The next several days, back on Nemusmar, I'd no concerns whether Annalea would accompany me on me rounds. She literally drug me out of bed each morn, she was so anxious to start out. Each and every soul on Nemusmar must hear of her adventure, from her own lips; that was her mission. She whipped up so much interest and enthusiasm with her narratives, that the whole island wanted to accompany me to Kingston. Now, that would've been a sight, had I been able (and willing) to arrange it. 'Twould've been the greatest invasion since the doomed Spanish Armada! Least from the perspective of the inhabitants of Kingston that is how it would appear–an invasion.
And in the black quarters, they were damned near plotting invasion! The description Annalea gave them of the horrors she witnessed at the slave auction was all too familiar–and of most recent experience–to so many of the blackies. There was more than a bit of posturing and boasting amongst the bucks, regarding how each would lead a rescue mission–and the details of how the auctioneers and masters would be disposed of.
In the end, they took their bravado and frustrations to Mam' and Orke for guidance and leadership. Orke dismissed them outright; it was a fool's errand, and he was no fool. He well knew the strategic problems of such an undertaking. And Orke's thinking was like mine: any price for victory, but not a farthing for anything less. And this "righteous war" would have less chance for success than had the Armada. There could be no success. 'Twould only produce rivers of blood, on Kingston and Nemusmar.
The element of surprise would certainly be there. Such an attack, for such a purpose, would be totally unexpected. But reaction would be neither slow nor weak. And if you succeeded in liberating every black slave in Kingston, what the hell would you do with them? You couldn't leave them there. There's no safe place to put them down. Bring them back to Nemusmar? 'Twould be the ruin of us all! Anyone–of any flag–foolish enough to attack Kingston (successful or not) would be hunted down, on the sea and on the land, and decimated. The power that fortifies Europe, reaches 'round the globe.
Mam's approach was different than Orke's. To each, in his turn, she would listen patiently. Then–gradually feeding them small bites of logic and wisdom–she'd bring each, in his own way, to see the errors of his judgement. This was common practice for Mam': the way she'd resolved so many potentially volatile situations in the past. And when you left, with Mam's decision planted firmly in your brain, you were convinced it was your own decision–arrived at by introspective consideration.
So much for the grande crusade! But some of the whites on Nemusmar–those newer recruits–were made nervous by all this agitation. They feared insurrection! They talked wildly of a bloody uprising of blackies on Nemusmar, massacreing whites in their beds. Uprising to what? For what? This already was their island, too. And they were full partners in our enterprise.
The captain was quick to get wind of this, and quick to respond. He rightly judged that what these men feared were ghosts of their own creation: not a black revolution, but violent acts of hatred and retribution. For it was well known that certain of these men had sailed on slavers, in the past. The captain's commandments were decisive in quelling the antagonism of this lot. Bluntly put, he stated that any man who continued these diatribes would be hung, outright. And any man who acted on these impulses would wish he'd been hung!
Thus, all factions were soon quieted. Everything returned to normal on Nemusmar, without bloody confrontations or need of the gallows. Annalea was admonished by the captain for lack of restraint, and the need for a common sense think-through, afore casually lighting fires to dry kindling set in the midst of powder kegs. So, all to the good, peace was again restored to Nemusmar.
Although, as an old salt, I admit I gets a bit edgy if things become too quiet–too still: the calm before the storm, and all that, you know. But that mood passed me quickly, being as we were making ready for our next great venture. I know, you'd think the pluckings from the galleon would be enough to satisfy any greed, but–more to the point–you can't keep a war horse in the stable, too long. We all were champing and chafing at the bit for need of action. And of this, the captain would not deny us. He was making plans for yet another brilliant campaign.
As for Estaban–Don Estaban, the Spanish puck–I must admit me opinion of his worth and his welcome were greatly improved. Not so that old Spanish skulker, whose very presence served to annoy me. But after his brave, unhesitating defense of me Annalea, I begun to see the lad through new eyes. I found meself inviting him to join me in me rounds, and explaining our purpose and our ways to him; and talking and joking with him as if he were an old mate. It was a most peculiar situation, feeling this affection growing for the spawn of an enemy–a Spaniard! I began to know how it would feel to have me own son–and a son to be proud of.
I even toyed with the idea of recommending him to the captain for initiation into our ranks. But the more I thought on this, the more I thought better of it. The boy was demonstrably a man of many skills: a warrior, a diplomat, a gentleman, an adventurer and a bit of a poet. And 'though he was a Spaniard, that need not be a permanent disqualification. Many a man who came aboard our ship, and ultimately became a member of our community, was of an original persuasion that would seem an ill fit for our life. Yet through "miraculous" conversion (usually a heartfelt desire to break with the past), they adopted our philosophy and adapted to our ways.
Still, the lad was a whole different matter. He'd not come to us by choice; 'though that, in-and-of itself, was seldom a deterrent. For certain, chains or metal bars were not required to keep him in place. But he would never fight against his own flag; his sense of honour would prevent that. Frankly, I doubt he'd voluntarily fight against any other flag, unless truly provoked; his sense of humanity would prevent that. And lastly, but most significantly, he envisioned for hisself a life much broader and grander than any that could be lived on this island (or, mayhaps, in this hemisphere). He would travel the world in the service of his king: making a name for hisself, and perpetuating his family name. So–sadly, reluctantly–I determined I could never see this lad happily "adopted" into me "family."
Aye, it was a period of harmony, on Nemusmar–except in me household. 'Twould seem me Annalea had grown quite jealous of the relationship 'twixt me and her playmate. She still was making her rounds as I was making mine; but our paths would stray when I refused to tarry over her missionary acts, and took off with the lad for less stagnant, more manly pursuits. Quite often, we would not connect with her, again, for the entire remainder of the day. And if we found our way to the settlement after nightfall, we'd most likely be drinking and carousing with me mates 'til damn near the next day's light. 'Twas grande to have another man in the "family!"
I could not get me Annalea–me normally quite understanding Annalea–to share me view on this. And when I turned to Mam' Tiére to back me on this "bond of male friendship" and need for time apart from the world of women–based on her vast experience and deep understanding of human nature–she immediately rebuffed me. "Da womens 'spect dere men to be near at hand. But men like yo', always out at sea or stuck under foot, ain't nevah whas dey's s'pose to be. An' yo wants Mam's blessin' for yer self-servin' absences?"
Mam' gives no quarter. So I turned to the lad; who, in the presence of Annalea, turned to mush. I stand alone. I retreat.
Traveling alone now, most mornings, I made fast me preparations for our upcoming sojourn to unsuspecting ports. The lad quickly slipped from being me boon companion to being Annalea's attentive lackey. She was seen nowhere but that he was in close proximity. If she was inside midwifing a birthing, he was outside cooling his heels. Even the new father would have the common sense and decency to be off to the settlement, quaffing a few–putting some distance from the process and giving the women some privacy in their doings.
One particular eve, I'd finished all I'd planned, and made it back to me quarters afore dusk. It looked to be a beautiful nightfall approaching, and
I decided to make the most of it. I thought to take the "family" (even that Spanish skulker, if necessary) to the settlement for a bit of fun. On a fine night like this, the sisters would no doubt be in attendance, and after a joyous night of festivities, Mam' could return to quarters with the children and I might just saunter off with the sisters for a bit of a frolic.
But when I arrived to home, Mam' was alone. The others had not yet returned. They'd stated in the morning their intention to end their day at Quentin's Corner, so's Annalea could witness the birthing of a barn animal. That was not far, so I decided to go and fetch them. I told Mam' to prepare to go out, and I was off to round up me flock.
'Twas but a short jaunt up a meandering path to Quentin's. An' near all the ways up, you did catch the fragrances wafting from flowering fruit trees and such as was planted there abouts. This was a localized area of produce and livestock for the community. We even had our own stables. The perfect environment on the perfect eve to set me mood toward the gay and romantic.
It was just past dark, but the moon was so full of light, 'twas most like walking into the darkness of a cloister and then proceeding down a torchlit passageway, with all visible afore you, 'though your surrounds are shrouded in darkness. It was a cozy feeling. Then the feeling suddenly went from cozy to cluttered when I spied that old Spaniard leaning on a tree, aside the path–once again, skulking! I thought to ignore him and be about me business. But he stepped out from the shadows, with his one good hand raised, and began blathering something in the Spanish. I chose to ignore him and be on me own way.
As I entered the Corner and approached the structures we'd erected there–to contain and process domesticated animals–the aromas of flora faded and were replaced by the pungent odours of fauna–and many of them, kept in close quarters. Not a bother. This all is part of the natural life–a good life. I could see no one about the place. I scanned the entire area, and squinted into every corner. No one.
But, as I passed the barn, I thought I heard groaning, inside. Farm animals doesn't groan. I peered through the half-opened door to discover what was amiss. The bright moonlight shining through the open hatch over the hayloft full-lit two figures naked in the hay. A tidal wave of horror flooded over me, causing physical sensation and boiling me blood. The poor soul groaning was me own Annalea! And that Spanish puck was on top of her thrusting his lance within her, harder and faster and faster–brutishly ignoring her pitiful groans, as he feverishly strove to satisfy his own lust! He was fiendishly raping me baby girl!
Oh, me God! This was too much! This was beyond comprehension! I was ready to skin the bastard son of a Spanish whore! I was conscious, then, of me blade in me hand, and me hand raised to strike, as I moved through the shadows towards those writhing, interlocked bodies. Then–suddenly–I stopped cold in me tracks; me murderous rage abated, as Annalea's cries pierced me ears: "Oh, Estaban! I love you! I love you! I love.... Oh, Estaban! Oh, Estaban! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Aanngh!"
Annalea was not groaning–she was moaning! She was transported with rapture! She was freely and gladly making love. And obviously enthralled by the sexual act. Me mouth dropped, and I nearly dropped me blade.
When me wits returned to me, I remember me first thought was, "I must not make a sound!"
Then, after a few moments, I remember having me second thought, "Oh, m' God, I'm staring at them! I can't believe I'm staring at them!"
For all that time, they were unawares of me lurking in the shadows. What noises I made, did not penetrate their sanctum. It was obvious their senses could only hear, feel, taste and perceive one another. I averted me eyes and I skulked away.
As I stepped back out into the night, I found the air now smelled foul; and that matched me mood. I proceeded, stumbling down that meandering path, like a drunkard–or, more so, like a man most stunned by a blow to the head. Again, that old Spaniard stepped out afore me. He looked in me eyes quizzically, and said, "Qué?"
I remember, I struck him. I don't remember if he went down. I moved on, crestfallen and heart sinking.
I stumbled back into me quarters, not fully conscious of where I'd arrived. Me mind was so full of thoughts–mean thoughts, screaming through me brain. For all the noise and confusion inside me, I neither heard, nor noticed Mam' Tiére before me, until I plowed right into her. She lambasted me for being clumsy or rude or drunk or all of these. I heard her words, and now I knew she was there; but I did not react to her. I was still in me own state of mind. I just stood there, sallow-faced.
"Wha' da hell be da matter wit' ya?" I think she said. "Something be very, very wrong!" I know she said, now shaking me violently. "I kin tell it in yo' eyes! It be da 'princess,' ain't it? Somethin' be wrong wid da 'princess!' Wha's wrong wid ma baby?"
Silence.
"Cum to, ya ole' goat! Tell Mam' wha's happened!"
I stammered a bit. I did not know what to say. Me thoughts were still too confused to speak of them. I did manage to utter some compensatory words. "She is not hurt. Not that way hurt."
Not to be compensated by these words, Mam' retaliated, "Wha' da hell do dat mean, 'not dat way hurt?' Is da chile hurtin' or not! Do she need Mam'?"
A bit more composed, I said, "No, no, she is not physically hurt; she is fine. If anything, she is happy."
"Den wha' be da matta wit ya? Be it da boy?"
"Oh, he is just fine, too! And doubtless very happy! That high-talking, Pope-loving, trust-betraying, back-stabbing, licentious son of a bitch!"
Mam' stood back and stared at me. For what seemed the longest time, she just analyzed me countenance. Then she looked into me eyes and begun to cackling, like an old hen. This cackling laughter annoyed me seriously–and brought me 'round, completely. "What, woman? What the hell is wrong with you?"
I thought to slap her face, 'til I realized I wanted to slap her face not to bring her 'round, but just 'cause I wanted to slap her face.
She cackled more and more, 'til she damned near choked. Then she stopped suddenly, composed herself, and looked to me compassionately. Softly and gently, she spake. "Ya 'discovered' dem, didn't ya?"
I gave her me best example of a puzzled look; 'though I reckoned where she was heading.
"Ya 'discovered' da chillens doin' dere 'stuff.' Doin' da 'deed.' Da's it, ain't it?"
I gave Mam' me best example of a "you must be daft, woman," look; for I deeply did not wish to discuss this.
"I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaimed, as if congratulating herself.
I near exploded with anger. "What do you mean, you 'knew it?' You knew of these goings on and you permitted it? You knew of these goings on and you didn't tell me?"
"Don't ya go turn mad dog on me! Ya jes' shut it an' listen to wha' Mam' gots ta say, 'fo' showin' yo' fangs!"
I was seething with anger; but I complied. This, after all, was Mam' Tiére speaking.
"Set on yo' ass, an' listen ta me." I acceded, and she sat aside me. "It's not da knowin' from da seein' or da hearin' I's talkin' 'bout. It's da knowin' dat da heart p'ceives. An' dere be nuttin' dere fo' me ta tell ya. Wha' be 'twixt dat boy an' dat gal be dere fo' da whole worl' ta know. An' it's jes been growin' stronger an' stronger 'twixt dem since first dey fixed eyes on each other."
"Do you think me blind, woman? Is that what you're saying? You think me blind, or just inattentive to me responsibilities?"
Despite the harshness of me words, Mam' remained unruffled, and her words were meant to soothe. "In dese matta's, da papa always be blind. And ya be da papa to da 'princess.' Nuttin' ta do wit' attention. Ya never gonna see wha' ya don' know ta expect. An' in a papa's heart, his li'l gal be always da sweet, tender, lovin' flower o' innocence who adores him–an' him alone. No natu'al papa kin 'magine his sweet babe wit' another man. Lovin' another man–let alone 'bein'' wit' dat man? Incrompr'hensible!
"However it cum, dat instant when ya realizes dat gal ain't no baby, no mo'. Ain't yo'
sole p'session, no' mo'. An' it cain't never be da ways it use'ta be–never again. In dat instant, yo' whole worl' c'lapses. Yo' hopes an' dreams vanish. Yo' reason fo' bein' dis'pears. An' ya panic, 'cause somethin' ya never expected invaded yo' worl' an' destroyed it. In dat instant."
Now I reacted. "I will not be destroyed! She will not be destroyed! The cursed Spanish cur who caused this fiasco shall be destroyed! That wretched ingrate who sups at me table, is sheltered 'neath me roof, trusted as a friend, treated like a son–and repays me with treachery–that monster who violated me daughter: I will destroy him!"
In the face of me outburst, Mam' struggled to retain her calm. "Ain't no one gonna be destroyed. Wha's gone–wha's been wiped away–be a view of life dat be nuttin' mo' den a fairy tale ta start wit'. Nobody kin destroy a somethin' wha' ain't real ta start wit'. Any loss, real or imagined, be a true loss–a real disaster–ta da one who have it. An' like da death o' a sweet friend, o' a chile; ya gets angry. Not really from da s'posed wrong dats been done ya; but from y'own guilt. Yo' failure. Yo' ign'rance. Yo' sins. It be all yo' fault.
"But dere be no fault. When somethin' natu'al happens, it ain't yo' fault, an' it ain't even 'bout ya. It's jes' nature and da lovin' will o' Gawd. Ya gots da right ta mourn fo' da loss ya p'ceives. It be understand'ble ya should struggle wit' da pain o' unexpected, insuff'rable change. But dere be no right ta interfere wit' da natu'al process of nature; and dere be no tol'rance fo' da guilt of da self-righteous. Dem wha's so self-impo'tant dat if anythin' conspires to change dere 'reality'–'cludin' nature, o' Gawd, Hisself–dey has de audac'ty ta blames demselves. Like dey's mo' impo'tant–an' mo' responsible–den Gawd, Hisself! One thing ma people knows, 'stinctively. Nature be worshipful; 'cause nature be beautiful. Wha' ya gotta accept, be dat wha' happened wit' da 'princess' be beautiful. 'Cause da 'princess' be beautiful, through and through. How does I know? 'Cause we made her so! Yo' an' me an' all da rest. We made her beautiful! An' so she be. An' dis be of her choosin'. Dis be her time. An' das wha' be. Nuttin' mo'. Grieve fo' yo' feelin's, but den accept. Be da papa. Celebrate yo' daughter's life."
I sat there moist-eyed, sullen and silent, pondering Mam's words, for some time. Then there was no more time to feel or say anything. Annalea came bubbling through the doorway, with her "companion" close behind her, and that ratty old Spaniard close behind him. Annalea was fairly floating 'cross the flooring, and beaming a smile from ear to ear. Mam' Tiére caught Annalea up in her arms as they met.
Near lifting Annalea off the floor, in embrace, she said, "How be Mam's babe, tonight?"
Annalea gushed, "Your 'babe' is simply marvelous! Dear Madam, how could one not feel marvelous on such a magnificent night as this?"
Then Annalea looked towards me. "Oh, Papa! What is it?"
Instantly, she was at me side. She began to stroke me hair. Then she sat aside me and repeated, "What is it, Papa?"
She looked me full in the face with a concerned countenance that indicated Annalea was fully attentive to her papa, and seriously interested in resolving his problem. She would listen to whatever beset me, consider it, and fix it. I just stared back at that contemplative face. That angelic face, crowned in golden locks. Those penetrating, blue eyes. Those sweet lips which spake only of good–adorned by a slight pout, which produced an accented seriousness, reflecting her true disposition. I looked upon the face of this young woman who called me father. I looked into the soul of this woman who loved me unquestioningly. I looked at this woman. For that she was: a woman. Not a babe–not a child–but a woman! A sensitive, warm, intelligent, caring, giving, marvelous woman! And beautiful–so beautiful! In face, in form, in mind, in spirit–purely beautiful. And I had made her beautiful! I, and the others–but, I a lot! There was no sin in this woman. There could be no shame in this woman. I looked at this woman: this one, good thing I'd made in me life–this shining example of womanhood. The frustration and anger and guilt I'd felt afore, collided with this overwhelming, massive sense of pride that now flooded me being.
I broke out in tears, and–simultaneously–in laughter: like a man gone suddenly mad. Annalea was startled by me outburst. Without comfort of explanation, I simply reached out and grabbed her, kissing her all about her face and head, hugged her tight with me head resting over her shoulder, and continued me hysterical, blubbering outburst. No more words were needed 'twixt us; Annalea began, also, to cry. As I lifted me head from her shoulder, we looked into each other's faces–now, both of us laughing, while tears flowed from our eyes.
The Spanish lad seemed chagrined. "I am missing something, here. Is there something I should know?"
I looked towards him and rose to me feet. "Something? Something?!" Moving hastily at him, I pushed aside the old Spaniard who thought, gallantly, to stand 'twixt us in defense of the lad. I literally lifted Estaban from the floor and repeated, "Something?"
Then I kissed him on the forehead and replaced him. To this day, I don't know why I did that.
The old Spaniard was still struggling to regain his feet. I grabbed him by the lapel and yanked him back to an upright position, as I turned to address Mam'. "I promised you a celebration to equal the wonder of this night; and such a celebration we shall have! I feel suddenly renewed: strong and alive–like a new bull in a fresh spring meadow. We'll off to the settlement, as planned. And woe be to those who intended an early night; for we'll rise the living and, if necessary, raise the dead, to fill our ranks with celebrants!"
Chapter XV
Conflagration