose, bathed, and shaved his face clean of the unkempt beard. He studied his reflection. His face was hard and lean, the bronzed skin paler where the beard had hidden it from the sun. The flesh was drawn tight on his cheekbones. He was thinner and more angular, and to the sensitive curve of his mouth was added the unrelieved look of hurt in his eyes. Even he could see it. But now he knew he hadn't killed Dulcie, not by carelessness, not by poor judgment. He would have died to save her. And that was what had hurt so much. He never had been given the chance.
Studying his image with the same intensity he would a stranger's, he knew that by turning his life into a battleground of self-hate and guilt, he was destroying the goodness of the rest of his life, denying the few precious months he and Dulcie had had. Ramona had flung that at him with such ferocity he couldn't hide from it. He had become afraid to trust anything good or loving. But no more.
Dulcie was gone. He accepted it. But he wouldn't forget her. He would never again make of himself or his life something unworthy.
Adam dressed quickly. "Morning, R.B."
"Well! Good mawin'. Boss! Lawd, kin dat really be de man?"
"No one but." Adam tossed Rosebud one of his favorite small cigars, then squeezed the black man's shoulders. "Thanks."
"You's welcome. Boss. You sho' is welcome."
He spent the day mending fences with Ben and Glory and with the people who had been his friends before the shipwreck. That night he walked down to the Halyard Light. He stood in the street, looking in through the open door. The yellowish light of the lanterns gave the smoky haze a muted look. The men's dark-colored shirts, the bright neckerchiefs, brilliant fire colors of harlots' skirts, all grayed out. The raucous sounds and the odors of sweat and liquor wafted into the street. Ramona Rose's husky, sensual voice blared out as she sang and danced on her rickety stage. The loud jeering voices of drunken men blended in with her deep alto.
Adam stared, forcing himself to take note of every sign of decay. That ramshackle building, the floors crusted with tramped dirt and stains of years, the men whose faces showed the constant abuse of their habits, Ramona's voice that told so much more than the words she spoke. He had sought solace in that hellhole. H was important that he know it for the falsity it was. As Ben had said, he had to have been half out of his mind to seek comfort in Bedlam.
Adam made his next run into Wilmington without making his usual stop at Zoe's. Though he didn't expect Tom to be there, he decided to anchor below Price Creek. The Black Swan was positioned so Adam could see the Union ships surrounding both New Inlet and Old Inlet.
Shortly after ten o'clock Tom clambered up the Jacob's ladder Adam had left swinging over the side of the ship.
"Adam, boy!" he cried, clasping Adam's hand, then drawing him close in an awkward, affectionate embrace. "Zoe told me you were here the better part of six weeks, an' I was off huntin' in that damned swamp with Seth an' his boys. She tol' me what happened to Dulcie, son." His hoarse voice choked with emotion. "To some it might seem you 'n' me don't have much luck with our women, but don't you fool yourself, Adam. The only gift God gives any man is love. Mebbe you 'n' me didn't have it long, but we did have it. We had the real thing. An' what's more, we knew it."
Adam turned away.
"Aw, Christ, don't be ashamed of tears." Tom sniffed and laughed, slapping him on the back. "Come on, you ol* horse turd, gimme a drink. I know you got the best."
Tom settled himself on Adam's bunk. "This is some-thin'," he said admiringly. "Come up a step or two since the ol' Ullah, ain't you?"
Adam shrugged. "A little more carving, a little more brass."
Tom stared into his brandy, sniffing the nutty aroma. *Shor' don't smell like that firewater Seth brews up. If 01' Jeff Davis had any smarts, he'd pass out a ration of Seth's brew to every Yankee soldier. Afore they got to their feet again, we'd wipe 'em off the earth."
Adam laughed and changed the subject.
"What effect do you think Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation will have on us?"
"We'll still get some darkies wantin' to pack for the North."
"What will you do, keep them in the swamp 'til we get six or so?"
"I don't think you ought to make the run into New York for any fewer. It's not as safe as it was before, is it?"
Adam shook his head. "There are Yankee ships everywhere. They cruise from here to the Bahamas. Damned bastards lurk beyond the Out Islands just waiting for some runner to move out of British waters. Mostly though, it's that place of Rod's that spooks me. His harbor is really boxed in. I don't seriously think anyone is going to follow me in there, but all it would take is for someone to spot me, alert the Yankees, and let them wait for me to come out. I'd have one hell of a time outrunning them, even in this ship."
"Mebbe it's time you 'n' me got out of the slave-haulin* business."
"I'm not ready to put up the white feather yet," Adam said. "But a little caution won't hurt. I keep feeling things are closing in around me."
"Boy, you are givin' me a bad case o' the cowardlies. If you're gettin' anxious, I want you to stop. Forget the whole thing."
"Not yet. The only kin of Dulcie's I know live somewhere on Manhattan. Every trip I've made, I stopped at the Raymers', but they're out of the country. God, Tom, everywhere I looked for her people, there was nothing left. It's as though all trace of her, her family, everything—it's all gone.'*
"I'd like to tell you not to think like that, Adam, but I remember when Ullah died, I left like someone had emptied the whole world of everything good and left me behind with nothing. Ullah was all there was, and she was gone like she had never been."
"But at least you have Angela. Ullah is in her, too. You have something left."
Tom shifted restlessly. "There's two sides to that," he said. Then quickly: "It's near eleven o'clock, the tide's right, an' you gotta sail."
Adam handed Tom a thick envelope. "Give this to Ma for me, will you?"
"I was wonderin' if you was jes' goin' off without a word to your ma. She an' Mammy have damn near wore out their knees prayin' for you. Zoe'll be mighty pleased to hear you're all right."
"See you next trip, Tom. Say hello to Seth for me, and Johnnie Mae."
"She always asks about you. That woman's the damndest toughest individual I ever did see. She can outhunt, out-shoot, an' outrun any man in those swamps. Make her happy to hear you think of her."
When Glory Hallalooya cared about someone, she left no doubt. The moment Adam stepped onto the pier, she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Adam, I have a surprise for you!"
"I'm afraid to ask."
"Ha! Well, I'm not going to tell you either. Not until Ben comes back."
"You're a wretched little tease. Why isn't Ben back? I thought he was due in from Charleston."
Glory batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly. "He was detained from leaving."
Adam roared. "Poor Ben. He has no idea what a minx you truly are.'*
"Adam, if you ever tell him, I'll never forgive you." She was smiling, but she was half-serious.
"Why, Miss Glory Hallalooya, I think you care more about Ben then you've let on. Which of you is it who cares? Glory Hallalooya or Eleanor Brooker?" He helped her into the waiting carriage.
She fussed with her parasol. "Oh, Adam, I don't know. Ben could never ... I mean . . .oh, shoot! Glory Hallalooya has always been fun—for everyone. But I'm Eleanor Brooker, too, and Adam, I think I love him. I mean, really love him. What am I gonna do?"
"Keep right on being yourself. Glory. Ben doesn't keep coming back to you just because you're fu
n. He's not like that. Anyway, how long's it been since Glory Hallalooya has been fun for anyone but Ben West?"
"Since Beau died. But Ben doesn't know that."
"Would you like to bet a new bonnet against a box of Havana cigars?"
The horse swerved as Adam's hands jerked on the reins.
Glory bounded up to hug and kiss him. "Oh, Adam, I love you!"
*'I know," he muttered.
Glory's surprise for Adam was a young woman.
"Glory, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I want you to listen to me. I don't want a woman, and certainly not just any woman."
"But Adam, you just don't realize how much better off you'd be with some nice girl who'd be waiting here for you, so happy to see you whenever you got back."
"You're more than enough."
"But I'm not. It's not the same as it used to be when you'd lean over the rail and tell me to keep the bed warm. You know I'd do that for you even now, Adam, but I don't think you'd want that, and it'd make Ben unhappy, and—"
"I want you just as my friend," he finished for her.
"Yes, so you do need someone else. She's so sweet, Adam, and I've invited her to dinner tonight, and if you say you won't go, I'll just die!"
Adam looked at her through lazy, narrowed eyes. "Besides Dulcie, you're the most persistent, conniving female I ever knew. What's her name?"
Glory's face clouded. "Well . . . she doesn't know. We call her Apples 'cause of her pretty red cheeks, but no one knows who she really is."
"What do you mean? Doesn't she know who she is?"
"She came to Nassau while you were gone. Captain Drover found her floating around in the waters off Bimini in one of those little boats you use to haul the cargo ashore—a lightboat or—"
"Lighters. Where had she come from?'*
"He doesn't know. She was nearly dead when he got her. Captain Drover and Ben figured she must have been a passenger on one of the runners' ships that went down. The way you men come and go, not always returning to the same ports, no one can keep track of you. How many blockade runners do you know that we haven't seen for the last year? We don't know if they're alive or not."