Back to Wando Passo David Payne (find a book to read .TXT) 📖

her here. Clarisse has never adjusted to the alteration in her status. In South Carolina, she’s like a tiger in a cage.”

“If she’s unhappy, and free, why doesn’t she leave?”

“That, madam, is a question you must pose to the philosophers! Father, of course, refused to come out of solidarity with Paloma. For years now, he’s refused to attend events where she and they—the ‘dark family,’ as I believe our well-meaning friends refer to them—were not invited. Which, in short, is why, for years, he’s barely left these grounds. By his own choice, he’s made himself a pariah, infamous throughout the county and the state, and he’s made me one, too, Addie, willy-nilly.”

“I had no idea how this had affected you.”

“The thing has tainted my whole life, Addie,” he says earnestly, “and it is hardly too much to say that it has poisoned it.” Harlan now applies himself to his cigar, puffing single-mindedly like a disgruntled infant at a sugar-tit, till Addie sees a glaze form in his eyes. “This is how we live, my dear. It’s why Wando Passo is not a proper house. To make it one, you and I have a Herculean task ahead of us. Not to put too fine a point on it, Father treats these half-breed niggers in all respects as he treats me, his legitimate son, as though there were no differences of quality or degree, and I’ll go further and tell you he actually prefers their company to mine. That, my dear, is why Jarry was made steward, while I was sent away—exiled is not too strong a term—to Cuba. It’s a rare evening, madam, let me tell you, when you don’t hear them in the library, Jarry and Father, holding forth, their voices raised over some project or some book. They were at it last night, too—so help me God, they were, with the party looming and Father at death’s door, supposedly! They were parsing Wordsworth—I could hear them through the floor. ‘It is not now as it hath been of yore….’ Grant me patience, Lord! And a quarter of an hour later on to Thucydides! ‘The strong do what they can while the weak suffer what they must.’ They kept me up to all hours shouting and laughing over cigars and port the way men only shout and laugh when they’re aroused. Father, I can tell you, has never deigned to discuss such things with me. I lack sufficient intelligence, you see, to comprehend great English poetry, and the Greeks…oh, certainly not.”

Addie’s eyes are wide, her aspect reminiscent of Blanche’s, in the Nina’s bow, under stress from the hot wind. “And what was the upshot?”

“The upshot of what?” he asks with a brusque note.

“Of your disagreement with your father.”

“On what subject, madam? They are multiple and myriad.”

“The subject of Jarry’s manumission.”

“Ah, that! He told me, Addie, to remove my hind parts by the proximate, or nearest, door—and that, madam, is not a paraphrase, but a quote. And from that moment until now, I have not exchanged a word with him or had the pleasure of his beneficent, paternal smile. Now, therefore, let us gird our loins and go to face the dragon in his lair!”

ELEVEN

Claire saw them from across the room—the kids in masks of chocolate Soft-Serve and Ran in his white hat and jeans with muddy knees. She rushed downfield to intercept.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“What?” Ran said. “We’re fine.”

“Hi, Mommy!”

“Hi, Mama!”

“Hi, sweet girl! Hi, sweet boy! Come give Mama a big hug!” She knelt and took her messy kisses fearlessly. She patted them like pears in tissue, checking for bruises. She gazed deep into their eyes for signs of trauma. None were apparent, even to her X-ray vision. Ran’s expression said, See, I handled it, and was proud.

“You gave them ice cream?”

“They were hungry.”

“I’m sure they were. It’s almost suppertime.”

“What was I supposed to do—hand them each a crusty loaf and drop them in the woods? You asked us to be here, here we are, per madame’s request.” He bowed across his hat and, rising, looked at her with melting eyes Claire really couldn’t deal with then.

“You’re late.”

“I had a busy afternoon. Here, check this out.” He showed her the blue vial.

“What’s this?”

“You tell me. I found it in a pot in the backyard.”

“What pot?”

“A black one buried in the periwinkle patch.”

“You found a buried pot in our backyard?”

“It was upside down and wrapped with chains.”

“Wrapped with chains?” She leaned close and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? I had a glass of wine,” he said with wounded innocence.

“A glass…As in a glass bottle?”

“Hey, excuse me,” he said, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re working on a wee bit of a Chardonnay flush yourself. And isn’t everybody drinking here? It’s a cocktail party—so what if I had one before I came? Relax!”

“Oh, Ran,” she said with disappointed eyes. “Goddamn it, this is my first day. You promised.”

“What!” he said. “What! I’m being good. Aren’t I being good? Don’t I have on my white hat?”

“Daddy’s being good, Mommy,” Hope explained with gravity that stopped just shy of a chastisement.

“Ice keem!” Cresting on his sugar rush, Charlie, spying more, headed off toward the desserts.

“Dute, come back!” said Ransom, laughing. “Where’s Cell? I want to see the man and shake his hand! It’s time to institute the plan and make peace in the land!”

And Claire was really worried now.

Deanna, overhearing strident whispers, made haste to interpose. “Are these your children, Claire?”

“Oh, hello, Deanna…Yes, this is Hope and…that’s Charlie over there. Hope, say hi to Professor Holmes.”

“Hi, Professor Homes.”

“Hello,” Deanna said, careful not to touch and risk infection.

Ransom smiled and raised his hand. “I’m the houseboy.”

Claire frowned. “Deanna, this is Ransom Hill, my husband.”

“I used to listen to you all the time at Smith.” Deanna, suddenly, turned girlish. “You had a kind of cult.”

“No kidding,” Ransom said. “A cult at Smith. Tell me more.”

“That’s it. It wasn’t all that big.”

“Well, no, it wouldn’t be, would it?”

Claire,