Sunlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 2)

by Fergus O'Connell

  Gilbert couldn’t believe it. The negroes were on their own outside. Oh Jesus, he thought. Oh Jesus.

  ‘Come on over here,’ said Gilbert eagerly, making room for him. Gilbert took the most modest picture of Clara and passed it to Hays. He took it in his free hand.

  ‘She’s sure pretty,’ said Hays.

  ‘Here, let me have another look,’ said Leroy, almost snatching the picture out of Hays’ hand.

  Gilbert gave Hays the cocked bum. He whistled appreciatively. Gilbert didn’t know how long Roberto needed, or even if he had been in place to see Hays getting into the wagon.

  Leroy went to snatch the second picture and Hays pulled it away.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute, son,’ he said, and he didn’t sound pleased. ‘I ain’t finished with this one.’

  A duly reprimanded Leroy waited until Hays passed it to him.

  ‘I want these ones,’ said Leroy, gathering up the open thighs, the cradled breast and the cocked bum.

  ‘Who says you got first call on ‘em?’ said Hays.

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen, there’s no need for any kind of argument. You can each have a set.’

  ‘Exactly the same?’ asked Leroy suspiciously.

  ‘Identical,’ said Gilbert.

  ‘What they cost?’ asked Hays.

  ‘Two dollars for a set,’ said Gilbert.

  ‘Jeez, that’s a lot of money,’ said Hays.

  ‘It’ll be peanuts to you gentlemen when you’ve sold your slaves,’ said Gilbert.

  ‘That’s true enough,’ said Hays.

  Leroy said nothing. He continued to gaze at the picture of Clara with her thighs apart. Gilbert wasn’t sure how much time had passed or what was happening outside. He just knew he had to keep talking.

  ‘I could sell you some extra copies and you could take them back to the South with you. Sell ’em on,’ he said.

  He looked at Hays expectantly. Slowly Hays put down the photograph he was holding. He looked at Gilbert, looked at his gun and seemed to consider the weapon thoughtfully. Then, with a very unpleasant smile, he said, ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you just give me all the sets that you have in that there box, and in return, I might just let you ride away from here?’

  ‘Ah hey now,’ said Gilbert, soothingly. We’re all businessmen here ––’

  He stopped speaking as Hays brought up the gun and positioned its muzzle at Gilbert’s throat.

  To Leroy Hays said, ‘And why don’t you stop gawping at that woman’s privates and go outside and see to them negras?’

  Leroy put down the photograph and took a step towards the rear of the wagon. As he did so, Hays said, ‘Come on, gimme that box.’

  There was a gunshot from outside. ‘Jesus!’ Leroy and Hays exclaimed simultaneously. They rushed towards the rear of the wagon where they jostled to be first one out.

  ‘Roberto!’ Gilbert heard himself cry.

  30

  Gilbert found a list in Sarah’s desk and sent a passing boy out to find another doctor – Doctor Campbell. He came round, examined Sarah and then announced, with considerable annoyance, ‘She’s just dead drunk, Mister Owens. Let her sleep it off. She’ll probably vomit and the sooner the better.’

  Then, more gently, he added, ‘Just keep an eye on her.’

  If Gilbert was expecting gratitude when she came round, she soon disabused him of that. Instead she asked whether it was true another doctor had been here. He told her it had been Doctor Campbell. She flew into an instant rage, screaming that Doctor Campbell was a ‘close colleague’ and ‘a dear personal friend’ and how could she ever look him in the eye again. Gilbert had ruined her ‘personally and professionally’. She tried to rise from the bed and he went to her, afraid that she would fall out and hurt herself. When he got within range she flailed at him with both fists, screaming at him all the while. Eventually he had to use his greater strength to press her down onto the bed until suddenly all the energy seemed to empty out of her and she lay there staring at the ceiling. He asked her if he could get her anything and in a whisper, so that he had to lean close to her to hear it, she said, ‘Get out. Get out of my house. Get out of my life.’

  He stayed in the house, going upstairs periodically to make sure she was still breathing. He sent a note off to Elisabeth saying that something had come up and he would be back in a few days. Could she mind the studio and make appointments next week for anybody that came in? It wasn’t ideal but it was the best he could do. Then it was just a question of waiting.

  It took several days before she would speak to him or take any food. During that time, he would find her either asleep or staring at the ceiling. When he looked in, she would ignore him or else turn away. He would speak to her, ask her if he could get her anything but she ignored him. Eventually, on the third day, the silence was broken. She began to cry and he sat on the bed beside her and held her in his arms. He rocked her to and fro like a baby.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ she said.

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Some of it.’

  ‘You’re going to kill yourself if you carry on like this,’ he said. ‘Is it me? Are you unhappy with me? Because of me?’

  He held her shoulders and looked into her tear sodden face. For the first time he noticed that it didn’t seem quite as luminous as the first time he had seen it. He couldn’t say what the difference was. Thinner, perhaps. Pinched. More lines at the corners of the eyes and deeper hollows under them. The skin not as radiant or healthy looking.

  ‘If it’s me that’s making you unhappy, I’ll get out of your life,’ he said. ‘I only want you to be ––’

  But before he could get any further, she erupted into tears again. She seized him and pulled him to her, squeezing him so much that it almost hurt. She said, ‘No please, please don’t leave me.’

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ he said. ‘But I just want you to be happy.’

  ‘I am. I am happy. I’m happy with you,’ she sobbed.

  He almost laughed. Gently, he said, ‘But if this is you happy …’

  He let the words trail off.

  Now she moved away from him a little so that she could look into his eyes.

  ‘I am happy,’ she said. ‘Do you understand – I love you, Gilbert. I adore you. I’m going to try to get better. I want to defeat this … this illness … this thing that takes me over. I want to defeat it.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ he said. ‘We’ll do it together. Together we’ll beat it.’

  31

  Hays and Leroy tumbled out of the wagon. Gilbert was frantic. If Roberto was dead, Gilbert knew he would just turn back now. There would be no Gettysburg, no photographs, no possible new life. In despair he pushed through the black canvas canopy.

  The first thing he saw was Hays and Leroy with their hands up. The reason for this was that just beyond them was the sheriff from Urbana. He sat a fine black horse and was surrounded by five other riders. All of them had rifles at their shoulders. Some were pointed at Hays and Leroy, the rest to Gilbert’s right. There, two black men still with their necks roped together held their hands up. Of the other blacks there was no sign. Beside the two blacks was Roberto, hands up, still holding his knife and looking relatively unconcerned. Nobody appeared to be hurt. The shot had evidently been a warning.

  ‘You too, Mister Owens,’ said the sheriff. ‘Step down and hands up.’

  Gilbert did as he was told while the sheriff surveyed the scene in front of him. Once again he looked not at all like a sheriff but rather a businessman out for a morning ride. His shirt was fresh and his trousers were tucked into shiny, expensive looking riding boots. His hat looked like it had come straight from the shop.

  ‘So what do we have here now, Mister Owens? Transacting business with enemies of the Union, are we?’

  ‘No sheriff,’ said Gilbert. ‘These men were trying to rob me.’

  ‘He was sellin’ us dirty pictures,’ blurted o
ut Leroy.

  ‘And you two Rebels,’ said the sheriff, ignoring him. ‘Ain’t nobody told you that the slaves are free now?’

  The two Rebels said nothing. The sheriff seemed to be considering what to do. If Gilbert had gotten the measure of the man correctly then he knew what was going to come next.

  ‘Johnny Reb, can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t take you two and hand you over to the first Union troops I see?’

  Leroy looked at Hays.

  ‘We ain’t got no money, if that’s what you mean,’ said Hays.

  ‘Take ‘em, boys,’ said the sheriff. ‘Charlie, Jessie, tie ’em up and take ’em up the road towards Gettysburg. Hand ’em over to the first Union troops you see.’

  Two men got down from the horses and began to tie Hays’ and Leroy’s hands behind their backs. ‘As for you two gentlemen,’ said the sheriff to the two negroes. ‘I believe you’re free to go.’

  The two men lowered their arms and amidst much ‘tank you boss’ and ‘tank you suh’, took a few steps in the direction of Urbana.

  ‘Somebody help ’em off with that rope,’ said the sheriff. ‘You’re free men. Can’t be going round looking like that, now can you?’

  ‘Nossir, nossir sheriff,’ they said.

  ‘I do it,’ said Roberto brightly.

  He deftly cut away the rope from around their necks.

  With the rope removed the two men hurried off, stroking the backs and sides of their necks with their hands. They glanced back from time to time as though scarcely able to believe their luck. By this time, the tying up of Hays and Leroy had been completed. When the deputies went to put them on their horses, the sheriff said, ‘No, Charlie, they’re gonna be walking. We’ll take their horses and stuff back to Urbana.’

  Charlie nodded. Then he roped the two men together and to his horse just as the blacks had been roped.

  ‘Try it yourself for a while, boys. See how you like it,’ said the sheriff with a wide smile that revealed fine, white teeth.

  Leroy looked sullen and defeated. Hays glared at the sheriff but said nothing. The two deputies, Hays and Leroy moved off.

  ‘Now that just leaves you two gentlemen,’ said the sheriff, looking in turn at Gilbert and Roberto.

  ‘I think we might be able to do a little business together, sheriff,’ said Gilbert. ‘If you’d just like to step into the wagon here.’

  32

  Strangely enough the wedding had been his idea. They had been eating dinner in a restaurant one night. She had been happy and it had been just perfect. So ordinary in so many ways, but perfect nonetheless. That was the thing about her. When she was happy, when the melancholia was safely locked away, then the simplest things gave her pleasure. He had thought so many times of leaving her but that night he knew that he never would.

  He knew – he had decided – that he couldn’t leave her. If he did who else did she have to turn to? Her parents were dead. It wasn’t something that you could call on friends to do – even if she had any close ones, which she didn’t. No, for better or worse now, he would see it through. They would get through it – she would get through it – or … well, he preferred not to think about the alternative.

  He knew that she loved him. Despite the haze of rage and desolation that she sometimes found herself in, she loved him – pure and simple. He knew this. And her love was glorious – especially at times like this when they were doing ordinary things. Then there was the fact that he adored her body – he couldn’t get enough of it. And it seemed to be the same for her, so that their lovemaking was always intense and funny at the same time. It was a rare combination. And finally, he knew that he couldn’t leave her because if he did then she would be alone. And nobody deserved that kind of treatment.

  So that night he asked her if she would like to get married.

  She cried and said that she would love to. And in the end they had two weddings. The evening he proposed was a few days before Christmas. It would take time – a couple of weeks at least – to arrange everything. She didn’t want something big now, just to ask a few people that she knew to some kind of simple dinner or something afterwards. So they agreed they would arrange all of that for as early as possible in the New Year. But neither of them wanted to wait; so on Christmas Eve, they married each other.

  Their home-made ceremony was at her house. He dressed in his best suit and she came down the stairs wearing a new dress that he hadn’t seen before. She was radiant and in tears.

  ‘I made it,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think I was going to but I did.’

  Afterwards, he would wonder about these words. At the time he had just taken their obvious meaning – a statement of relief and happiness. But afterwards he wondered whether there had been something else. Had she not believed that she would make it this far? And now that she had, she had achieved everything she had set out to achieve; felt she was capable of achieving. And the unspoken subtext – that this was pretty much as far as it was going to go and that there wouldn’t be much more after this. At the time though, he had seen none of that.

  They made vows to each other. His were simple. They were the same vows that he had made after their first break-up. He had memorized them.

  ‘I will try to make this year the best year of your life. I will be faithful and cherish you above all others. I will try to bring some magic into your life every day. If there are days when I’m not going to be able to see you, I will write. I would like us to find a place where we could live and be together. I want nothing else but to marry you and be with you.’

  Hers occupied three pages – she had written them down, she said because she didn’t want to forget anything. He still had them – they were the letter in the satchel. Just after Christmas they got married in a registry office. She had little more than two months left to live.

  33

  Roberto and Gilbert were back on the road within twenty minutes of having given the sheriff ten sets of pictures. Gilbert had been tempted to ask for payment but given that the sheriff had probably saved their lives, he was happy enough to let them go. They were elated.

  ‘Well, you did it you crazy Italian,’ said Gilbert.

  Roberto grinned.

  ‘We did it, boss. We two.’

  It wasn’t long before they passed Leroy and Hays and the sheriff’s men. Gilbert tipped his hat and said a subdued ‘howdy’ to the two riders who nodded in reply. The wagon had nearly passed the four men when Gilbert heard Hays say, ‘I’ll be seein’ you agin soon, Mister Smart Ass Photographer, don’t you worry ‘bout that.’

  Gilbert would have been content to pass on without saying a word. But Roberto stood up, turned round and, still holding the reins and with the wagon still in motion, screamed out, ‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you slave-catching sonofabitch!’

  Even Leonardo seemed surprised by the scale of the outburst. He looked round enquiringly and stared at the standing Roberto.

  ‘I’ll git you, you foreign asswipe,’ shouted Hays.

  ‘Vaffanculo, che cazzo!’ shouted Roberto angrily.

  As he said this he extended his right arm with a closed fist facing upwards. Then he vigorously slapped the middle of his extended arm several times with the palm of his other hand, before bending his forearm upwards.

  ‘Come on,’ said Gilbert, tugging at Roberto’s belt. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  It took several minutes for Roberto to decide that he had traded enough insults. Finally he sat down and coaxed Leonardo into a trot. Soon the Confederates and the deputies were out of sight. Gilbert could see that Roberto was still angry. His face was red and his eyes seemed to almost burn as he stared straight ahead.

  ‘Is no good,’ he said. Injustice’ – he pronounced it ‘in-jah-stice’ – ’is no good.’

  ‘No, it’s no good,’ agreed Gilbert. ‘You have it in Italy too, I guess.’

  Roberto nodded grimly. It was almost as though he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Eventually, he said, ‘We ha
ve in Italy too.’

  ‘Something happened to you?’ Gilbert ventured.

  It dawned on him that he knew almost nothing about his companion. Roberto nodded.

  ‘Si,’ he said.

  There was another long silence. Gilbert sensed that Roberto was trying to make up his mind whether to talk about it or not. He turned to look at Gilbert. It was almost as though he was checking to see if he could trust him. He turned away again looking straight ahead at the road. Then he spoke.

  ‘When I live in Italy,’ Roberto began slowly. ‘I’m workin’ as a photographer. I ’ave a little studio in my ’ouse. Well, is my parent’s ’ouse, really. But they die and now I live in the ’ouse. I took some pictures of a young man. They were beautiful pictures. You seen Michelangelo’s “David”, boss?’

  ‘I’ve seen a picture of it.’

  ‘This young man – ’e’s a like David.’

  Gilbert noticed that Roberto had suddenly started sounding very Italian again.

  ‘Anyway, there was a scandal,’ said Roberto.

  ‘A scandal?’ said Gilbert.

  ‘This young man. ’e’s a seventeen.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was accused of being interested in this boy.’

  ‘Interested?’

  Roberto looked at him again. Then the Italian sighed and took a deep breath.

  ‘I hope this will not shock you too much, boss. But it’s good you know. Some men … I suppose you know that there are men who ain’t interested in women?’

  ‘I do,’ said Gilbert tentatively.

  ‘Well, I am one of those men, boss.’

  ‘You’re not interested in women?’

  Roberto had looked at him again as if to gauge his reaction.

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘Only men.’

  ‘Some men, boss. The occasional man. Is the same for you, boss. Your wife was a very special woman for you, no?’

  ‘She was,’ said Gilbert. ‘Very special.’

  ‘So same with me.’

  ‘Except with men?’

  ‘Exactly – with men. Some men. Occasionally. A special man.’