Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
I sprang bolt upright and felt for him, but he was not there. At first I thought he must have shot himself. I had raped him and in his shame he'd gone and shot himself. My head reeled. I felt around for a light switch, but only came across the sharp rims of the Bull God's distended nostrils. "Nabal!"
There was no reply but someone had located what I so desperately sought and I was momentarily blinded by the light. "For God's sake don't shoot, it's me." I heard it before I could properly focus on the figure in the doorway. "It's me, Gary."
"Hi, Gary," I said, instinctively, almost like a native Vacuum Countian, more intent on being sociable than on anything else.
Nabal stood naked and silent by the desk, aiming his gun at Gary, whose arms were loaded with wires and pliers and knobs and things.
"Hi, there Miss Verity," Gary answered back, sheepishly grinning. If he had had a hat on, he'd have tipped it. Then again, maybe not, since he had his hands full of electronic equipment.
Nabal didn't stir.
"I guess you'd like to know what I'm doing here?" Gary offered.
Nabal didn't say a thing.
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I didn't just go and bust in. I have a right to be here."
Nabal's posture straightened. "You have a right to be here." It was his most effective sarcastic tone.
"Yes, sir. I have. If you'll just let me..."
"Don't move!" Nabal's voice was businesslike and calm.
"Okay. Sure. I was just going to show you the search warrant."
Nabal rocked slightly from left foot to right. "Search warrant." The tone was dull and dead.
"Yes, sir. I have a warrant to install this here electronic surveillance equipment."
I saw his back relax, before he let the gun arm fall to his side. Nabal laughed. "Well, what was I thinking? By all means, install away."
Gary thought about that for a good long moment, seriously considering the possibility. "I ... I don't think there's much point. You see, you weren't supposed to be here."
"Really."
Gary put down his load and scratched his head. "Something is very strange," he repeated. "You weren't supposed to be here."
Nabal tried to be helpful. "Where was I supposed to be, Gary?"
Gary's expression and tone seemed to imply the answer was self evident. "Why, in Miss Verity's room, of course."
Nabal's patience was wearing. "Do you realize that if I'd had the gun in bed with me, as I usually do, you'd easily have been dead by now?"
I frowned, thinking it through. "Gary," I urged. "Who told you Nabal would be in my room?"
"Joe. Joe said he never had you in here ... Begging your pardon, Ma'am. That he'd be in your room."
"Really? And what does Joe know about it?" Nabal's voice was velvet.
Gary frowned. "David told him. David knows. Said you spent all your nights in her room. "
Nabal turned around to look at me for a moment. "He probably mistook me for himself."
I shook my head. "No. That's not it. I could have sworn he knew you weren't touching me... No, he must have known you would be here. He must have thought you would be here alone."
Nabal frowned. "Why..." but realization was dawning. He turned to the other man. "I'd have killed you, Gary. I'd have shot you dead. He'd have liked that, two birds with one stone."
Gary's brow wrinkled and he shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
Nabal's voice was hot and angry now, but not against Gary. "He's trying to kill you. Don't you see, Gary, he wants you dead."
"No. No. Now why would you say that, Nabal." He scratched his head. "David likes me. He would never want to harm me."
Nabal took a few steps toward him and grasped him by the shoulders. "Wake up, Gary. He's lying with your wife!"
"Huh?"
"He's sleeping with Betsy. He's got her with child."
The creases on Gary's face relaxed. "Oh, that. I know about that."
It was Nabal's turn to be shocked. "You ... know ... about that."
Gary nodded, smiling. "Sure. I think they make a great couple. That's why I've been staying away. Wanted to give them more time together. David's a swell guy. I'd give him anything."
The silence was thick and stifling. Finally, Nabal tossed his head back and laughed, angry and bitter. When he had done he said: "All right then, Gary. But perhaps you should tell David how you feel. Else he'll think of a more efficient way to rub you out."
Gary looked dazed. "Sure, Nabal. I'll tell him." He shambled out, leaving the equipment behind. "Good night, Miss Verity."
When he had gone, Nabal turned to me with an expression of bemusement. "For a moment there, I almost ..." But he didn't say what. "Look at them, they're falling all over themselves to die for him."
But I said. "The innocent and good, yes. People like Jonathan and Gary. But not the corrupt. Not people like Abner. Abner didn't want to die. Abner understood David."
Nabal nodded. "Only evil fights evil. Then one evil triumphs over another. Nothing more."
I shook my head. "David's not evil."
His eyes narrowed. Suspicion flooded his face from behind narrowed slits.
I laughed. "He's just nice. He's just a very nice person."
For a moment he stared at me, then he smiled. And he came and sat down on the cover and bent down and cleared away my bangs and kissed me very softly on the forehead.
From THE WEEKLY VAQUERO
JUDGE'S NEPHEW INSULTS HANDICAPPED
Wednesday in a ceremony at the County Courthouse, Bashful Jones, the nephew of County Judge David Smith, surprised onlookers by declining the honor of being known as a poster child for the Vacuum County chapter at the March of Dimes. The twelve year old boy, who is confined to a wheelchair, was given the opportunity to say a few words before those assembled. Onlookers were shocked when he turned to the crowd and announced: "My name's Ashbel, not Bashful and I'm not handicapped, I'm a cripple. But I wasn't born that way, see! So it's not like I'm one of your lousy good-for-nothing degenerate types, that should have been drowned at birth. And I sure as hell am not gonna pose for no picture saying that I am!" Other remarks by the young Mr. Jones were unprintable. The boy was ushered away by March of Dimes staff and Judge Smith personally apologized to onlookers, saying the child had been under a great deal of emotional stress. March of Dimes spokesmen declined to comment.
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND
I saw Lou Ann again at AA. We were standing around, waiting for it to start. She was putting on lipstick and looking at her image in a compact. I walked up to her and she caught a glimpse of me in the mirror. She turned to me and said: "You're looking good, honey. Real good. Your old man been treating you okay, huh?"
I smiled almost involuntarily. "You were wrong, Lou Ann."
"What about?"
"You can force someone to be a good master ... Good people can't help being good. Even if they'd rather not be at all."
Lou Ann looked confused. "What'cha talking about, honey?"
Melinda came up behind us, quietly, but I tried to ignore her.
"You can. You can hand the whip right to him and tell him: govern. And maybe he won't be able to help it, even if he'd rather not. " I tensed. "The problem is ... " I swallowed. "It's degrading. We shouldn't need people. But everybody does. And that's why we sell out. If we didn't sell out, we'd all be dead."
Melinda piped up in her pedantic tones: "You're way off, Verity. Needing people is beautiful. It's what makes the world go round. It's what makes us human."
I thought she might to break into song at any moment: People who need people are the luckiest people in the world. So to forestall a really sickening musical interlude, I said: "But Melinda, you're always lecturing us against dependence."
Melinda's pale porcelain complexion lost a bit more color and her thin lips were compressed in distaste. "That's codependence. Codependence is bad. Dependence is bad. But needing people is good."
I frowned. "You lost me there."
"When we deal with others on the basis of voluntary exchange, we may need each other ... but we are not dependent," she said, almost as though she were reciting something she had read. "We may be interdependent, but we are never dependent."
I was going to ask her what the difference was, but she walked off.
I rushed home because I hoped I would see him at lunch. But he wasn't there. I asked Pilar: "Where's Nabal?" She handed me an envelope. I read it. Right there at the table, under Anadora's hawklike gaze. The paper was rough and grainy, like the one he'd written to Abby. Cheap and coarse, because he is a penny pincher and not because he weeps for trees.
Verity,
I was ready to die. For the sake of my honor ... or because there was nothing and no one to fight for. One or the other reason comes to mind, but I am somewhat unsure at the moment which carries the greater weight. What is honor in an empty world? And how can I face you, dishonored. You made me cling to you, like the proverbial straw to a drowning man.
I cannot blame you. It would be ludicrous to charge you with assault. (Though the charge is not unfounded.) You could not force me, just as Abner could not really force you to plead nolo contendore, just as no one could force Alvar Nu·ez to lie. No slave ever kneeled except by choice. There are always alternatives.
Nonetheless, mere persuasion is not an adequate description for what happened. And neither is brute force. How can duress and free will coexist in the same universe? Once we give in, how can we possibly point the finger at our tormentors?
In the cold light of day, I search for a reason not to kill myself, because I don't wish to any longer, but no reason presents itself. Surely, the prospect of frolicking with a nubile young slut is not reason enough.
You may not share my tongue save if you share my code, my creed and my motto. It was never meant for slaves.
I therefore give my fight with the authorities my personal attention, in the vain hope of a legal success. Failing that, there is no other alternative than to mass my forces and defend my land, to the death.
Your humble servant,
Nabal
I looked up from the letter. My servant? I could almost hear the acid in his voice when he said that. Except that he didn't say it. He just wrote it down.
Anadora 's eyes twinkled. "Well. An ardent love letter, no doubt?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so." I groped for the words. "Being with me isn't good enough ..."
She nodded wisely. "To Lucasta, then, is it?"
"Huh?"
"I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more." Her voice crackled pleasantly, like a warm campfire.
"Well, yeah, sort of. Except he doesn't say he loves me."
"No?" she prodded.
"No. He just says I'm a nubile young slut."
She laughed. "Well, that's just as good, I should think. Possibly better."
Pilar gave me a cross look, and walked out of the kitchen abruptly.
Anadora continued unperturbed, pleased with herself. "I've read the portents and they are good. Nabal is closer to the gods than ever he has been. Why, before he left for Austin, we sacrificed a calf together. Imagine, he asked me to help him. And Ashbel is coming along nicely..."
I remembered what he had told me of her. The meeting in the hallway. Her words: "Go wash your face." I got angry. "You don't care about either one of them. You don't care what happens to them, so long as you get what you want."
Anadora nodded. "That is well said. Because it doesn't matter in the least what happens to them, unless they serve their purpose. Not to me, not to the gods and certainly not to them."
My lower lip trembled. "You let Sam beat him ..."
"That's right. And I would do it again."
"And you never shed a tear ..."
"What use would I have been to him, if I were forever weeping?" She grew distant, looking away. "I swore to Caleb I wouldn't coddle him. That he would grow to be a man."
I was so angry that for a moment I thought I'd caught a thread by which to trip her. "What is it about you and beatings, anyway? You tell Nabal he's got to beat me, so that I'll love him. That he should scourge the people into submission. Well, I don't get it. That's just exactly what Sam did. And yet you wanted Nabal to hate Sam for beating him?"
She smiled and there was a strange glow in her eyes. "That's right, Verity. So very right. You're finally catching on. We'll make a witch of you yet."
My nose smarted from the anger. "I don't get it," I sniffed. "How are you any different from Sam?"
"The issue," she said, her countenance grave and her words carefully spoken, "the issue is not whether I am any better than Sam. The issue is whether Nabal is better than the rabble. And we have proven that he is."
I stared at her in total incomprehension.
She patted my hand. "Oh, he's weak, child. I know him well and I am not blind to his faults. Self indulgent, sensitive and hungry for affection. A better man would not find himself in this quandary. A better man would not have disdained to rule his people because they did not come to him, begging to be ruled. A better man would not expect to be given justice. He would take it and make it." She paused. "But he is made of nobler stuff than they are. And he will not embrace a tyrant, no matter how pleasant." She laughed. "And that is why he must either himself become a despot or die trying."
My voice was strange and my mouth felt dry. "I don't understand. Why does anybody have to be a despot? Why can't we have freedom?"
She chuckled. "We cannot have freedom because people need a master. And if good men do not enslave the rabble, then bad men most certainly will. Which would you rather have, freedom or justice?"
I laughed despite myself. "I didn't know there was a choice like that."
She smiled. "In the long run, there isn't. Because as soon as the masses sign over their freedom to the despot, there will be neither."
I frowned. "Now which despot is that, exactly, the good one or the bad one?"
But Anadora turned away and started playing with the teapot, as though my question were too silly to answer.
***
I looked up interdependence. The definition is pretty simple: mutual dependence. Mutuality is the only difference. So, if dependence is a bad thing -- and Melinda seems to think it is -- then interdependence is no better. Possibly worse. Two wrongs don't make a right ... Strike that last sentence! I've got to stop going to AA. I can't believe I just wrote down such a hackneyed platitude.
Nabal just got back from Austin, all gloom and doom. They're planning to seize the ranch. I haven't seen the Bull God since the night I raped him. Nabal that is, not the Bull God, although sometimes I confuse the two. Nabal has very distinctive nose as well. I like it when his nostrils flare.
Anyway, I continue to reside in my room and he in his. And as far as we know no bugs have been installed, but he's very careful and won't even speak to me unless it's in the open air, away from the house. The criminal investigation continues, it seems, even though they've determined civil liability and fines and stuff already. I guess Nabal's afraid he might accidentally say something nice to me and they'll report it to the IRS. But I don't think there's any danger of that, really.
He plans to barricade himself in the hacienda when they come, stick guns out of those narrow fortress windows and fight it out. I promised to stand by him and I will, even though it all seems a little ... histrionic. Melodramatic and hopeless and all. But I'd rather die than betray him. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do outside of Carmel.
He's so awkward when he lets down his guard and his eyes seem to plead: don't betray me. I don't ever want to see that hurt look in his eyes, the one he had after he killed Abby.
Gary spends most of his time at Carmel and he and Nabal get on wonderfully, as though that thing with the surveillance equipment had never happened. I suppose Nabal feels safer knowing who the undercover agent is. But there's more to it than that. He really likes Gary.
Ashbel came over today. He says David is hardly ever home for supper now. He mostly stays over at the Hittners', now that he and Gary have straightened out the misunderstanding. Betsy is close to term and David neglects everything to be with her. Ashbel is angry with him. I don't know what about, exactly. Maybe just because he feels neglected. But he takes solace in Nathan's preaching. It seems David is a mighty sinner now. Not because he betrayed Saul and Jonathan. And not because he had Abner killed and was about to do the same to Gary. But mostly because he's sleeping with Betsy.
Anadora and Ashbel were talking in the atrium. "D'you reckon God will punish David, like Nathan says?"
"What did he say?" I asked.
Ashbel relished the telling. "Well, he came to dinner the other night. And David was there, just on account of the pastor, 'cause he's over at Betsy's most any night. And Nathan he goes, 'Judge, there be a rich man and a poor man in this here County. And the rich man had lots and lots of cattle and acres and acres of land.' And David listens real close, like, you know, 'cause I bet he thought he was talking about Nabal. I mean, who else could it be. And Nathan goes: 'And there's this real poor guy, only has one cow. And he likes her so much, he eats all his meals with her and shares his bread with her and sleeps with her.'"
"Sleeps with her!" I couldn't help it. It just seemed like a very strange thing for Nathan to say, considering the low regard in which bestiality is held in this County.
"Yes'm," Ashbel said, nodding his head up and down. "That sure is what he said. `Sleeps with her like a daughter. '" He took a moment to ponder that. "I guess that makes sense, seeing as Milly Yarrow, who's in my class at school told me her Daddy sleeps with her many a night and she's only eleven."
"Go on," Anadora prompted, amused at the look on my face, but more interested in Nathan's story.
"Well," Ashbel said, swallowing, "one day, accordin' to Nathan, this rich guy had some company over and he was gonna give 'em a barbecue, but he didn't want to use any of his own cattle, on account of he was so stingy, I guess, so he goes and he gets that poor fellow's cow and he roasts her instead." Ashbel scratched his nose. "Well, when David heard that why he was real mad and he goes: `By God, that man's a dead man. And I'll see that he pays treble damages for that cow.' And Nathan goes: `It's you.'" Ashbel cleared his throat. "At that point I was pretty confused myself, seeing as David doesn't own any cattle at all. I turned to the pastor and I go: `'scuse me, Brother Nathan, but don't you mean Nabal Cabeza de Vaca. He's the only cattle rancher in the county.' But David told me to hush. And Nathan goes: 'The Lord spoke to me and he said that he chose you to be Judge of this here County and he done helped you get away from Saul when he was atryin' to kill you. And he made you head of the house of your mentor and his women in your lap and control of this whole County. And why'd you go and do this thing, sleeping with Betsy Hittner and trying to get that yankee husband of hers killed.' And David was just settin' there, didn't say anything, but I could tell he was real sorry he done it. And Nathan goes: `Don't you fret none. God's not gonna make you die. He's just gonna mess with your children.'"
I laughed. "Is that really what he said?"
Ashbel said: "Well I can't remember the exact same words, but that was the general gist of it."
Anadora leaned back in her chair. "Yes. That sounds about right. If I know Jehovah, that's exactly the sort of thing he would say."
I stared at her. "Jehovah ... but isn't that Sam's god?"
She smiled. "That's right. And Nathan's and David's. And practically half the world's. Where have you been, child. He's the only god they know in this County, no matter who they are. Whatever their petty quarrels, this they agree on. Why, they worship him in the First Baptist Church and the Catholic Church down the road, just the same. He and his woman and his son."
I was very confused. "But you just said you knew him."
She nodded. "I do. We go way back. He's been around for thousands of years, child. How could we not know him. Caleb knew him and Othniel and Jafnez. Alvar Nu·ez knew him well. And even Hannibal was not unacquainted with that god."
"But..." I stammered. "But ... I thought you didn't believe in him."
"Not believe in him," she spat out. "How could I not believe in him. See what that thieving, conniving bastard has done. Why he's getting all the offerings while the other gods are starving for a rancid hunk of meat." She snorted. "Not believe in him!"
I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion. "But ... if you all believe in the same god ..."
"I acknowledge their god and they harry mine. Like a greedy little younger brother, he has supplanted the rest. Where we showed honor and respect to the gods of others, willing to cast our rods into snakes with the best of them, to engage in fair combat and worthy battle, he tore down all the monuments, leaving only his own. Then he pretended that the others had never existed, he who is merely a younger, lesser son of the Bull God, not fit to wash the feet of Baal."
I looked at Ashbel and he shrugged at me. I could tell theology was not his strong suit, but he tolerated Anadora's ravings, because they were colorful, just as he relished Nathan's parable and the terrible prophecy of "messing with" David's children.
"Jehovah is the son of the Bull God?"
"Most certainly, he is. The family resemblance is unmistakable." She sniffed, as though the subject were below her notice.
I laughed. "Family resemblance? But has anyone ever seen Him?"
She didn't smile, but her eyes twinkled. "He daren't show his face, but some have seen his backside."
I didn't know what to say, especially as I had only seen the Bull God's face and didn't see how Jehovah's posterior could serve as a point of comparison.
Anadora seemed to understand my dilemma, because she said: "Though it's well known that he is long of nose and when he is angry, which is often, his nostrils flare."
I rolled my eyes. "It's well known...?"
Anadora smiled. "What a little heathen you are, Verity. You should read your Bible more often." Which, coming from her, was truly bizarre.
***
I was reading that book about Hannibal, the only one in English that they have here, with the exception of course of the book with the blue elephant on the cover. Hannibal was now the undisputed master of the land, free to ravage and roam wherever the inclination took him ...Already at what seemed a point of triumph he could conquer, but not consolidate ... His immediate political aim was to seduce from Rome the allies within her confederacy, restoring to them their freedom. But freedom for what?
I looked up from the book, remembering Anadora's question: freedom or justice. But not both. And very often, neither. What if people don't want freedom? What if they're like the dog I had once who used to come begging me to put on his leash. If I had told my dog I was granting him his freedom and just dumped him in the nearest park, he'd have come back to me. And if I still refused to have him, he would just get a new master. Or die in the pound. I thought about Lou Ann and how she had been "liberated right good." And then I remembered what Nabal had said about me. Like any other stray.
He believes in slavery. Would you impose freedom by force. How unAmerican. I could also hear his voice. But he had also said that slavery was shameful. How can both be right?
Bradford describes how Hannibal motivated his men before a battle. Publius Scipio speaking to his Roman army emphasized it was a "just war" they were fighting and gave a whole legal rundown of the treaty they had signed with the Carthaginians. But Hannibal "kept words to a minimum."
The army was formed in a large circle into which were introduced a number of prisoners taken from the Gauls who had attacked them during their march. These were given the option of remaining prisoners and slaves, or, if they were willing to fight in a single combat with one another, the victor would would gain his freedom, arms, armour and a horse. As for the vanquished, death at least would spare him from his present sufferings. With one accord, all the Gallic prisoners voted for combat. After these gladiatorial fights were over, and the dead had been dragged away and the prisoners who had not been lucky enough to to be selected by lot had been led off in chains, there was scarcely any need for words. There, said Hannibal, was the true picture of his men's situation: if they fought well and triumphed, Rome and all her the riches of this country were theirs; if they died in battle they were spared all further suffering; but if they fought and lost, then nothing but the misery of slavery awaited them. Except that I'm sure Nabal would not have said misery, he'd have called it shame.
Just then he walked in. I started to get up, to open my mouth in greeting, but he put a warning finger to his lips. I held my breath. He's become paranoid since that thing with Gary. No, that's not right. He was always paranoid and only now he's more so. He handed me a piece of paper.
It was a notice from the IRS. They've set a date for the seizure. We have a month. I handed him back the paper silently. He looked down at me, his dark eyes questioning. I reached my hand to touch his nose, because I suddenly realized what was so strange about it. In some odd, demented way, he's got Bull God's nose. The length -- always, and the nostrils, only when he's angry ...or otherwise aroused. But if Anadora is right about Jehovah, he must look a little like him, too.
Nabal's eyes narrowed, somehow sensing that my thoughts were not altogether proper. He gently removed my hand from his nose. I took his hand in both of mine and kissed it on the _T
wrist. He laughed and shook his head and walked out.
I sat there and thought about it for a while. I said I would stand by him, which means, I think, doing something illegal. I hadn't thought of that before.
I'd only thought about the possibility of getting killed in a shoot out with the IRS or some romantic double suicide if we fail. But what if we're caught. I wouldn't even get the benefit of a trial before they put me away. I'd go straight to the County jail for violating my probation. It doesn't say anything about an armed rebellion against an agency in the executive branch of the United States government, but I'm sure it falls under the general heading of crimes and misdemeanors.
So that's when I thought I'd go talk with David. Not so he'd call off his dogs. Not to appeal to his conscience, because I know he hasn't got one. But just to get him to release me from my probation, which is something he said he would do.
When I came into his clerk's office and asked "Is the Judge in?" she gave me an odd look. She was filing her nails at the time and yellow legal files were strewn all over her desk. "He's not in now, Miss. You wanna leave a message?"
I shook my head and went out into the hall to get a Coke and a snickers bar, because again I hadn't had lunch. I was shocked when I saw the Coke machine. It was shiny and red and brand new and modern. Not all like like old dilapidated machine they had under Saul. David's handiwork no doubt. I felt angry. Nabal had probably paid for that machine from his taxes and he would never get to drink a single Coke from it. It was so unfair.
And to top it all off, when I pressed the Coke button, a light came on that said "empty." Some Coke machine! I looked at the other choices and finally settled on some strange yellow thing called Rondo, that I've never had before. Some new fangled thing. Although I did see a commercial for it once when Lou Ann and I were watching Leave it to Beaver. It featured an athlete of some sort, all golden and sweaty, who threw back his head and drank it all down in one gulp. And then, I think he crushed the can. So, with in mind, I pressed the Rondo button. The can came hurtling down with a bang. It had the strangest logo on it, almost like a coat of arms. I took a sip. It was tart and lemony and bubbly and lots better than Sprite. But it was way too fizzy to drink all in one gulp.
I kept pacing around in the hall for a while and then stuck my head in the door. The clerk was on the phone: "No, he won't eat a thing. It's been a week now. And he spends all his time at the Church. Sleeps there on the floor. He won't wash, he won't shave. It's pathetic. I don't know what to do." She finally noticed me: "You want something, honey?"
"I want to talk to the Judge. When is he expected?"
She shook her head. "Oh, he's not expected, hon'. See, Betsy Hittner's baby's took sick real bad and ..." She trailed off and as if the rest were self-explanatory. "He's got the yellow jaundice, see. And them fancy doctors in Hillsboro did everything they could for him. Then they sent him home. Only he's doing real poorly."
I wondered what other kind of jaundice there was, except yellow. "Where is David now?" I ventured to ask.
"I don't rightly know," she said.
But I thought I had a pretty good idea. So, Rondo can in hand, I walked around the square to the First Baptist Church.
When I walked in the place looked empty. I sat down at a pew and thought of the last time I was in there, when I had that bizarre conversation with Nathan. The fruit of the poison tree doctrine, as I recall, was our topic. What do you do about something that should never have happened. If every smile, every joy and every child that would never have seen light if not for the wrongful act of someone were wiped from the face of the earth, we would all be dead. When they sowed the gound with salt and led off the women of Carthage into slavery, they all went and became someone's grandmother. Italy must be full of their descendants. Yet Nabal still burns with the shame after centuries. I suppose that's why they're the people, and he's ... a Cabeza de Vaca.
Maybe it really isn't shameful at all, unless you happen to 2feel0 the shame. The conquered and the conqueror live on to people the earth. It is only those who will neither submit nor rule who die out. Nobody rules forever. You give out or you give in. It might be that slavery is an eternal fact of the human condition because those who will put up with it live on. Those who won't die by the sword. Or failing that, die out, because they cannot bear to bring forth children into slavery. If you go far enough back, who doesn't owe his existence to a rape committed somewhere in the distant or not so distant past? Only it isn't shameful, if you don't remember. Or don't care. The people are fickle, Anadora had said. Maybe there's a reason for that. Too long a memory is a treacherous thing.
There was a moan and I jumped up from my seat, looking around. Eventually I found him sprawled on the floor in front of the altar. Well, it wasn't exactly an altar. There was no place to burn a sacrifice and I didn't understand Anadora's complaint about the other gods having to do with rancid meat. By the looks of it, Jehovah wasn't getting any steaks, either.
David looked up at me, piteously. His eyes were bloodshot, his beautiful cheeks were covered by a coat of reddish-brown stubble that was not old enough to be a real beard and there were actually frown lines on his forehead. His mouth was dry and parched and when he tried to speak his voice croaked. "Verity ..." He didn't even smell good anymore.
I wanted to savor the triumph over him, except that it was no use. David's emotions are so transparent and spontaneous and real, that I can't ever help feeling for him, no matter how much I want to hate him. The way you can't help cuddling a puppy, even if he has fouled the carpet. When he was kissing Betsy, I felt that it was right because it was so beautiful. And now he loved that child no less. I thought about Nabal and the Texaco card and the IUD. How he had promised to rip the miscreants from my innards if I dared conceive. But _T
David, always generous and warm and caring, and utterly unjust, never thought before he acted. Now he was a father. He was a father because he was careless and irresponsible. Maybe that's how life begins. By accident. And men embrace their accidents, as though they were the most precious thing on Earth. Even though it was only a newborn and he could have a thousand other children by a thousand other women, he was crawling on the floor and humbling himself, because he couldn't bear to see it die.
Instinctively, I extended my right hand clutching the soda can toward him. "Want some Rondo?"
He shook his head. "I'm fasting. I ... My baby. I'm asking God to spare my son."
I frowned. "But why should he? According to Nathan, he's the one who made him sick in the first place. Because you slept with Betsy." I realized what a silly statement that was. After all, if he hadn't slept with Betsy, there would be no baby to make sick. And if that is the worst thing that can happen to an adulterer, and if it only happens some of the time, it's really no deterrent is it? Suppose half of David's illegitimate sons were struck dead. He'd still have one hundred percent more children than he was entitled to. Every child who escaped the scourge would be a bonus. Except that David would never think of that. Not consciously.
He shook his head and tears stood in his eyes. "But ..." he choked down a sob. "But ... he's just a baby!"
I didn't have an answer, so I walked away, but just as I was about to leave, Joe and Randy came in, followed shortly by Ashbel, on crutches.
0"I'm not gonna tell him. Are you crazy?" Randy whispered. "Look what a mess he is now when he think's there's still hope. What's he gonna do when I tell him it's dead."
And Joe said: "Well, he's got to know sooner or later."
Only David had gotten up from the floor when he heard them whispering and walked painfully, limping, to us. He looked straight at Joe. "Is he dead?" And Joe nodded. David was silent for a moment. The he turned to me and said: "I'll have that Rondo, now." I gave it to him and he drank it down all in one gulp, just like the man in the commercial.
Randy scratched his head. "I don't get it, man. You were fasting and tearing your hair out and everything when he was alive. And now that he's dead you're having a Rondo. This is really weird, man."
0David looked at him without expression. "There's nothing can be done now. He can't be brought back to life. He won't come back to me."
0But Ashbel, scrunched down over on his crutches, piped up: "That witch down at Carmel Joe gave him an icy look: "Shut up, boy."
I decided this would not be good time to ask David to sign my release papers, so I quietly walked out of there and found my car and drove home.
I saw Nabal out in the atrium, by the locquat tree alone and I rushed out and threw myself at him and clung to him and hoped he wouldn't push me away. When I finally dared to look up at his face he seemed astonished, as though the idea that anyone could want to hug him were the most foreign thing in the world. I wanted to tell him about David and the baby, but when I started to open my mouth he put his finger to my lips. I guess he thinks even the garden isn't safe and in a sense he was right because just then Anadora came upon us. She didn't say anything but only smiled her sage little smile and Nabal instinctively stiffened and pushed me away.
It's not that she disapproves. It's that he won't give her the satisfaction. She claims to have conjured me up to serve him. She actually told me that the other day. He wanted Abby and she knew from the start it was wrong. He still wants Abby. Even though he knows now it was wrong. He needs me, but he wants Abby. And he hates Anadora for being right. For caring more about his honor than his happiness. Even though agrees with her, he hates her for it.
He colored when she said: "Luxurious living and the delights of love?"
0He didn't dignify it with answer, and pushed past her, but just then Pilar came out to the atrium, followed closely by -- David! He had a scary glint in his eye and a funny looking bundle in his arms.
"Se·ora," Pilar said. "The Judge. I think he has gone loco."
Anadora shooed her away and stood calm and quiet as David approached.
He really did look mad. "My baby is dead," he said. "Can you fix it?" And extended the flannel bundle to her.
0I looked at Nabal. I thought he would laugh. But then only stood there frowning, his eyes narrowed in suspicion and his arms defensively shielding his body, as though even now he expected some nefarious assault from David.
Anadora put up her hand in refusal. "If I do this for you, what will you give the Bull God."
David's lip quivered. "If you do this for my son, I will give anything."
She smiled, a cold hard smile. "That will do." And she took the bundle from him and laid it on a sunny spot in the grass, revealing, unfolding the blanket. The infant was yellow and still, but perfect in every other way. As perfect as the Gerber baby. But what could you expect? It was David's son. David and Betsy's, with everything that implies.
Anadora knelt down over the baby and put a finger in its mouth carefully prying it open. "I need an assistant," she said.
I looked at Nabal and he was still as stone.
She turned to him and said something angry and foreign.
He looked at David. "Why should I?"
David returned a blank stare.
Anadora answered: "Because this child is your servant. And you owe him that."
Nabal swallowed. "I don't have the touch. You know that."
She didn't say anything, just bent down over the baby. Then she said, not even looking at Nabal. "A stone can heal. Are you less than a stone?"
He shut his eyes instinctively, as if to drown out pain. And after a good long while he opened them up again and came and knelt down beside her. She took his hand in hers and placed it over the baby's chest while muttering incantations. And then she placed her lips to the baby's mouth while establishing a rhythm of pressure for Nabal's hand on the baby's chest. Then she let go his hand and he kept at it, as if hypnotized. After a while the baby spluttered and gave a sickly little cry. Anadora stood up, but Nabal was still on the ground stroking the infant's belly, as if that were a perfectly natural gesture for him.
David took a step forward. Anadora stopped him just by speaking. "Your god wanted that child's life for the least of your sins, after which he would have permitted you to continue to ravage this county. But my god gives you your son and takes away the judgeship. You are not fit to rule a brothel, much less a county."
0She motioned to Nabal who handed her the baby, almost reluctantly, as if he wanted to keep it. She placed the baby in David's arms and said: "Let him bathe in the Sun goddess's rays, she who is the candle of the gods. For the next fortnight, let him lie naked before her, and all will come right." David nodded and turned to go. But she said: "Oh and David ... I hope you beat him often. Remember: spare the rod and spoil the child."
David ignored her and got out of there fast, the baby held tightly in his arms. I turned to look at Nabal. He leant against the locquat tree, as if for support. And he was trembling.
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