Drum (45 page)

"Jeanneton will not need Blaise."

"But mayhap I shall not want to share you."

Drum smiled. "Think you not that a share of me is better than Blaise? Blaise cannot come so you will have to share me," Drum lied. This could not be shared with Blaise. This must be for himself alone.

'Then eleven, a week from tonight."

"At eleven," he called softly after her, and left the market, his feet scarcely touching the banquettes. To hell with Ca-linda! Let her carry on her pique with him. He couldn't care less. Why should he want her blackness when this brightness beckoned to him? He was damned if he'd ask Blaise to go along with him. With Blaise busy at the bar and Calinda serving the rooms, he'd slip out and nobody would know about it. He wouldn't even bother to dress in his best clothes. T90 many buttons and things—better the cotton trousers and the plain shirt which could be slipped off in a moment. He was jubilant as he returned to the Academy.

Although Calinda could not possibly have had any suspicion about his coming rendezvous with Veronique, she seemed disposed to end their differences. She took special pains to cook the dishes he most favored, and when she served him, she stood close to him so that her hips rubbed against his elbows. It would have been so easy for him to take her then, but he remained adamant. One night he awoke to find her standing inside the baire beside the bed, her hands lightly touching him. For a moment he was tempted to yield to their gentle stroking, but he thought of Veronique and turned away from her.

"Get away!" he said. "You can't smooth things over so easily. Get back where you belong, on the floor. I don't need no goddam black wench."

"Oh Drum, I'm sorry." She was trying to restrain her tears. "I want you so much. Youll never know how much.";

"There's others who want me—^lighter-skinned than you.j So keep on wanting me till I get ready for you. I'm not one that you can put on and take off like an old shoe. Go on! Go sweet-talk Blaise like you've been doing! Go tend to Drumson! Time comes I want you, I'll goddam well let^ you know."

She still stood there, hoping that he might relent, but hej sat up in bed and slapped her so violently that she stumbled] backward and fell. He heard her get up a moment laterJ

and then he lay awake, listening to her sobbing, half tempted to get up and take her in his arms and kiss her tears away. In the morning she was more hostile than ever, slamming his tin plate of breakfast down on the table before him, but serving Blaise with a cajoling nicety. He shrugged his shoulders. He knew now that he had the upper hand. She would come back to him whenever he wanted her. He had only to crook his little finger and she would come a-begging. Well then, let her beg. If she wanted him badly enough she'd get down on her knees to him.

As the week passed, she relented and he knew, when Saturday arrived, she was ready to surrender. It had always been their night and Drum could sense that she was hopeful, but he ignored her and went to bed early, soon after it was dark. He heard her moving about the room, and once she came and stood near the bed, parting the baire and looking down at him while he feigned sleep. With a sigh, she let the netting fall and went out in the courtyard about her duties. When he was sure that both she and Blaise were occupied, he got up, dipped into his two garments and the rough sandals that he wore every day and tiptoed out.

He ran most of the way to the Mercier house. He was early; the sereno was just calling ten o'clock as he turned the comer of the square. Notwithstanding his premature arrival. Drum ventured a light tap on the Mercier back door. Evidently Veronique had been anticipating him, for the door opened quickly and she was there waiting for him, finger to lips with the same caution to silence. She bade him take off the sandals he was wearing and follow her barefooted. He made the remembered journey through the court and up the wooden stairs to the same room in the gargonniere but this time she did not close either the door or the window.

Warm flesh pressed against him and he knew it was Jeanneton. Her fingers, or perhaps Veronique's, found the fastenings of his clothing and they fell to the floor. He was glad now that he had not yielded to the temptation of Calinda's hands for with both Veronique and Jeanneton importuning him, he needed all the vigor he was capable of. Darkness covered them like a warm dark cloak and the hours passed in a cycle of frenzied movements and qui^ relaxations. He heard the call of the sereno as he passed, calling two, three and finally four o'clock. He was ready to leave. Completely satiated, he could not rouse himself again

but he had to promise that he would return the next night.

"And bring Blaise with you," Jeanneton begged.

Drum laughed softly, "Why do you want that Blaise boy when you can have me?"

"Don't want him," Jeanneton giggled. "But there are two of us and only one of you."

chapter xv

Drum hurried home from the Mercier mansion. He was completely satisfied. He had proved to himself that despite his deformity of face, he was still desired by women. The evening had been all he had anticipated, and yet . . . something was lacking. In all those wild, fantastic moments with Veronique and Jeanneton there was something missing. It was the quiet surrender, the overwhelming peace that he had always found afterwards in Calinda's arms. It was the time when, having proved himself, it was not necessary to prove himself any more. It was a calm drifting in utter contentment. Despite their frequent quarrels and bickering, and the past weeks of feuding, he knew that Calinda held something that no other person had for him. Now he longed for the quiet refuge of her arms, her fingers twined in his hair, the sound of her heart beating against his own and her almost inaudible murmurs of affection. The passions of Veronique and Jeanneton had overwhelmed him with a torrent of violence. Now all he wanted was the comfort and solace of Calinda and the security of her nearness. He hurried his steps. He'd pick her up bodily from the pallet on the floor and carry her to the bed. He'd make it all up to her.

She deserved far more than he had ever given her. She had borne his child; her patient hands had nursed him; she was the one person whom he could trust. He started to run through the deserted streets, longing for the familiar sight of his own back door, the cool passageway that led to the courtyard, the warmth of her body as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. One kiss and he could attest that all had been forgotten and that once more he was hers. He would sleep in her arms. Mon Dieut He would sleep like a baby.

His running footsteps brought him to the door, which he found unlocked. In the darkness, he breathed in the cool air of the passageway as he came out into the dark courtyard.

The door of the kitchen was open and he took off his sandals! before entering, shedding his trousers and shirt as he walked j across the floor to the pallet where he knew she would be| sleeping. Scarcely breathing, so as not to awaken her, hei knelt down and stretched out his hands but they encountered only the rough blanket on the floor. Puzzled, he stood up. Naturally, she was in his bed, waiting for him, and this time he would not push her out. No! He tiptoed across the floor to the ghostly draped bed and paused for a moment. There was a rustle inside it as someone shifted on the straw tick. He parted the thin netting and reached down with his hands, groping for the warm flesh he knew to be there. His hands touched the flesh and it was warm but it was not the soft flesh of Calinda. He felt the firm, hard muscles of a man's chest and over it, the soft flesh of a woman's arm. The breath from the two on the bed reeked of rum.

There was a movement of the two—a shifting of bodies, satisfied grunt, a long sigh. Drum stood for a moment too shocked to think. He knew the man to be Blaise, even in the darkness. And he knew the woman was Calinda. He waa stunned. Calinda would never do such a thing to him. She was his woman and Blaise was his friend. In a manner of speaking, he owned them both. But it was Calinda and it was Blaise. Then goddamn them to hell, he'd kill them. He raised his arm, his fist tightly clenched and brought it down, not knowing where it would strike, with ib& force of a hammer. He heard the dull thud it made and he did not know which one he had hit, but he did not care. The blackness of the kitchen tvimed to a brilliant fiery scarlet in his eyes. He had been tricked—he struck again! He had been duped—agai^ his fist descended! He had been ... I

He heard the cry from the bed, a mingled cry of woman*^ pain and man's hurt. With it there was a quick contortion of a black form against the white sheet and Blaise catapulted from the bed, catching Drum around the waist and knocks ing him to the floor. Calinda was sobbing.

Drum felt the weight of Blaise's body across him but he was out from under it and on his feet in an instant. He could not see but he sensed that Blaise was on his feet also. Carefully Drum circled, feeling any moment that he might be grabbed again. His hands encountered the broad top ol the kitchen table and he clutched the side of it, knowing thai for the moment it was a bulwark against any surprise attackJ As his hands slid along the smooth boards, they encoimtere^

a knife. The feel of the handle told him it was one of the long butcher knives and he weighed it carefully in his hand, clutching it tightly to fortify his grip on it. Slowly he inched around the table, so that he might be facing the door and the half-Ught that came from the courtyard. He saw a figure circling the table, the naked figure of a man, and although he could distinguish neither face nor features, he recognized Blaise's monumental body.

"Don't fight me, Dnmi." Blaise's words had neither anger nor rancor. "Don't fight me."

"Not going to fight you. Going to kill you. No man creeps into my bed. No man takes my woman away from me."

"He didn't! He didn't, Drum. Don't blame Blaise." Calinda was beside Drum, her hands clutching at him. She flimg her arms around his neck and her fingers caught in the silver chain. He pushed her away and as she fell, the chain broke and he heard the little silver box clatter to the floor.

"Get away from me, you bitch. Going to Idll you too, soon's I finish with this bastard. Called himself my friend, he did. And I called you my woman. But my woman's got to be a one-man woman. 1 don't share her with nobody."

"An' I don' share my man with anybody either. Where you been tonight? Who you been sleepin' with?"

"Someone better than you. You're nothing but a common slut, worse than those white girls upstairs. You and Blaisel Bah!"

■ "Don' blame Blaise. I made him. He wouldn't, only I got foim drunk so's he'd do it. I only wanted to learn you a les-fion. Drum. You're all I ever wanted but you won't give your-f«lf to me. I thought maybe if you'd see someone else wanted ne, you'd want me too."

I Drum ignored her, speaking to the man across the table. ', "If you didn't want to, Blaise, why'd you do it?" [ "Didn't want to, but I did it anyway. Feeling happy with |he rum in my stomach. Couldn't stop once I got started.

hy didn't you take me with you tonight. Drum?"

Drum leaped upon the table, knife in hand. He felt ,!^alinda clutching at his ankles and he saw Blaise crouching »elow him. Then he jumped, feet foremost, and caught Uaise in the chest. Blaise hit the floor but, before Drum ;ould catch him, he was out of the door and in the ourtyard. It was getting lighter now and Drum could see dm. Blaise had something in his hand. It was a saw which

had been hanging on a nail since the day they had sawed th boards to make Rachel's cofl&n.

Blaise was half sobbing, half shouting.

"Don't fight me, Drum. Don't come near me. I'll use thi on you and I don't want to do it. I don't hate you, Drua Being a friend to you means more than loving Calinda. Don fight me. Drum, please don't. I don't want to hurt you. Drum.

"Shut upl" Drum circled with the knife poised. He saw a opening and closed in. Blaise's hand reached up and grabbe his. For a long moment it was a contest of brute strength bi Drum's hand slipped out of Blaise's grip and the knll came down only to ring against the blade of the saw. Thi sound was a bright, whining musical note that lingered in th stillness. Blaise retreated, until his back was to the wal Again Drum lunged; the knife struck flesh and he hear Blaise howl.

"Don't Drum. Oh, don't!"

"I'm going to kill you. Going to cut you up. Going to choi you into little pieces. Then after I get you chopped uj going to chop Calinda too."

Drum saw Blaise's left arm hanging helpless at his sid« The blow aimed at his heart had gone wild but the arm wa ripped from shoulder to elbow. It would be easier to finis him off now—a man with only one arm was not a seriou opponent.

"Don't do it again, Drum. Don't!" Blaise was pleading. H remained motionless against the wall, the blood streamin from his arm, forming a red pool on the flagging. "Oh, Drun don't le's kill each other."

The first faint rays of the sun broke through the momini mist and lighted the courtyard with a pale, unearthly ligl; which silhouetted Blaise's blackness against the white wal The fingers of his left hand dripped blood but his rigfc hand was raised and Drum saw the bright reflection of th light caught in the polished steel of the saw. The saw mov© and the Ught with it. Drum saw it descending and h ducked, bringing his hand with the knife up from undemeatJ and striking with all his strength. But in that infinitesim£ second with the glancing light of the saw blade over him, h felt the knife snap as it struck the hard stucco wall, and sharp cleavage of pain in his throat. Slowly he sank to knees, his eyes still open, staring at Blaise above him, well known and so familiar. He wanted to speak and hands came up slowly to tear the jagged blade from his ned

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but there was no strength in him to raise his hands. There were words he wanted to say to Blaise but he could not remember what they were nor could he translate them into sound. He slumped from his knees to the flagstone and the blood spurted from the gash in his throat to mingle with that of Blaise on the pavement. His legs crumpled under his body. Somewhere, far off in another world, there was the sound of a woman screaming and a man's voice calling his name over and over again. The fingers that held the stub of knife relaxed and opened their hold. His eyes closed and they were no longer suffused with the redness of anger. In its place was a whiteness, blinding and brilliant, penetrating from his eyes to his brain. He seemed to see the outline of a man, towering tall and straight. He heard a voice calling his name. It was necessary to follow that voice and he followed it. He did not know where he was going but there was only one way to go. He departed, leaving the bleeding hulk of what had once been himself.