Drum (29 page)

'Turn around and face him." Maspero pointed to Drum. ••You're picking her, fellow, so you have my leave to finger her if you want."

Taking her cue from Maspero's words, the girl, with an over-exaggerated movement of her hips, hands still lifting her breasts, strutted over to Drum.

"I don't min' havin' a nigguh masta', seeing as how's he's a pretty man like yo'." Her hands slipped down from her breast to glide provocatively over her flanks. "Yo' likes me, pretty man?"

In his present condition Drum was quite willing to settle for the first one that came along, but even though this one's superb body enticed him, he found her face ugly with its high cheekbones and thin nose. He hesitated and then shook his head slowly.

"Mayhap 111 come back to you," he promised.

" 'Member my name, pretty man. My name Alix."

"Hell no, DrumI Pass her by! Never do to have two by the same name in the same house," LeToscan shouted. "Bring on another, Maspero."

The next was more to Drum's liking. She was bright of skin, dainty and delicate, with short curls which danced all over her head and little breasts no bigger than oranges. With modesty she spread her hands in front of her and walked demurely, her head cast down.

"A pretty wench," Maspero said. "Only sixteen and good blood oil her father's side. A mulatto from Teneriflfe Plantation."

She walked over to Drum and had he raised his arm, she could have passed under it without stooping, so tiny she was. His fingers itched to touch her bright skin and he drew her closer, cupping one breast in his hand and letting the other slide slowly down her back. She seemed emotionless, devoid of any response, but he liked her and he hesitated. His mind was made up for him by de Marigny.

'Too small for you, Drum. She'd never be able to take you. You'd kill her the first night."

And so they passed before him—African black, mulattos, quadroons, octoroons, tiercerons, griffes and marabous — some with a sprinkling of white blood which gave a glowing brightness to their skins and some the unadulterated ebon black of Africa. He was confused by the multiplicity of choices. Each was warm and provocative and each possessed that which he desired more than anything else. Some he

called closer to him that he might pass his hands over them and let his fingers linger on their soft flesh. Some he hesitated to touch for fear the slightest contact might prove climactic. Their very nearness, their odor, their warmth and their womanhood inflamed him and in desperation he would have settled for any one at hand if only he could be back with her in the little room of the gargonniere at Madame's. But his audience insisted that he see them all.

And see them all he did imtil the very last one, who caiosed such a coimnotion before she was forcibly lifted up the steps that Drum's desire was cooled by his curiosity to see what was happening. The girl struggled like an eel in the arms of the slaves who held her, a maelstrom of black arms and legs, snarling, kicking, biting and thrashing, screaming with vehemence and hatred. Once she eluded her captors and only by grabbing her legs and throwing her to the ground did they succeed in recapturing her. Even the little whip of the overseer, wrapping around her legs, did nothing to subdue her; she only shrieked the louder. Finally she was carried up onto the platform where one of the slaves held her, her wrists secm-ely anchored behind her back in his big hands. Her chest heaving, she glared at Drum and spat at him, but her very defiance made him certain he desired her more than all the others who had submitted so meekly.

"A guaranteed Jaloff, messieurs." Maspero leaned forward in his chair to run his hands over her flanks. "Pure blooded I First one I've had in over a year. Rare, you know. Most beautiful niggers that ever came out of Africa. Grandmothers of most of the quadroons you gentlemen find so exciting." He slapped her roimd buttocks. "Yes, messieurs, a real Jaloff."

"A real vixen," someone from the audience spoke.

"Spirited as a fine horse but she can be broken. A spitfire: now but she'll give any man a run for his money."

Drum gasped and he heard the same sharp intake of: breath from several of the seated men. This was no bright-skinned hybrid with a superficial veneer of white beauty. This was African—a resplendent young animal, with a skin of burnished sheen that resembled blue-black steel in the shadows and polished copper where the Ught of the flambeaux gilded it. Her head was covered with a close cap of smooth black velours; her face was an delicately profiled as a Greek coin and its angry contortion seemed to add to its beauty, for the eyes were wide set, the nose straight and

finely nostriled, the lips full and beautifully formed. Her breasts were round, not pointed and pear-shaped as with so many of her black sisters, and the nipples stood high in dark violet bosses. There was a suggestion of felinity about her long clean limbs, the grace and power of a black leopard in the twitching muscles imder the velvet skin.

With a sudden twist, she freed herself from her captor and sprang at Drum, threatening him with her teeth, her eyes rolling in frenzy. Talon-Uke, her hands reached up to rip his face but he caught them and forced them down with one strong arm, pinioning her motionless. His free hand roved over her body. She stood, panting, enduring Drum's hand as it lifted her face that he might see its perfection more clearly; stroked the throbbing column of her- throat; lifted the orbs of her breasts, weighing their opulence, relinquishing them to wander over the globe of her belly and then seek the dark sanctuary between her legs. He bent over slightly, the better to accommodate the investigations of his hand and as his head lowered past her face, she pounced, fastening her teeth in the lobe of his ear. Drum let out a yelp of pain. His hand left the warm softness where it so greatly desired to linger and came up swiftly with a cuff that knocked her head to one side. Surprised, it was her turn to yelp in pain, and she stood still, quivering before him.

"Our Drum's got another fight on his hands," someone shouted. "Don't use your knee this time because if you don't want her, I do."

Drum looked down at the shining face so close to his own. With a last gesture of defiance, she darted her tongue out at him. Again he cuffed her with such force that her head jolted sideways. He could feel the tenseness passing out of her body and when she looked up at him again, the blazing enmity of her eyes had died down to a smoldering fire. ^ "Why are you fighting me, girl?" he whispered to her. ■b Surprisingly, she answered in good French, not in Gombo.

"No colored man is going to pester me. I've been raised for a white master."

"No white man could ever love you like I will. Trust me, girl." Aloud he asked, "What's your name?"

"Calinda," she answered, biting off the word as though she hated it.

It was enough to set the audience singing again and they stomped their feet to keep time to the music.

Danse, Calinda, danse avec Drum

Dense, Calinda, sous tu homme.

Dense, Calinda, bou-djoumb!

"He'll be dancing on top of her soon. Aiel Calinda! Wait till you see what Drum has waiting for you."

Drum's arm still held her tight although he sensed it was no longer necessary. Her brief rebellion was over. She was as ripe for mating as he was himself. She saw how handsome he was, despite the purple eye which was now completely closed, and the sting of his slap on her cheek was now sweet to her.

"I want this one." Drum appealed to the faces below him.

"She's yours," de Marigny answered as spokesman. "And there's not a man here who doesn't envy you."

"She's expensive, that one." Maspero grinned, figuring how much extra he could get from this group of young hotheads.

"How much?" de Marigny countered.

"Seven himdred dollars and that's rock-bottom. On the block she might fetch a thousand."

De Marigny seldom thought twice about money. He stood up and counted the men. "Each man here is assessed twenty-five dollars. Cheap enough for an evening's entertainment. Pay Maspero, and you, Maspero, write out a bill of sale to Madame Alix de Vaux for this girl Calinda. Drum's a slave himself so he can't own her."

The men rose and made their way to the platform, each withdrawing his porte-monnaie. Drum relaxed his hold on the girl but instead of moving away, she snuggled closer to him.

"Calinda," he whispered again, "you're mine now."

"They call you Drum?" she asked.

"I am Drum."

"I've never had a man. Drum. My old master was saving me for his son up north. When the young master came back, I was to be his but old master died and yoimg master never came so now you're my master."

Drum shook his head. "Not master, Calinda. Tm a slave too."

"Then how could you buy me?"

"I'm not buying you, these men are. You'll belong to my mistress, Madame Alix."

"Who's she?" Calinda bristled. "Will she let me be yours. Drum?"

"She will." De Marigny was standing on the platform and he had overheard the last of the conversation. "She will, no

doubt about that. And now, put on your dress, Calinda, and we'll start." He handed Drum a piece of paper. "Give this to Madame Alix."

Once again the procession started through the streets but this time de Marigny and LeToscan walked behind Drum and Calinda, watching Drum's arm about the girl and his fingers feeling the warmth of her flesh through the rough fabric. When they reached the Academy of Music, Rachel was waiting anxiously at the open door and the whole company would have entered again, had not de Marigny blocked their passage through the little door that opened in the big double doors of the gate.

"We disperse now, messieurs," he said.

"Oh no, Bernard." Young Pablo Hernandez wet his lips with his tongue. "Now comes the most exciting part. We're going to watch her and Drum get together."

"Sure, Bernard."

"That's what we've been waiting for."

"That will be the piece de resistance of the evening,"

"Surely having bought her, we can see her broken in."

"We've seen how Drum handled his man, now we want to see how he handles his woman."

De Marigny, his arms still across the door with Drum and Calinda inside beside Rachel, looked out on the faces of his friends.

"It would be a most interesting spectacle, I agree with you. But impromptu and impropre. It would be lacking in finesse. We would merely see a fumbling man moimting what looks to be an unwilling woman. There might be a certain spiciness in seeing him master her but let us wait, mes amis. Later, in another week, perhaps, we can petition Madame for a real performance, such as Madame alone can stage. We "shall all appreciate it more, for with rehearsals, the act will be smoother, more interesting, much more professional and much more to your liking."

"But she won't be a virgin then."

"Chances are she's not a virgin now," Marigny smiled. "All wenches claim to be on the block, but virgins are a rarity which I have never encountered except on my own plantation."

"Bernard's right," LeToscan agreed. "Let Madame Alix handle this and you'll not be disappointed. Besides, I'm tired." He yawned to prove it. "So let us wish our Drum good luck tonight and leave him."

Although some grumbled their disappointment, they all started to leave. De Marigny was the last and he turned to Drum behind him.

"Plow the ground well tonight, Drum," he smiled. "Plow it and harrow it and prepare it for seed. Learn how to do it well. My friends and I shall be here soon to witness a special performance for which tonight will be only a rehearsal. Can we covmt on that?"

"With a little practice, m'sieur, I should be well able to repay you for all you have done for me tonight. May I thank you for your goodness?"

"You may and shall. Drum. I shall return before the others, alone, and you and Calinda can both thank me, together and separately." He turned and left.

Rachel shepherded the two through the empty courtyard. There were no lights for there had been no further music in the Academy after the men had left. Alix appeared on the upper balcony, her nightgown a blur of pale white in the darkness.

"Did they buy one, Rachel?"

"Yes, madame."

"And what kind of a wench did they get?"

"A fine one, madame, as far as I can see in this light. She's black."

"Black? Didn't you want a bright one. Drum?"

"I'm satisfied," he answered.

"Bring her here in the morning and I will examine her. Oh, Drum, be sm-e to fold your clothes when you take them off. You might be in too much of a hurry to think of it."

Rachel led them across the courtyard to the narrow stairs that ascended to the gargonniire. A candle in a brass stick was in readiness on one of the lower steps and she struck the flint in her pocket tinderbox, waited for a flame to appear, and lit the candle. She held it up to Calinda's face.

"She's pure black, Drum. I hoped you'd get a quadroon."

"Black or white, she's the girl I wanted, maman."

Rachel kissed the girl gently, put the candle in her hand and pushed them both up the first narrow step. As she watched them go up, she called out to Drum.

"I've put clean sheets on your bed and there's a pan of water with towels. You'll find leaves of bergamot, vervain and verbena to rub yourselves with and a jar of scented tallow to make it easier for her. Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit, maman," Drum answered, his hand caressing the ascending legs of the girl before him on the stairs.

They entered the little room and Drum snuffed the candle. In the darkness he stripped off his clothes and they fell on the floor in hasty forgetfulness of Madame's instructions. The rough osnaburg dress followed. Not for them were the leaves of bergamot—the warm smell of flesh was a far sweeter perfume. Not for them the pan of water and the towels—the smooth slipperiness of sweaty skin was far more lubricous. Step by step, so closely joined together that they cast only one pale shadow on the moonlit floor, they neared the bed and then were upon it.

For a few moments there was a spasmodic movement as lips sought Ups. The movements increased and there was a little scream of terror from the girl. Drum put a hand over her mouth and she did not scream a second time, but only moaned softly. Eventually the movements on the bed ceased, only to start again a short time later. Throughout the hours of darkness that followed, until the moonlight had fled and the stronger light of dawn crept into the Uttle room, the movements started and stopped again at intervals. Some time after the full force of the sun had flooded the room. Drum got up and closed the shutters. In the sun-streaked darkness, they both slept, tightly embracing on the narrow bed.