Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [171]
I settled myself, listening intently for any signal or sign that we might have hunters on our trail.
Nothing.
And nothing.
And nothing.
Until I heard a faint clacking, as though some bird were peck-peck-pecking on a tall tree nearby.
(A-hah! I felt like such a fool when I realized it was the noise of my own teeth!)
All the rest of nature settled down as I quieted myself once more.
And caught my eye on a nub of dark plant floating in the pool of water mid-distant between our tree and the far clump of plants that made up an island, like a stepping stone, in the marsh. I studied this small mark upon the placid inlet, bore my eyes down on it.
With a flip of a lid that startled me back into the shivers, it opened an eye on me.
And then another.
It floated toward me, rising a little as it moved, so that soon I could see the knotted hair, the broad and spectral brow, the woman as brown as Liza, hair spiked like star-shine, her breasts ascendant as she rose out of the water.
Charles! I cried out, but my throat went dry and so I could say nothing.
Liza!
As if I had called her name, whatever she or it might be, she floated, her breasts buoyant and rising, her glance falling directly on me.
What could I do but shield my eyes and cry out, Run, Liza, run!
Forgive me, but I was afraid and fascinated all at once, hypnotized and mystified by this apparition of the swamp—for surely she was a hallucination, and I was losing my mind. Did I wake or sleep?
Nate! I heard the woman calling to me. Goodbye, Nate! I’m running!
Chapter Eighty-one
________________________
Smoke in the Air
I awoke to white light turning into golden light streaming in through the windows, and hovering over me, with as it seemed to my senses, a slight odor of smoke adhering to her, a dark figure, herself all dressed in white, and she turned, and I saw her face.
“Precious Sally,” I said.
“You back!” She raised her hands as if at a political rally or prayer meeting. “Thank the God Jehovah! He’s back!”
But of course if she was standing there I was back at The Oaks. I strained to speak, and my voice sounded to my own ears like a noise filtered through a long hollow log. “How did I get here?” Every joint of me ached and my head felt as though it were on fire.
Precious Sally leaned over me, dabbing at my forehead with a damp cloth.
“You arrived on that horse,” she said. “Somebody slung you over the horse like a dead animal. When I saw first you, you was out, like in a deep, deep sleep, I almost thought you was already dead.”
Gathering what little strength I had, I sat up quickly, but immediately fell back onto the bed.
“Where is Liza?”
Again Precious shook her head, and leaned close to me, so that I could drink deeply of her by-now-familiar breath.
“Gone,” she said. “You know she run off. You run off after her, didn’t you? Hoping to catch her, right? That’s what I told Mr. Jonathan. Isaac told him, too. Said he saw her take the horse and run, and then you come running, and you took off after her, you and that boy who just come up out of nowhere. The nights go by. And then you come back, tied onto the back of the horse. You’re shivering and burning. Shouting and seeing things. Please, Mister Nathaniel, I know you got touched by the Visitor, but you got to get out of bed now and makes things all right! There’s a lot of more trouble here at The Oaks. Master Jonathan took off after Liza, dragging Isaac with him. He had a gun, oh, gods, a big old gun. He supposed to be here to watch over the massa but now the men come from town and put him in his grave. I don’t know, what kind of son that is, goes chasing off into the swamp for a missing girl when he supposed to be watching over his father! It’s more than a day gone by. And the Visitor still here, it took our