Drum (50 page)

To the talk of cotton and the superiority of Petit Gulf

Seed over Tennessee Brown he lent a deaf ear but when th( conversation turned to slaves, as it always did when th( subject of cotton was exhausted, his opinion was sought Everyone in the South, from Richmond to Charleston, fron Natchez to Mobile and perhaps most of all in New Orleans recognized the Falconhurst breed as the finest. Falconhurs bucks were strong, clean-limbed and healthy, without blem ish, brought up to be docile, obedient and hard workers Their backs were unscaned by lashes; their eyes were no crazed with fear; they did not cringe in terror before ; white man. Falconhurst wenches were lithesome, with skia plumply gleaming like polished ebony, fecund, and usually pregnant at time of sale, which was a positive guarantee o their ability to add to their new master's wealth. Ownershi] of a Falconhurst slave was something to brag about; owner ship of a dozen conferred a patent of nobility.

Around eleven the meeting broke up and Hanmiond, afte a steady succession of hot toddies, was able slowly but sue cessfully to negotiate the lobby, the stairs and the corrido. to his room. He knocked on the door and Drumson, wh< had been sitting on the dark balcony because he had no been able to light the lamps, rushed to open the door. Ham mond pitched forward and fell into Drumson's arms. Thi boy half dragged, half carried his master across the roon and lowered him gently to the bed.

Hammond roused himself, staring into the darkness.

"You Mede." It was not a question but a statement.

"Yes sir. Master Hammond, sir." Drumson was so glad t' have him back he would have agreed to being Lucifer.

"Yo're Mede! Yes you are. Damn glad to have you back boy. Shouldn't never have kilt you. Never wanted to. Un'ei Stan', boy? Un'erstan'?" Hammond was weeping maudlt tears. "Didn't wan' to do it. Knowed it wasn't yo' fault bi' had to. Jes' had to. Nigger shouldn't ought to touch a whit lady. White ladies ain't for pesterin'."

Drumson was struggling to remove Hammond's boots. ] was not easy because of Hammond's supine position but h managed, with some tugging, to get them off. He eased Han mond's legs up onto the bed.

Remembering his master's instructions, he carefully wipe his feet, massaging them with his hands. With one arm undt Hammond's shoulders, he lifted him and slipped off th rumpled linen coat, then untied the stock and managed 1

get the shirt off. He hung them up carefully as he had been taught to do.

"No light here, Mede." Hammond raised himself up on his elbow. "Why in hell don' you light the lamps?"

"Don't know how, Master Hammond, sir."

"My coat pocket."

Dnimson searched the pockets of the coat and found a small metal box which contained the new type of matches he had seen men light their cigars with. He scratched one on the side of the box and by its light he located the single candle in his own little room and lit it. Its flickering yellow flame dispelled the darkness and he carried it out to the table beside the big bed. Hammond's fingers were ineffectually fumbling with the buckle of his belt. Drumson noticed and unbuckled it.

'Take 'em off." Hammond raised one hand and pointed to the chest of drawers. "Nightshirt."

By lifting and pulling, Drumson managed to get the trousers and drawers off. His master lay naked on the bed. Drumson was astonished to see that his body was covered with a fine furring of hair which glowed in the candlelight with a golden aura. He marveled at the beauty of it—so different from his own dark body. He had a desire to stroke it for it had the same sensual attraction to his fingers as the fur of a kitten, but he restrained his hands. After opening several drawers, he located what he thought might be a nightshirt, although he was quite unacquainted with such a garment. Those white men whom he had seen in bed at Alix' had never worn anything. It was not easy to slip the long white garment on over Hammond's head, but by lifting him he managed to get it properly adjusted at last.

"Gotta piss." Hammond heaved himself over on his side and indicated the chamber pot under the bed. Drumson held it for him, although during the operation Hammond managed to wet one side of the bed. He rolled back, his eyes open, focused on Drumson.

"Wants to talk, I do. Wants to talk to you, Mede. Come herel"

Drumson approached the bed and found Hammond's hand clasping his wrist—clasping it so tightly the fingers dug into his flesh.

"You Mede?" This time it was a question.

Again Drumson humored him. "I'm Mede, Master Hammond, sir." He had no idea of who the person called Mede

might be but he sensed Hammond's need for such a person i

"You sho'? Many nights I see you, Mede. See you a-suf-ferin' in that bilin' water I put you in. Hear you a-screamin' Mede, See that pitchfork a-goin' into you. TTien I wakes uf a-screamin' too and Ellen tells me it all a dream. You ain' nc dream, Mede, you real." Hammond's hand tightened or Drumson's wrist. "You real 'cause I kin feel you."

"Yes, Master Hammond, sir," Drumson spoke softly. "I'n real, I'm Mede. No dream, master, sir."

"You're a good boy, Mede. Best fightin' nigger I ever hac —on'y one I ever had. You sho' fit that Topaz, Mede. Yoi good fighter. Thought you was a goner then. Mighty happ3 you whupped him. Always sorry I kilt you. Didn't want t( but all Blanche's fault. She an awful whore, Mede. She le her brother lay her long 'fore she married me but t'we ran' Charles' fault no more'n it were your'n. He tol' me she wa; pizen. Warned me a-fore I married her. She jes' a no-goo( whore, Mede. She make you come to bed With her? Did she Mede?"

Hanmiond seemed to expect an answer in the aflSrmativ* so Drumson gave him one.

"Yes, sir, Master Hammond, she sure did. Didn't want t( but she made me. You say always obey white folks."

"You did right to 'bey her but wrong to rape her. Whlti women crazy sometimes, Mede. Jes' plumb crazy a-wantin' i man. Blanche crazy—all likkered up probably. Tha's why sh( made you do it. But she didn't make them goddam twins d( it. They did it 'cause they wanted to. Them twins homey li' bastards and that Meg boy, he hung heavy. He and Alpl look jes' alike with clothes on but when they shucked down al'ays tell which one is Meg 'cause he hung twice as hear as Alph. Never could understand how Blanche could taki you'n Meg, specially you. Ain' goin' to punish you no more Mede, 'cause I wants to sleep nights and now you back yoi lets me sleep. But got to punish them twins fer what they did Goin' to buy 'em back tomorrer and then goin' to punisi them so they never want to touch no white lady, never 'gaic Never you rape no white lady 'gain, Mede. You hear me? If) any white lady want you again, you says, 'Yes ma'air mist'ess, I glad to 'blige you and do as you wants but firs' gotta ask my masta.' You 'grees with 'em, Mede, only yoi doesn't rape 'em. Un'erstan'?"

"No, Master Hammond, sir." Drumson was beginning t' be fearful of the direction the conversation was taking, "!'.

3

never touch a white lady, never." Although he knew that Hammond was drunk and raving, the talk was on dangerous ground. Anything that had to do with a black man raping a white woman was dangerous.

"Didn't crave to kill you, Mede. Didn't wan' to. You de finest nigger I ever had. Finest nigger anyone ever had. Come closer, Mede. Wants to know you're real." Hammond's clutch on Drumson's wrist was like a band of steel. He pulled Drumson closer and reached up, patting Drumson's stomach and letting his hands slide down over his rump.

"Mighty glad you back, boy. Knowed when I saw you in that whorehouse I'd a-foimd you 'gain. Knowed in the minute I laid eyes on you. Happy to get you back. Ain' never goin' to fight you 'gain, Mede. Ain' gonna take no chances on losin' you like when you fought Topaz. Goin' to stud you. Goin' to turn you out to the wenches, boy. How you like that? Goin' to put you to Big Pearl 'gain, o'ly this time, you gets me a better sucker than 01' Mista Wilson 'cause you not Big Pearl's brother no more. How you likes that?"

"Like it fine. Master Hammond, like it fine."

"You forgot the 'suh', Mede. Al'ays use the 'suh' for proper respe't to yo' masta, boy."

"Yes sir. Master Hanmiond, sir."

"Got me three or four good yoxmg wenches back at Falcon-tiurst. Jes' ripe for you, Mede. Thinks now that you come back I better buy me some more. We go to Maspero's to-morrer, no, cain't go tomorrer 'cause Beard a-selling my lot, but we go. Buys us half a dozen nice wenches, 'bout fifteen, dxteen. Mayhap I gets me a nice quadroon for myself. Keep ier in the new house fer when I sleeps there. That Ellen jittin' mighty fat but she a good woman. Man likes a change 3nce in a while but never did like black wenches. Gets me a quadroon one but buys black ones for you. Don' want none svith human blood for you. Maybe I do though. Maybe I let j'ou breed me some bright skins. Fancies bring more money hese days. But you too black to breed bright skins. Better Jtick to black ones for you—nice shiny black wenches."

"I'm a griffe, So Madame says. Master Hammond, sir. She says my pappy. Drum, was half white. I can get you bright >nes, master, sir." Drumson was proud of his copper skin.

"That's Miz Alecks, she's a liar. You're all black, Mede. ifou're pure Mandingo. Mandingo bes' of all 'cept Royal Hausa and ain't never had no Royal Hausa."

"Yes sir, Master Hammond, sir. I'm pure black. I'm Man-

dingo." Drumson knew he must agree with Hammond ir everything.

"No you ain't. Whaffor you a-Iyin', Mede? You're Royal Hausa now. You're better'n Mandingo. First one ever I had Papa say there ain't none no mo'. Mighty rare. He nevei heard tell of Jbut one in his life. Say they better'n Mandingc but not so big. You're Royal Hausa now, Mede, but you're sho' big boy."

"Yes sir. Master Hammond, sir. I'm a big boy, bigger'r anyone else."

"But don' never trust no white woman, Mede. All prettiec up on the outside they are. Yella hair a-curlin', prettj dresses with li'l rosebuds all over 'em. Pretty as a pictun but rotten inside, Mede. Rotten! I know. I married Blanche and she pizen jes' like her brother said. Pizen! She slept witt her brother, slept with you, slept with Meg, slept with Alph Now she dead, Mede. I kilt her after she horned her blacl baby you fathered, KJlt her jes' like I kilt you but kilt he) easy like with Doc Redfield's pizen. Pizen for pizen. Sh< never knowed she a-dyin' so's she never came back to ha'n me like you did. I kilt you the hard way. Boiled you up : did in the big kettle. Made soup out-a you. Held you dowi in with the pitchfork 'til you dead. Now I sorry. Don't come back no more to ha'nt me at night. Won't do it again, Mede You promise you don't ha'nt me no more?"

"I promise. Master, sir."

Hammond's hand relaxed its hold on Drumson's wrist. Hi arm fell back onto the bed and his head sank down into thi pillows. His words drifted oflf into an imintelligible mumbli of which Drumson could understand only a few names-Blanche—Mede—Charles—Meg—Alph—Lucretia Borgia-Ellen and, most of all—Papa.

Drumson recalled the conversation of that afternoon a Beard's. He remembered the names of Alph and Meg. The must be the same two that Hammond meant to buy back. H felt a twinge of jealousy. If Hammond could forgive Mede fo what he had done to his wife, perhaps he had also forgive Alph and Meg. Perhaps they would take his place as Ham mond's body servant and he would be sent out to the fields.

But no! In his dnmken stupor, Hammond had thought h was Mede and it was Mede that he wanted with him. He ha said something about pimishing Meg and Alph. So he didn care for them, after all.

Hammond was now asleep. His breathing was slow an

regular. Drumson tiptoed away from the bed, closed the shutters of the room so the morning light would not enter and took the candle into his own dark, hot, little room. He decided to leave the door open in case Hammond should call him during the night. He removed his clothes, which had not been off since he had left Alix', taking care to fold them carefully. The coolness of the marble tiles chilled his feet as he walked across them to his narrow bed. He blew out the candle and placed it on the floor beside the bed. The sheets were clean and smooth and he stretched out on them. A little breeze wandered into the room and fanned his sweaty skin.

Hammond was snoring now. Far off, Dnmison could hear the familiar bonging of the cathedral bell. He counted the strokes and then listened. Soon he heard the serene's voice calling out from the banquette below:

"Twelve o'clock of a fine summer night with the promise of another nice day tomorrow."

The promise of another nice day tomorrow. . . . Drumson removed the hot pillow from under his head and laid it on the floor—he was not accustomed to pillows. He stretched his long legs, tiuTied over on his side and closed his eyes. He was content. It would be another nice day tomorrow and he was glad he was not back in the Academy of Music. What was it Hammond had said? He was going to buy half a dozen wenches to take back to Falconhurst with him. Half a dozen! All of them for Drumson! He wished it might be a dozen, twenty, fifty, a hundred. EE-yuh! It would be another nice day tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. EE-yuh! He went to sleep with the raucous snores of his master ringing in his ears.

Drumson awoke early the next morning. He found it difficult, even after forcing his eyes open, to orient himself it the hot, dark, windowless room. With the realization that h< was in the St. Louis Hotel and not on Dumaine Street, h( jumped out of bed, totally unconscious of the time, no knowing even if it was daylight. But it must be morning, h{ realized, for the sun was streaming through the shutters o: the big room. Hammond was lying sprawled across the bed his nightshirt wound around his chest, his body bare ant shining golden in the half-light.

Slipping back the bolt on the outside door carefully s( that it made no noise, he ran down the corridor and dowi the stairs to the stable. To his relief, no woman, especially not that Poppit wench with her caressing fingers, was en throned in the privy, so he could attend to his needs an< find water to wash in. An all-over wash was out of the ques tion, but he splashed his face and hands, then decided t( take off his shirt and wash his upper body. His white shirt which had been clean only yesterday, was now creased an* rumpled and clung damply to his wet back. But he remem bered that Calinda had put his one other shirt in his bundl' and as soon as he was back in his room—noting gratefull that Hammond was still asleep—he changed.