Golden Hill (19 page)

‘Boy,’ He said, with a significant Nod, when He found Me gazing at Him, and proceeded to his Toilet, of Spitting, and Scratching for Lice, and Pissing in great gurgling reeking Volume into his Pot.

‘Good morrow,’ said I, Company after all being Company, no matter what Charm it seem to lack, and I being mindful of the long Hours I had passed yesterday without Diversion. ‘How do you find Yourself, today? I hope your Head is not too sore.’

‘Well, ain’t You the cheerful little Perrokweet,’ he answered, showing me a brown-toothed Grin. ‘Wery polite. – It’ll take
more’n a few Pints of Bumbo to keep Me on m’Back. To in-capassy-tate the Capting.’ If He has ever been the Captain of Anything, then I am the Apostle Paul. ‘Got any Prog over there, Boy? Kelkashose in the Victuals Line?’

I looked reluctantly at my two Apples, and threw Him one. He caught It from the Air with an Arm as dextrous as a Monkey’s.

‘’S that all You got? Well, needs must’, and He proceeded to eat it whole, Core and Pips and All, at last grinding away the Stem between his snaggling Teeth, and belching reverberantly. ‘Bumbo’s a Lady on the Way down,’ He said, smacking his Tongue to his Palate like a Natural Philosopher eagerly collecting a Specimen, ‘but she in’t Half a rough old poxy old Bitch when You comes to wake up with her. Like Vinegar,’ said He, exploring. ‘Vinegar as has had a Rat pickled in It. And I have et of our Brothers the Rats, when Commons was short, so the Comparison, as You educated Fuckers would say, is exact. So. Whatcher in for, Boy?’

‘A Misunderstanding.’

‘Aye?’

‘A Misunderstanding over some Papers.’

‘Papers, eh? Oh, “Papers” is wery broad – anyfink from fiddling a Cargo to running a Book. What’s your pertickler Mischief, then?’

I hesitated, and He began to cackle furiously.

‘Oh, don’t mind Me! Ne’ermind, ne’ermind, I’m only funning. I know what You done. Ev’ryone knows what You done. A thousand Pound for an arsewipe Bill you writ yourself! Handsome! Wery bold and handsome! Why think small, eh?’

‘What about You?’ I said, judging it better to turn the Conversation.

‘Me? I’m a Regular, I am. This is my u-shual Chamber. Only, They don’t bring Me in because of any Misunderstanding. They brings Me in when They understands all too clear there’s Nothing in my Pockets no more. But don’tcher worry. I’ll be out again in a Day or two, soon as Somefink dirty needs doing. I’m in Demand, I am. They know where to find Me.’ He winked one Oyster of an Eye, and tapped his Nose. ‘Unlike You, poor little Bugger, on your Way to the Hemp Jig. Shoulda started smaller. Ne’ermind, ne’ermind. We’ll make the Time fly. Got any Cards?’

‘No.’

‘Ah well. Any Baccy?’

‘No.’

‘Ain’t you the Misery, then? You wanna stir your Spirits up a Bit, Boy. No use drooping all over the fucking Floor now, eh? Too late now! Should’ve thought of That before. Live while You live, that’s the Motto. You wanna feel the Blood moving. Tell you what. Have You had any Quim since You got here? There’s a Nigger Gel on Cortlandt Street, Lips like Cushions, sucks like a Bilge-Pump for Sixpence. She—’

But I will spare You the Rest of his nasty Tirade, which however He did not spare Me, not one Jot or eager Detail or bright-eyed relishing Sound. It was a special Boast of his, that on his last Visit he had cheated Her of the Sixpence. The Animal Spirits seem to burn in Him undiminished by the Corruptions of his Flesh, as if, in Fact, his Weaknesses and Diseases had worn away not his Lusts, but all Checks and Restraints on Them; had only crazed the Pigsty’s Walls, and let out the Pig. He wanted Me, when his Tale was done, and He was chuckling, and cracking his Knucklebones, and
rubbing at his Cods, to pay Him back in Kind. I confess, I felt a vile Temptation, for a Moment, to pay back not Him but She in whom my Hopes are disappointed, by counterfeiting a lewd Story of her, and launching it via my Cellmate (who I am sure can hold Nothing back) into the Gossip of New-York. But my Despair is greater than my Anger, and the Thought of this, an Instant later, filled Me with a lurching Despondency near to Tears; and I replied instead, that I had a Letter to write. Sounding, I am sure, like the milkiest and most prim of Innocents, when in Truth I like my Share of the Pleasures of the Flesh as much as any Man.

And this I thought would terminate our Conversation. But the worst of my Cellmate is, that He proves One of those People with no inward Resources for Solitude at all. Having settled on Me to be his Entertainment, He is at Me continually. ‘Boy,’ He says. ‘Boy. Boy. Boy. Boy? Boy!’ − on and on, until I answer. ‘What?’ I say. And infallibly, every Time, he will reply, ‘Nuffink’, and hoarsely chuckle, and seem to fall silent; and then resume, as if obliging Me with his Thought, ‘But what about—?’ What about a Riddle, a Story, a Jest? What about satisfying his Curiosity in a million Particulars? ‘You’ll like This,’ He says, and as He says it, eyes Me knowingly. When I grit my Teeth and try to be agreeable, He accepts It. When I show Signs of Impatience or Antipathy, and try to turn Him off with short Answers, it pleases Him I think the More, as if He revelled in my Discomfort, and took a Delight in Smirching his Hearer’s Ears against their Will. I should be able easily to turn and manage such a Conversation, having myself enjoyed many Varieties of low Company, and myself sparkled for a Wit in the Salons of the Gutter, and learned largely in Them of the Types
of Humanity: but Today I cannot relax to It, I cannot find the Vein, I am too sad. I feel too a kind of Compunction caused by your Presence; even your paper Presence, at a great Remove. It seems I am in
your
Study, after all. I repel Him but feebly. ‘I must write my Letter,’ I say. ‘Whassit about? Whatcher saying? Who’s it to?’ He asks at once. A Nurse-Maid I spoke to, once said the Care of an Infant could become a kind of Torment or Madness, if You were alone, and must find new Matter to distract the Child every Minute; and that it was necessary then to guard against sudden, surprising Rages in your own Breast, dangerous to the Child. I thought Her then a little Dangerous or Lunatick by Temperament, that She should make such Difficulty at a simple Task. But now I understand Her in Full.

At about the end of the Morning, judging by the Traverse of the Sun outside, after a Passage of Time excruciatingly prolonged and sub-divided, his Temper grew more raw, and his Hands began palpably to shake. I judge that the receding Tide of the Bumbo had crossed the whole Zone of Lucidity in Him, and begun to expose a painful Need. He fell from Enquiries to Insults, and thence to Shouts. He rose on ulcered and vibrating Legs, and gripped the wooden Bars, and began to rage, in fevered Denunciations, at Me and at his Keepers and at many a Jack and Sue unknown to Me: a Development which I welcomed, as requiring less Participation on my Part, though I did not look forward to whatever frothing Fit the next Stage should bring. I turned my Back and tried to fly away in Fancy. You may figure my Surprise, when Reynolds the Turnkey responded to this ranting Summons, and, climbing up the Stair to our Attic, seemed in a fair good Humour over It. ‘Ho there, you Monster,’ he said amiably – more amiably than He had
been to Me – ‘is it Time already for your Bottle?’ And thorough the Bars He passed, as if by absolutely accepted Arrangement, a black glass Flagon of Spirits, which my Neighbour seiz’d and gulp’d at, with pulsing Throat. ‘There now,’ said Reynolds. ‘Settle down now, like a good Monster.’

There was more here, than I understood, but I was glad of the Mystery all the Same, for obediently the Rage was converted to a trembling and reverential Suckling, at the very Rear of his Cage, and thence to a renewed Stupor in the Straw, gloriously silent save for a saw-toothed Snore. I might pity his Infirmity, was I not so heartily grateful.

And so He has remained for two – three – four blissful Hours, and I begin to collect Myself, and to win free of the Trembling He induced in Me, and to gather such Calm in Me as is necessary for Explanation. Now: You must know, Father, that I am not come here in New-York, in any Spirit of idle Adventure, but rather, to do a Duty such as You will respect once I expound It, at the Request of—

But I have a Visitor. When Reynolds told Me so, and I heard the light Feet of a Woman upon the Stair, my Heart leapt: but it was not She, for whom I discover in Myself even the Willingness to be gloated upon, but instead the African Maid of the House, Zephyra, looking powerful Wary. She trod, as if She did not trust the Floor, and She station’d Herself at the furthest Extremity of my Cage away from my Neighbour’s. This was to speak to Me in Privacy, I first presum’d, yet then must admit a Correction, by judging of her Tension as She turn’d her Face away from the other Cage, and the flickering Glances she gave from the Corners of her Eyes, as if a Danger lay behind Her. Which seem’d to Me excessive, for though He was assuredly
noxious, as I had Reason by now to know, He was safely penn’d.

‘Hallo,’ I said, and then unable to repress a Hope, ‘Have You a Message for Me?’

‘Yes,’ said She, and her Voice, which I had never heard before, prov’d deep and full of Vibration, like the String of a Violin-Cello. She lean’d in close, giving me Occasion again to observe, what uncommunicating Pools of Dark her Eyes were; and said with hush’d Emphasis:

‘Mewura, wo ne gyefwo a me twen no?’

I blink’d, feeling Myself of a Sudden teetering on a dangerous Edge. ‘What?’ I said.

‘You do not understand Me,’ She said wonderingly. Then again, but bleakly and flatly, this Time: ‘You do not understand Me.’ A most woeful and grieving Look of Disappointment fill’d her Face for a Moment, before, almost more woefully, It was flick’d away by a great Effort of Will, drawn back as if It had never been, behind her customary Blank. A Door had open’d, and as quickly clos’d, upon a Room in which something Desperate transpir’d. A Tragedy, but of what Sort, there was no Time to determine.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But—’

‘Nothing,’
she said. ‘I make a Mistake. Sir.’ And at once She turn’d away, and made to sidle off towards the Stair, with her Face averted.

‘Wait!’ I cried, louder than I had meant. ‘Please, wait.’ She paus’d, but did not come back. ‘I regret,’ I said, ‘that I cannot – answer You – as You desire. As I see You require. But – please – would You tell Me, how your Mistress does?’

‘What you doing,’ she said. Do-ing. The Syllables were separate, the -ing rumbling and humming on her Palate. ‘If you not—’ She stopp’d again. ‘I think You a crazy Man.’

‘Please?’

She tightened her Mouth, by that Act making a perfect Miniature of ironic Scorn.

‘Please?’

Zephyra sigh’d.

‘She sit and she chew she Lip and stare. She more mad than ever. She want to sit all alone, but her Father say, no: now there no Thief to watch and catch, she go with Miss Flora. So she sit now mostly at Van Loon’s, and chew she Lip there.’ Are You happy now, you Fool? – her Face added, transparently.

Neither of Us had observ’d, that my vile Companion had ceas’d to Snore. He had, however. More than that, restor’d by the black Bottle, he had awak’d with his Animal Spirits return’d to rampageous Life, and was rear’d up, clinging to the criss-cross Mesh of the Cage, with his Tongue hanging forth, glist’ning, and his scrawny Hips thrusting in similitude of the Act of Love.

‘Black Meat!’ he cry’d with hoarse Relish, staring at Zephyra. ‘Wery dark, but that don’t signify, if You have the Taste for It! If you wet your Yard in – the – Pink – of – it!’ Each of the latter Words, accompany’d by a Thrust, the Disarrangement of his torn Breeches showing his Excitement all too clearly.

‘Shut up,’ I said.

‘She’s in pup, though, but that’s no Matter. That’s Prime – for bigger Teats and fatter Haunches. Come here, Darling. Come over here, I got – Somefink – for – You—’

‘Shut your Mouth,’ I commanded, or rather entreated, having no Way to enforce any Command: in any Case, entirely in vain.
‘Don’t listen to Him,’ I said to Zephyra, who was cowering, again with that same strange excess of Fear, for one who was securely cag’d; as if in Him she fac’d a Tiger, rather than Vermin. ‘Don’t be afraid. He is vile, but pitiful.’

‘He is
sasabonsam
.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘No,’ she agreed, bleakly.

‘Tell me,’ I said, while He went on shouting, trying to draw Her back towards Me with my Eyes, like two People caught together in a Storm, ‘are You truly with Child?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who is the Father?’

‘Who You think.’

‘Mr Lovell?’

‘I sleep down in Kitchen. When Girls sleeping, I hear him Feet come creeping on the Stair. He says, Come here Girl, come here you Bitch, I am lonely.’

‘Does Tabitha know?’

She shuddered.

‘It will be alright.’

‘How it be “alright”? How?’ Then, in a Rush, as if her Disappointment were a Liquid that must spill, the Jug being shaken: ‘I think you Lord Eshu. He know all Language. He make Trick, like You; He change, like You; he both Kind, any Kind, like You. He know the Trick that make the weak One strong. I pray to Lord Eshu and Lord Jesus. I say, help Me, change Me, save Me. You come. I think You come for Me. No; You just a crazy Man. A stupid Man.’

Upon which she turn’d in earnest, and swirl’d off down the Stairwell as rapidly as Ink down a Drain, leaving me
with my Cellmate’s Cries of Disappointment, which rather than diminishing then, only changed Key, and mounted to a quivering Rapture, for He was Frigging himself. I sat down on the Floor with my Back to the Operation, that being the only Means by which I could even pretend to shut It out, and awaited its Termination in Gasp and Squeak and Spatter.

‘You are disgusting,’ I said quietly, in the Snuffling afterward. I spoke to a Point in the Air a Foot or so before Me, but He heard.

‘Am I?’ He said, seeming highly delighted at this Compliment. ‘Oh, I am, Boy, am I? Yes I am, for I do offend your delicate Nose; yes I am, for You are so clean; yes I am, for all
your
Thoughts are righteous; yes I am, for my Shit smells, and I don’t deny it; yes I am, wery disgusting, for I turn Myself inside out, and show in the Day what you do at Night. Oh, I am. I am, I am, I am, I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am—’