Drum (37 page)

Blaise ducked imder the water to try the reed, then surfaced again.

"Sure, he'd let his baboon carve us up and then send us back to N'Orleans with Babouin's name on us just to jwove we'd been beaten. Nothing we could say would of made any difference. Marigny would have made up some story and his friends would have stuck with him. It would be their word against ours."

"And our word wouldn't be worth a goddam because we're slaves," Drum added.

"So Babouin would have been champion and Marigny'd crow all over that his nigger had licked you."

"If he hadn't killed me. Chances are now that if we don't say anything about it, Marigny won't, because he won't want to be laughed at. But I'm going to tell Dominique You just the same."

Off in the distance, they heard the sound of horses and of horsemen calling to each other as they galloped by. Drum looked at Blaise and winked.

"They've gone," he breathed more deeply, "but we'll stay here a little longer. Look at my back—is it cut badly?" Drum hoisted himself out of the water and Blaise pulled up his

shirt and looked at the wound, washed clean now by the water but still oozing blood.

"About as long as your hand but only skin deep. Hurt?"

"Not much," Drum sank down into the water again to ease the smart of the cut. "Tell me, mon ami, how'd you get loose from that big nigger on your chest?"

"What you say. Drum?" Blaise looked at him as though unable to believe what he had heard.

"You deaf?" Drum grinned. "I said what did you do to that big buck astride you?"

"You said mor'n that," Blaise insisted. "You called me your friend."

"Well, goddamn it, you are. Didn't you just save me from getting carved up?"

"You meant it. Drum? You meant that I am your friend?' Blaise had never felt so happy before. The homeless dog had I found more than a master.

"Sure I meant it. We're friends. Now tell me what happened. You kill that nigger?"

"Sure did, killed both of them."

"How'd you manage the first one?"

"Well that fellow named Bouc-noir that was sitting atop me, he got so interested in what Babouin was doing to you that he turned a httle so's his leg came right across my, mouth. I bit. Chawed right through his pants and bit a hunlq out'n his leg. Phew! he sure tasted like a goat. He rolled off me and I got up, grabbed that branch of wood and pounded his ugly face in while he a-yelling. Then I clobbered Babouin with it. That's all. How long we goin' to stay here m this water. Drum?"

Drum waded to the shore and crawled up the steep bank. Parting the branches of the thicket that grew at the top, he peered out. For several minutes he continued to look, but seeing nobody he turned and motioned for Blaise to follow. Taking their time, keeping as much under cover as possible^ they made their way back to the city by a roundabout way^ but instead of going to the Academy of Music they called first at Dominique You's. Dominique's slave let them in the back door and they waited for You inside in the courti

When Dominique talked with them, he corroborated Drum's opinion. With Babouin and Bouc-noir both dead. Marigny would probably not make another move. A ne^^ scandal, coming on top of Marigny's senseless killing of bis best friend, would be unforgivable.

To assure their safe arrival at the Academy of Music, You was about to order his own carriage but Drum pointed out their wet muddy and bloody clothing, so You compromised by walking with them and offering to explain the matter to Madame Alix.

She, of course, was horrified to think that the great Bernard de Marigny—who had always been one of her best customers—^would stoop so low. But even more she feared that if Marigny should alienate himself from her establishment, the fashionable young bloods would also stay away to the detriment of her business. Dominique however, allayed her fears. Since the death of LeToscan, he said, Bernard had lost most of his fashionable pre-eminence in the city. Alix was only partly convinced. She was inclined in some obscure way to blame both Drum and Blaise, until Dominique convinced her that the fault certainly was not theirs. To prove it, he stripped off Drum's bloody shirt and showed her the knife wound on his back.

Fortunately, as Blaise had diagnosed, the woimd was superficial. Rachel sent Calinda sciurying for cobwebs which she applied to stop the bleeding, then bovmd up the wound. Drum went up to his room and CaUnda followed, heaving her swollen body up the stairs one at a time by grasping the handrail.

As the months had progressed and her body had become more and more misshapen, resembling so Utile her former lithe grace, Drum had fought a growing revulsion. He wanted the slender, panther-like Calinda, not this blowsy woman whose ponderous belly seemed far too big for her slender legs. She was ugly enough when her bulging defomllty was hidden by her rough dress, hiked up in front and dragging in the back, but when she removed her garment and stood before him in her naked pregnancy, the very sight of her repelled him. He knew that it was his child she carried, but he could not bear to have her misshapen flesh beside him on the bed.

Gently, so as not to betray his feelings, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the doorway of his room.

"I'm all right, poupee. Don't worry, just let me sleep. Much has happened this morning but a few hours' sleep will put me to rights. I'm tired as a plantation mule."

"Then let me come and sit beside you and fan you. It will cool you and make you sleep."

'"With you beside me, poupee, I'd get hotter than ever and you know I would not sleep."

"I am no good for you any more, Drum," she sighed, sens» ing his desire to be rid of her.

"No good?" He saw that she was hurt. "Silly poupee! You are to be the mother of my son, and once the squalling little brat appears, I'll show you how much good you are for me. I'm looking forward to it as much as you are. But just figure* Calinda. This morning I have run, I have fought, I have been slashed, I've walked all over New Orleans and now all I want is to sleep."

"But you have not eaten," she insisted. "I will go and prepare food for you and bring it up."

Drum shook his head, "The stairs, poupee! I will not risk my son again on those stairs. But you are right, I am himgry. Fix something good for me and send it up by Blaise."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"You like Blaise?"

"Sure I do. He probably saved my life this morning."

"But not better'n me?" Her jealousy needed reassurance.

"That big black colosse? If he falls down the stairs it wil not injure my son."

She edged out of the door reluctantly, hoping he woulc call her back. Drum realized that he had hurt her by dismiss ing her but it was something he could not help. Soon thingi would be the way they were before and he could make i; all up to her. Mon Dieu! how he would make it up to her He dismissed the matter. Women were stupid, brainless thin§ anyway. What did it matter. She'd get over it—she'd have t< He slipped out of his muddy trousers and stretched out o the bed. His hunger possessed him. He was ravenous. If thji goddamned Blaise forgot to bring him his food, he'd. . . .

That goddamned Blaise! That same Blaise had saved hi life only this morning. K it hadn't been for him he wouldn! be here now, for he knew that with the knife in Babouin' hands it would have been a fight to the death and he woul have been the one to die. Yes, Blaise had saved his Ufi Blaise was a pretty good boy—not much like the stupic gombo-talking bastard he had once been. Perhaps, DruB thought, he had ridden the boy a bit too much in the pasi It had been "Blaise, hop to it! Blaise do this! Blaise do thatf And he was becoming a damned good fighter too. Damno good! Suddenly he saw Blaise in a new Ught. He remembere< the months of devotion he had so carelessly taken for granted

Damne! The fellow had proved his worth.

The door was pushed open by one of Blaise's big feet and he came in, bearing a tray covered with a napkin. He walked over to the bed, laid the tray down beside Drum and whisked away the cloth.

Drum looked at the food, then up at Blaise.

"How you feelin', Drum?"

"Pretty good, mon ami"

Blaise seemed to straighten up and his big lips parted in a wrhite-toothed smile.

"Damned good teeth you got, boy," Drum smiled back.

"Good enough to chaw a piece out of that black goat's leg. Phew! I can taste that nigger meat yet."

"And you saved me from getting cut up," Drum added.

"Didn't save you," Blaise shook his head, "got cut up any-«ray."

"Well at least I haven't got B-a-b-o-u-i-n carved across my jeUy."

Blaise giggled. "Sure wouldn't look very pretty in one of Madame's melees."

; "That part's your business now." Drum studied the plate )f food. He was starved but he did not touch it. He was hinking. Serious thoughts they were. Suddenly he made up ■lis mind.

^ "Well, you ignorant nigger," he reverted to the commanding tone he had used so often with Blaise. "What you stand-^g there a-gawking at me for? Nothing else to do?"

No, Drum." Blaise's smile of happiness faded at the harsh 'ords.

"Well, I got something for you to do, and when I speak, ou jump. Understand?"

Blaise nodded his head. Something wonderful had disap-fieared in his world. For a few moments Dram had freated him as an equal. Once more he was nothing but a [lave.

"Go over there and take down my yellow pants," Drum ffdered. "Hands clean?"

"Yes, masta, washed them afore I came up."

"Don't masta me, you black son of a bitch."

"Yes, Drum."

'Then hop to it. When I tell you something, do it. Don't USt stand there like a hump on a log."

"You gonna wear them pants today, Drum?"

"Don't ask questions. None of your business if I weai those pants or not. Jvunp!"

Blaise took down the pants from the nail and handed them to Drum, who reached into the back pocket and drew out a Uttle cloth bag. He emptied it onto the bed, beside the tray and counted out the silver, gold and bills it contained. He nodded his head.

"More'n enough, Blaise."

"More'n enough for what, Drum?"*

"More'n enough to take you down to Labatut's and ordei you the best suit of clothes in New Orleans—better thai Bastille Croquere wears, and shoes for those big clodhoppen of yours, and a frilly shirt and a black silk stock."

"You means me?" Blaise's big mouth dropped open.

"I mean you, you ignorant nigger son of a bitch, yoi clumsy bastard, you goddamned good-for-nothing hunk o: black meat. Come Sunday, you and I are going tail chasing ii Congo Square and I'll be damned if I'll be seen on th( street with any barefoot buck in a pair of cotton pants. Wak« me up at four and I'll take you down to Labatut's. He'll hav« to measure that hulking frame of yours with a furlong rop< instead of a yard measure but I guess he can do it. And i we can't get shoes for you, I'll take you to Dominique's blacl smith shop and have you shod like a mule. Now, get to he out of here and let me sleep but be sure to wake me up a four."

For the first time in his life, big Blaise wept. He stood lik' a gangling boy, his big feet toed in, while he blubbered Tears ran down his cheeks but while he sobbed he wa grinning. He came over to the bed and bent down, takin, Drum's hand in his big, pink-lined paw.

Between his sobs, he was laughing.

"Go to sleep you goddamned good-for-nothing hunk yellow meat," he laughed and cried at the same time, squeea ing Drum's hand. "Mon ami, I'll wake you at four.

"You'd better, Blaise boy." Drum hoisted himself up o: one elbow. "But remember this, you no-good whorehous stud. I can still lick you fighting."

"You sure can," Blaise ducked out the door to avoi Drum's worn leather shoe which came hurtling across tb room. It hit the door jamb with a thud and Blaise's head re appeared in the door.

"You're always right. Drum, but one thing you sure gc wrong. You called me a no-good whorehouse stud. Peopl

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iround this town think I'm a pretty damned good one." Drum lifted a leg of chicken to his mouth and winked. 'We'll find that out Sunday night when you're doing it for :un rather than for money." Drum ripped the meat from the )one and sent the bone flying after Blaise. Blaise caught it, (tuck it in his mouth and ran down the stairs, his bare feet dumping on the boards.

chapter x

Drum's Sunday promenade with Blaise, in all his new sartorial glory, had to be deferred for a week because M. Labatut, the tailor, could not, of course, give precedence to Blaise's suit over those of his white patrons. Even though, as Drum had the temerity to argue—and with a white man too—their money was just as good as white money. It was, however, finished by the middle of the following week and delivered to the Academy of Music by a cocksure little colored boy. The arrival of the big box, splendidly covered with a remnant of wallpaper and tied around with green tape, was almost too much for the long-expectant Blaise. He carried it up to Drum's room as he might a crate of eggs, where he found his idol stretched out on the bed.

"Open it up!" Drum was impatient to see the suit but Blaise's hands lingered lovingly and long over the gaudy paper box. His big fingers struggled to unknot the tap€ and he was deaf to Drum's "Cut it!" Finally he managed to untie the knot, and carefully wound the tape around his fingers to save it. Even the worthless length of tape was a valued possession, and possessions had been missing in Blaise's life. Then came the moment of Ufting the covei and removing the layer of tissue paper. Blaise took a long breath and took the suit out of the box. He was speechles* in open-mouthed awe.

"Put it on!" Drum yawned elaborately to show that he was not impressed with fine apparel, although he was quite as ex^ cited as Blaise. "You'll need drawers. Cain't put those fin« pants on over your bare ass. You sweaty and stinkin'?" hfl asked. i

"Washed myself clean this momin'," Blaise assured him. i

"You still sweaty and stinkin' and always will be," Drurs laughed. He knew now that Blaise would not take every wore seriously.

"Ain't got no drawers, never had none," Blaise said. "What's a nigger like me doing with drawers?"

"Let you wear mine then. Wear them, not keep them for your own, im'erstand?" Drum got up and rummaged in the pile of clothes on the floor until he found his own drawers which he threw at Blaise. "Ain't too dirty—only worn them a week."

Blaise stripped off the rough cotton pants and the mended cotton shirt which, with an identical outfit now hanging on the clothesline in the courtyard, were the only garments he possessed. He pulled on the drawers Drum had tossed to him. Then came the almost unbearable joy of dressing.

M. Labatut had pointed out that to duplicate the green and yellow splendor of Drum's suit would lessen the effect of both. Blaise had indeed set his heart on a suit identical with Drum's but when he saw the wealth of other colors and materials which M. Labatut spread before them he was quite willing to change. After much deliberation. Drum and Blaise had finally settled on a coat of deep-purple broadcloth with reveres of pale-lavender satin, identical in cut with Drum's—short in front, cut in a straight line around the midriff, but long in tail behind with coattails lined with the same delicate lavender satin. The trousers were to be of the same shade of lavender, fastened like Drum's with straps that held them taut under the instep of the shoes.

Blaise was so excited and so confounded by the intricacies of buttons and straps that he would never have been able to accomplish dressing himself, had it not been for Drum's expert valeting. First, after the drawers, came the ruffled shirt of fine lawn with its small buttonholes and tiny pearl buttons —far too complicated for Blaise's big fingers. Then there were socks of white French lisle to be drawn over his big feet, all preparatory for the big event, the trousers. To avoid soiling them. Drum made Blaise stand on the one wooden chair in the room and ease the sausage-tight pants slowly up over his bulging calves and over his thighs, then fasten them around the tucked-in shirt with a complexity of buttons and straps, all of which were as bewildering to Blaise as a cat's-cradle of string.

Getting the shoes on, big as they were, over Blaise's feet was something of an accomplishment. Once on, he was scarcely able to stand in them but Drum insisted, in spite of his moans, that he wear them. Blaise managed, although his feet, homy, calloused and spread out as they were from a

lifetime of freedom, were scarcely suited for shoes. But the imprisomnent of his feet was quickly forgotten in the glory of the purple broadcloth coat whose rich plum color was particularly becoming to the deep sepia of his skin. Everything fitted to perfection, for old M. Labatut was a master tailor and had seldom had such an impressive model on which to display his artistry.

The lavender trousers were as Blaise's own skin; there was j a snowy whiteness to the ruffled shirt and a perky jauntiness 1 to the tied cravat; an over-all glossiness in the rich broadcloth and the shiny satin of the coat; a polished blackness , to the shoes which quite transformed the former field hand. Added to the sophistication of the new clothes was a cosmopolitan poise which Blaise had learned—a result of his careful aping of Drum—^that made it quite impossible to recognize the clumsy brut who had formerly wielded a cane knife,, in this sartoriaUy perfect young buck.

When Sunday afternoon finally arrived and Blaise again donned his clothes to walk with Drum to Congo Squared had it not been for the color of his skin, his excessive heighlj and the way the plum-colored broadcloth stretched tightl] over his shoulders, he might have been mistaken for any of the young Creole hommes du haut monde. The purple and! lavender were an excellent foil for Drum's green and gold, sufficient to bedazzle the eyes of any wench, and if both strutted a little too arrogantly and tiuiied up their noses a1 their less fortunate brethren whose only claim to Sunday elegance was the same shirts and breeches they wore every day—although carefully laundered—these two were to bgj forgiven for their snobbishness. Even though they were both slaves, they were now aristocrats among their fellows. '

But even slavery could be forgotten on a Sunday aftemooo! in early spring, with all the excitement of Congo Squarei spread out before them. This was the day that all slavesi longed for and this was their own particular domain. Here,: for one brief afternoon and evening, the household slaves of: the city and nearby plantations were permitted to meet in a social whirl of their own. It almost rivaled camivali Booths, covered with a tatterdemalion patchwork of ragged; awnings, were set up crazily along the banquettes that bordered the square, and here free men and women of color attended to their own little businesses. There were a variety of refreshments, most of which could be bought for a copper penny. Pigs' knuckles, ham hocks, spareribs and crisply fried;

bacon rind mingled their odors with messes of boiled peas, coUard greens and turnip. Flaky brioches were waiting to be filled with shucked pink shrimps; piles of fruit invited strong white teeth to savor their juices; crusty French bread could be dipped in strop de batterie; and sections of pale green cane could be chewed for their delicious sweetness. Here, also, the outer as well as the inner man could be satisfied, for there was scarcely a slave present who did not have at least a two-bits lagniappe, solemnly presented to him every Saturday night by his master. For ail there was something to tempt the coins from their pockets—booths of cheap brass jewelry, with enormous hoop earrings; gold-washed, glass-stoned brooches; cheap filigreed bouquet holders which dangled on a chain from a wench's black finger; and gaudy cuflf links and cravat pins for the young bucks who had neither cuffs nor cravats.

One of the most popular booths of all had an awning that cast a purple shadow over big Hyacinthe, the conjure man from Haiti, who sat with his young, gazelle-eyed assistant, Lucifer, behind a ^ooden board on which were spread a number of red- and blue-wrapped paper packets. The red contained a love potion which would bring the most diffident swain panting after the girl who desired him, while the blue were guaranteed to send any girl a-nmning to a man's bed. Big Hyacinthe sat back in the shade, certain that many of the packets were purchased by women who had their eyes on him, while others yearned for the pretty Lucifer, whose assignations, accomplished under the board counter of the booth, further added to Hyacinthe's income.

Drum and Blaise promenaded slowly and magnificently as befitted two peacocks among the lesser barnyard fowl. Many there were who knew Drum and his reputation as Madame's fighting boy but few had ever seen Blaise before; his magnificence created quite a stir. Wide-hipped, big-bosomed black girls in starched white cottons with their madras tignons of vivid blues, greens, scarlets and purples, passed the two with a high-pitched cackle to attract attention and a hopeful backward glance to see if it had been effective. A number of the girls who eyed them carried a small roll of rag carpet under one arm, advertising themselves as two-bit prostitutes who were only too willing to spread their bit of carpet in the dust of some dark alley or under a bush for the quick gratification of any man who had the necessary money. But Drum and Blaise were looking for neither

black girls nor two-bit whores. They were seeking at least a i mulatto or, if possible, a quadroon—some girl whose bright : skin would be a fitting complement to their obviously high : station. Bright-skinned girls were, however, hard to find in Congo Square. Most quadroon and octoroon girls were trained for higher game than the slaves who congregated there on a Simday afternoon. They were the carefully nurtured hothouse plants which were raised apart from both blacks and whites to make their demure debuts at the famous quadroon balls, where it was hoped they would attract a rich white man who would set them up in style. Only those who were employed as household slaves ever appeared in Congo Square. Yet Drum had found them there before and he was most certain that he and Blaise would encounter them again.

They wandered off the banquette, over into the square itself, where an impromptu orchestra of banjos, guitars, dnuns and bones was playing. Some couples were dancing with abandon to the AJfrican rhythms and Drum and Blaise stopped to watch them. One girl, dancing with closed-eyed ecstasy, excited Blaise with her gyrating hips, and he would have approached her when she finished dancing, but. Drum held him back.

"Nigger slut!" Drum spat in the dust. "You wants some-, thing better than that musky wench. You let me do the pick-i ing. Don't get too anxious! Keep your pants buttoned till it; gets dark. And don't think we're going with any carpet slut, either. No, man, tonight we're aiming for the best."

"Got no money to pay for the best. Drum," Blaise complained. "Just have to take one of them two-bit carpet wenches or nothing."

"Pay?" Drum was incensed. "Who said anything about us paying? I never paid for anything yet. We'll pay nothing, mon ami, nothing! Plenty girls here willing to go out with boys like us for nothing. Plenty others willing even to pay us. Don't stretch your breeches, man. Leave it to Drum— he'll find something for both of us."

By the time night had fallen, they had made the circuit of the square many times. Poor Blaise's feet were torturing him and Drum left him on a bench, with strict instructions not tc leave, while he went to the booths for food. He returnee shortly with a paper of fried yams and another of boilec shrimp. They sat and ate, shucking the shrimps and watching the procession pass by. By now the crowd was beginin^

to thin out. The older people and the children had left for their homes and the promenade was made up mostly of young people, all with watchful eyes for a partner.

Drum dropped the paper of shrimp that they were eating from and nudged Blaise. Two late arrivals, whom they had not seen before, fresh and cool looking, sauntered by.

"Come, man." Drum cocked his head in the direction of the two girls who had just passed. "That's for us," He stood up, wiping his hands on the kerchief in his sleeve and handed it to Blaise who did not possess one. They walked quickly for a few steps to catch up with the girls. It was evident that the quarry was as anxious to be caught as the himters were to catch, for the girls slowed their steps. Although they did not look around. Drum knew they were conscious that they were being followed.

They were both slender, cafe au lait in color, and dressed in what might have been hand-me-downs from their mistresses, for their dresses had a certain richness of cut and material that placed them, albeit somewhat shabbily, on a par with the clothes worn by Drum and Blaise. But what had caught Drum's attention was the fact that neither wore the madras tignon—^that gaudy headdress whose main purpose was to conceal the short, kinky, negroid hair. These girls had long black hair which curled down to their shoulders and which they would not hide beneath a tignon. Drum had also had a look at their faces when they passed and he had seen that they were both pretty with a certain air of good breeding.

Appearing entirely oblivious of the two men behind them, the girls chatted with a self-conscious hauteur, gesturing with a lofty gentility and laughing with low-keyed little chuckles that ascended and descended the scale in imitation of their Creole mistresses. After a few more steps, a handkerchief fluttered to the ground, making a pool of whiteness on the dusty banquette. Drum swooped down to pick it up, lifted it to his nose and smelled the odor of eau de cologne, probably filched from some mistress' dressing table. He quickened his step to draw abreast of the two, motioning with his elbow for Blaise to step up on the other side,