Chapter 14
The following morning, Jane got a letter from her husband.
As she walked back to her quarters, Jane was filled with puzzlement. Why would Bill choose to write her here, of all places?
She opened the letter: Dear Jane: I hope you are having a nice time, and do give my regards to Madeleine and her husband. I'd like very much to take you to dinner when you return, as well as to a few shows here in town. Do hurry back, and give me a chance to show how much I adore you.
Love, Bill
Jane put down the letter slowly, her forehead knitting into a frown. What in the world was she going to do?
Slowly, a new feeling for Bill was kindling itself in her breast. He did care about her! The realization of that fact, long buried in their relationship, was like a sudden bath in cold water to Jane. She could not, from now on, simply ignore the fact that Bill cared for her. It was there, like a palpable presence.
All at once, Jane knew that she would return to San Francisco -- at least long enough to say goodbye to Bill. She owed him that much. She was, after all, his wife.
Abruptly, Jane decided to call the airport in a few days, for a ticket home. Whatever she and Bill had to say to each other could wait till then.
A cold chill went through Jane.
What would become of Alexander? Would he wait for her? He would be "losing" her for a few days only, to be sure. As soon as her affairs in San Francisco were finished, she would be coming back to Haiti, and to him. Of course she wouldn't lose him.
With that, Jane went about her business, slightly worried by the presence, in the back of her mind, of the thought of leaving Alexander.
That afternoon, Madeleine and Frederick returned, and opened up the house.
Three hours after their return, in late afternoon, Jane was going to their room to ask Madeleine about arrangements for her flight home.
As she neared Madeleine's room, it became apparent that a fight was in progress.
"I don't give a damn about your maidenly chastity -- or what's left of it!"
The voice was Frederick's, and it was loud, angry, and full of outrage.
"And I'll tell you something else -- I'd not mind, even, if you took up with a white man! But when you take a liking to a nigger, and then propose that I stand by, while... while... "
Frederick's voice faltered, and Jane, half embarrassed, leaned her ear against the door of Madeleine's bedroom.
"You just shut your mouth!"
The voice was Madeleine's, and it was shrill, almost hysterical.
"I will not shut my mouth! You have been laying with that nigger stud behind my back, old girl! One time more, and I warn you... I warn you... "
Madeleine's voice cut in sharply.
"You'll what? What will you do?"
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Go on, tell me what you'll do -- you rotten, rummy old bastard ..."
There was a loud slap -- the sound of a hand hitting a face. Jane winced, as though feeling the blow herself.
Frederick's voice was shaky, full of anger.
"That's only a sample, old girl! I have stood for this much too long, as it is. Much too goddamned long!"
"Get OUT!" Madeleine's voice was shrill, hysterical.
"Oh, go to hell!" Frederick replied.
"And I suppose you don't have women on the side, my dear old boy... "
Madeleine's voice, hate-filled, was loaded with sarcasm.
"With those... those tramps you were with in town yesterday!"
Frederick's voice was tired?
"Oh, shove it along, old girl. You know damned well I could never match your rotten show with that... that Alexander!"
Frederick's voice was heavy with sarcasm -- and a touch of obscenity -- when he spoke the name.
"Though I will say," he continued, chuckling softly, "he certainly manages to amuse himself with that... that lane woman."
Madeleine chuckled loudly.
"Yes," she conceded, "isn't she a silly goose? And running after Alexander that way -- it's shameful. I wouldn't do such a thing -- and I pay the bastard's salary. God, what a silly idiot she is! I wish I'd never invited her. And then wanting to stay that way -- to be with him, I suppose."
Jane, numb with shock, took her ear from the door, and ran down the hallway.
She had never been so humiliated in her life!
Tearfully, she went to her room, and began to pack. Furiously, through dimmed eyes, Jane began to throw her clothes willy-nilly into her set of luggage (a present, so thoughtfully provided by Bill, last Christmas).
"How could I have been such a fool?" she gasped, finishing the job of filling a suitcase, doing it carelessly, only half aware of her actions.
Finally, after fifteen furious minutes, Jane was packed and ready to go. She would take a taxi to town, and stay in a hotel tonight. She would leave tomorrow, and never be back! Oh God -- the humiliation of it!
A sudden, savage wave of anger swept through Jane's whole body, as she turned to go out the door, her eyes narrowed, her steps precise. Her hands were knotted at her sides.
She would, at least, have the pleasure of upbraiding Alexander! She would not let him get away scot-free. He, Frederick and Madeleine -- what a team they must have been, laughing at the romantic fulminations of a middle-class American housewife!
She banged out the door, the screen almost ripping with the shove she gave it, and headed around the house, to Alexander's quarters.
Nearing his door, Jane quickened her steps slightly. She knocked three times, the door opened, and there was Alexander, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. The look of surprise on his face was patent, sincere. Even Jane, in her anger, could not miss it. She decided to overlook it, and was lost in the fullness of her anger -- her humiliation.
"Alexander," she began, her voice shaking with anger, "you are the lowest, most contemptible human being I... I have ever met. I hate you... hate you... you sonofabitch!"
"Jane," he began, his mouth working, numb with shock, "wh-what in the world?' He stopped, looking at the enraged, blond, white, American housewife before him. She had never seemed further from him than at this moment.
"Jane, what... if you'll let me... "
"Let you explain?" Jane raged, beside herself, hardly aware of her words. "So you can have a... a good laugh about it with Madeleine and that lush of a husband? Is that it, Alexander? Do you want to explain how you've... you've used me, in these past few days? How you made a fool of me, and... and LAUGHED behind my back?"
Jane wheeled, unable to continue, and, sobbing loudly, ran toward the front of the house, where her luggage was packed and waiting.
For several minutes, stunned, Alexander sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
What in the world had brought that on? He had, he knew, done nothing that could possibly anger Jane.
His eyes narrowed suddenly. What had Jane been thinking of? What had Madeleine been telling her? The sudden thought of his intimacy with Madeleine made Alexander shudder. Was Jane judging him for having to do with that twisted, perverted woman, and her weakling of a husband? They had hired him, after all!
With a single movement, Alexander rose from the bed, banging out the door and walking across the yard angrily.
He would sure as hell find out what was going on here -- and in a hurry, too.
He spotted Odetta, who was walking toward him rapidly from the shoreline, and quickened his steps. He certainly did not want to see Odetta, at this stage of the game!
"Alexander?"
He continued walking.
"ALEXANDER?" she shouted, rushing to him and grabbing his arm. He twisted out of her grasp, and continued walking. Finally, feeling her hands on his shoulder, he stopped.
"Odetta, will you please leave me alone? I've told you a thousand times, there isn't anything between ..."
"I'm not talking about us," Odetta gasped, out of breath, "I'm talking about you. Come away from here."
Alexander looked at Odetta for a long moment -- at her long, voluptuous shape, her hair, that well-known body, which he had made such enjoyable love to.
"And why should I come away? Will you tell me that?"
"Yes! Yes, I'll tell you why!" Odetta gasped. "Because of Mama Lu! You must come away from here, and at once! There is great danger for you here, in this house!"
Alexander smiled.
"Is that what Mama Lu told you?"
"Yes! Just now. She begged me to come and tell you, and to bring you back with me!"
The corners of Alexander's mouth curled down with thinly veiled contempt.
"The old ways are dead, Odetta. Mama Lu is from another age -- another time. She doesn't know what she says any more. That's all."
Turning away abruptly, Alexander moved with long strides to the front of the house. He did not slacken his pace, and paid no attention to the loud sobs of Odetta, which grew fainter as he neared the verandah.
Jane, meanwhile, was in the process of carrying her luggage to the front of the house. Frederick had, ungallantly, avoided helping her in any way -- though Jane would have spurned his help, in any case.
Undaunted, Jane set the last piece of luggage on the verandah, and straightened up, feeling twinges in her back. She looked around, and noticed that the house was silent. The Ashleys, probably guessing what was in her mind, had discreetly vanished.
Jane pursed her lips, her eyes roving the horizon, scanning the jungle trees, which seemed to hover in the distance.
Yes, she would leave here, and leave these people, without so much as a goodbye. They were, after all, not her sort of people.
Jane smiled, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. Alexander had been right in the beginning -- she was, finally, just a tourist. With a twinge of pain, Jane wished that she had kept that in mind from the beginning. She thought of Bill, and of his thoughtful letter, and was warmed by the idea of him. There was, after all, something to be said for being a woman who belonged to one man -- and that man her husband. But would that purity of thought last, once she was home again? Or would she start glancing at the bodies of young boys again?
She would try again. Yes, she would put these past few days behind her, and see if she could put some life back into her marriage. It was, after all, a two-way street, and she had not been a bargain for Bill, in many ways. Preoccupation with the children, the daily tensions, her irritability -- all of these had been factors in their trouble. Jane was, suddenly, filled with a new resolve.
From now on, things were going to be different.
Jane's reverie was shattered, suddenly and completely, by the sound of the front door banging open.
"GOD DAMMIT! WHERE IS THAT NIGGER!" Jane spun around, terrified at the rough, whisky voice which announced the arrival of Frederick She looked at him, her eyes widening with shock. Frederick was dressed in a pair of charcoal-gray slacks, and was naked above the waist. His physique was blockish, the torso surprisingly muscular for a man of his age and living habits.
So it occurred to Jane, as she watched, fascinated, her heart pounding. Her eyes drifted to his right hand, which he held stiffly outward. She gasped.
In Frederick's right hand was a British Service Revolver. He held it as though he knew how to use it.
"WHERE is that GODDAM NIGGER!"
Frederick's eyes were blazing, his mouth set in a hard, unresponsive line, his left cheek twitching slightly.
"WHERE IS HE! COME OUT, YOU BLACKASSED BASTARD!"
Suddenly, from the open doorway, Madeleine appeared, her face white.
"Frederick, for God's sake!" she hissed, her eyes full of anger -- and terror.
Frederick turned to his wife slowly.
"You," he said evenly, swaying slightly, the rich odor of bourbon wafting off him, "can shut your god-damned mouth."
"WHERE ARE YOU!" he bellowed, his eyes searching the ground beyond the verandah. "COME OUT, YOU DAMNED NIGGER STUD! COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"
Jane's whole body was numb with shock and fear. She watched the heavy, blue-steel revolver sway, like a deadly snake, on the end of Frederick's careless hand. She restrained a sudden impulse to scream.
Hesitantly at first, and then more boldly, Madeleine took a step, then two steps, toward her swaying, drunken husband.
"Frederick, for God's sake," Madeleine hissed, her voice imploring, insistent.
Frederick's whole body, all at once, seemed to stiffen. His features froze -- he was literally mesmerized with hate.
"GODDAMNED SLUT!" he roared, turning on Madeleine suddenly. "SLEEP WITH A NIGGER LIKE A GODDAMNED TRASHY WHORE! CHEAT ON ME, WILL YOU? BETRAY ME, WILL YOU? WELL, ROT IN HELL!"
Jane's eardrums were blasted by the concussion of the revolver going off, and her eyes watered from the smell of cordite, pungent and cloying.
When the blur went out of her eyes, she saw Madeleine propped against the door, stiffly, her mouth open, her eyes wide with terror. Slowly, Madeleine descended, clutching her middle. As she fell, Jane noticed a shattered pane of glass in the door, the pieces handing from the calking like long, icy fingers. Madeleine slid downward, to a sitting position on the hard concrete of the verandah, clutching her middle tightly.
It was then that Jane saw the blood. It was spreading slowly, in a circle, from Madeleine's middle, a bright stain that would not be stemmed.
Jane's scream was long and loud, and cut the air like a sires It seemed to Jane that her voice was not a part of her, really -- it seemed, in fact, to have a life of its own, continuing on and on, apart from the will that was within her.
Frederick was oblivious, it seemed, to Jane's presence on the verandah. He seemed to be in a world of his own. He scanned the front yard, and abruptly his eyes widened.
"THERE YOU ARE, YOU DAMNED NIGGER STUD! YOU'RE GOING TO PAY, YOU BLACKASSED SON OF A... "
Jane had stopped listening to Frederick, and had turned, to look out, at the front lawn. Her stomach balled into a knot of sheer terror. On the lawn, unsuspecting, coming toward them, with a puzzled look on his face, was Alexander. He had just rounded the side of the house, and was coming toward the verandah rapidly.
"NO! NO, ALEXANDER! GO BACK!"
Jane's warning, unheeded, acted as a spur to Alexander's curiosity. He quickened his stride.
Jane moved toward Frederick, in a frantic attempt to stop him -- but too late. He was through the screen door, and onto the lawn.
Horrified, Jane watched Alexander's expression change from puzzlement to fear, as he took a good look at Frederick, and the heavy pistol that was in his hand.
Abruptly, but too late, Alexander turned, sprinting across the lawn, trying to escape the raving, wild-eyed man with the heavy revolver. Jane watched, her breath frozen in her throat, as Frederick took careful aim.
The report of the revolver was loud in the stillness, like a cannon, and Jane flinched, letting out a shrill cry. Alexander was down, lying motionless, like a huge black deer shot by a hunter. Frederick approached the body, leaned forward slightly, and fired again.
Straightening up, he looked across the cool, silent lawn at Jane, and smiled.
"TIME TO GO NOW!" Frederick announced loudly, putting the muzzle of his revolver to his own temple.
He pulled the trigger.
Jane screamed, her hands to her mouth, as she watched the side of Frederick's head explode outward. He toppled onto the grass, beside Alexander, and was still.
Blind, numb, Jane made her way across the lawn, away from the house, heading for the line of trees in the distance.
Stumbling, and halting, running faster and faster, Jane finally reached the trees, crashing through the heavy secondary growth, the thorns and branches tearing at her tender flesh. Her face marked by cruel, whipping branches, her legs lacerated by the wait-a-bit thorns which clustered on bushes and grass, Jane moved forward, blindly, unknowing and uncaring.
She could not see, she could not hear. Her only thought was to get away from the horror of that house. The back of her neck tingled with sheer terror, as she sensed that something was creeping up on her, following her.
And she was right. Terror itself was following her, and it was like a hand lifting up the back of her brain.
Jane was of little help at the inquest. It was obvious she had gone off the deep end, her brain a blank, her expression the same. She was free to go home, the authorities finally told her. They even supplied her with transportation to the airport, where she caught the first plane back to the United States, and to the sanity of her own, safe house. Bill knew nothing of what had happened, and she never told him. He did notice that she had changed, somehow. Those long... sometimes hours! of silence, just staring off into space.
It was a full two months later before she seemed to suddenly return to her old self again, the high spirits, the ready smile. Bill thought it was simply because she had found a part-time job at the local high school as a "proctor," which Jane explained meant keeping an eye out for drugs being brought onto the grounds, "searching lockers, and that sort of thing. But there was more to Jane's recovery than that. Actually, She wasn't applying for the job that day she drove a neighbor over to make application for the position. The neighbor didn't qualify, and while Jane was waiting out in the car for her, she spotted a black boy playing volley ball on the school courts. He was head and shoulders taller than the rest of the seniors be played with. Jane ran her eyes over his young, muscled body, all two hundred and twenty pounds of it. His hands were big and sure as they deftly handled the ball, and he moved like a panther... he moved like Alexander!
Her heard leaped back to life again. She went into the principal's office and landed herself the job, and the next day made a point of striking up an acquaintance with the huge black youth. The "acquaintance" soon became a "relationship," with Jane's careful maneuvering. His name was Tim, but Jane insisted on calling him "Alexander." He hated that. But he simply loved the way she took his giant, rock-hard penis in her mouth, slurped her warm tongue around it, drained him dry, afternoon after afternoon, after school closed. Jane had rented a small beach "hut," cheap, but efficient for her "needs." She bought Tim clothes, a used car, a guitar. And she taught him the art of making love... just as Alexander had taught her.
"Jesus, Jane, you'll kill me yet!" Tim would often "say, lying naked on the bed in the hut, while Jane straddled her body over his black torso, bucking, squirming, working that wonderful young peter up into her love canal until she would scream, "Ahhhhh! AHHHHH! Now! Now! IT'S COMING AGAIN, ALEXANDER, JUST FOR YOU! ALL FOR YOU! TAKE IT. TAKE ME!"
But then, many nights, when driving home to make Bill's dinner, she'd re-hear Tim's deep voice saying, "You'll kill me yet!"
And she would think of Alexander.