Without a tear in his eye, Selby kept staring blankly at the smoldering remains of the fire and said softly, "She's dead, Sonny. Our Melly left us." He shook his head. "Melly's gone."

18.The Baston Root

As Peter had promised, at dawn he and Nero both had begun rebuilding the burned cabins of Niggertown and restoring the ones that had been touched, not by the fire, but only many years of neglect.

Peter helped the black workers shave pegs, prepare calking, sharpen axes, split cedar into shakes. The Negroes worked happily alongside Peter. And they readily accepted Nero as their superior, even seeming proud to have one of their own people-a black man- taking charge of rebuilding their homes.

Monk did not make one appearance in Niggertown during this entire day. And neither did anyone make a reference to him.

Nor did any of the black people mention Melissa. Peter was grateful to them for not giving him thek condolences.

Evening came, and the black men and women retired to eat their cornmeal, greens, possum, and dried beef.

Peter did not feel hungry. He had swallowed a few mouthfuls of the combread and cold ham that Storky had sent down to him during the day. But he ate nothing more.

At sunset Nero asked Peter to ride up to the stables with him in the wagon.

Peter declined. He wanted to walk.

The evening was light blue. The air was filled with the cry of the katydids and the faraway call of a mockingbird. Peter followed their noises.

He stood now in the spot of the woods where he and 267.

268.

five men had felled trees this afternoon. The ground was still littered with chips. He walked slowly across the patch of brittle whiteness, his boots crunching on top of them.

The pregnancy had killed Melissa.

Walking alone in the evening, Peter thought how the pregnancy had come too soon. Although Melissa had looked like a healthy person, she was frail. She had not been ready to bear another child.

Peter blamed himself. He could not blame Melissa for wanting to share love with him, but he felt now that he should have been the wise partner.

Peter blamed himself now for having pressed the physical side of love onto Melissa. She had never rejected him. She had been as eager to make love as Peter. The lovemaking had been beautiful.

Lovemaking.

Was that why the white men had black wenches? Peter wondered. He had heard the stories about the frailties of white women. Melissa had never seemed frail to him. She had never showed any prudery. She was a "lady," but she understood physical love, A family had been her life.

But she was dead, and as he walked aimlessly in the evening, Peter blamed himself. He should have had black wenches for sex, and then Melissa might still be alive.

A small creek tinkled near Peter. The night was all dark above him now. He was lying back on a bed of damp moss, his hands behind his head, staring up at the lacework of stars in the sky.

Somebody's hand unsuspectingly rested on his thigh. He was not startled.

Peter soon saw a black wench kneeling next to him. He thought that he was dreaming-that he made love to black wenches on the Star, and Melissa was still alive.

He felt his pants lower to his boot tops. But he refused to lift his legs for the boots to be removed.

Eventually the black wench began to fondle his maleness. Letting her proceed, Peter slowly felt a hard- 269.

ness, a crade passion beginning to build inside what had been only a bulk of limpness.

Peter watched the wench as she stood now and lifted her dress above her head. He looked at her shapely brown body with no repugnance-nor interest.

Silently the black girl stepped over him and squatted down to ease him in between her straddled legs. But when she leaned forward to let her breasts drag on Peter's chest, he pushed her away. He wanted no contact with her except the pull and contraction against his hardness.

The wench silently obeyed.

Finally, feeling the sensation spreading from the core of his penis, encouraging a stronger passion, Peter moved to roll the girl on her side. But with the hindrance of his tall boots, and the restriction of the breeches around his knees, he had to move slowly, changing to long and slow drives, as he turned her around.

Peter achieved this position, and with his arms now firmly planted on the ground, he arched his back in the moonlight and deepened his slick rhythms into her.

Tingling with the first hint of an explosion, Peter drove his hips harder into the wench, prodding for the heat and the grip. And when he knew that his orgasm was approaching, his eyes lowered to the body below him.

Peter focused on the wench.

But it was not just an anonymous black female. It was a person. It was somebody with a name. It was the Negress called Lilly.

Peter immediately pulled himself out of her, and as he did, a thick flood of whiteness jetted up across her brown stomach, streaking over her full breasts and hitting her cheek.

Laughing, Lilly raised herself by her elbows and said, "I see you ain't changed, Master Peter. I sees you still wastes all that spunk."

Then, like the last time, Lilly reached for a handful of leaves to wipe the thick sperm from her body. She said, "I thought maybes you outgrows that, Master Peter."

270.

Peter knelt back. His anger was growing. He said, "You slut. What do you think we are? Animals?"

She blinked at him.

Peter said, "Don't you care what happens?"

Lilly shrugged. "Happens, Master Peter? I think it's might already happens. But I think the sucker inside me is a black one."

"You're pregnant?" he asked.

Nodding, she admitted, "1 missed my bleeding. But after I has it-and you still likes me-you can moves me to the big house with you."

Peter gasped. "To the big house?"

"To be your special wench. Now that your wife is dead, Master Peter, I thought for sure-"

"Stop," Peter said, rising to his feet.

Lilly blinked at him again.

Hurriedly Peter dressed himself. He wanted to leave here.

Peter was gone, and Lilly sat alone on the moss. She was confused. She did not know what she had said wrong to Master Peter.

Reaching for a piece of grass, Lilly idly began to chew its sweetness, and she wondered if Peter really wanted her for his mistress. He had started to make love to her again, hadn't he?

But why had he stopped?

Lilly wondered if she was wasting her time thinking that she could move into the big house.

Suddenly she was knocked to the ground. Her head reeled from an unexpected blow.

Next, Lilly felt somebody kicking her thigh. And then she felt a pounding fist.

Struggling, Lilly managed to see that it was Monk assaulting her.

Kicking her again, Monk shouted, "I watched you. I watched you screwing that white man."

"Stop," Lilly pleaded, trying to protect herself. "Stop, Monk."

Standing over her now with clenched fists, Monk said, "I hears you lays black men. But you knows, you 271.

knows damned well I hate that white bastard. I hate you lovemaking with him."

Monk pulled back his arm to slug her again.

Rolling quickly over on her side, Lilly screamed, "Stop, Monk, stop!"

"Not till I kills you, slut."

"Monk," she wailed. "Stop. You can't hit me no more. I'm carrying your baby."

The words surprised Monk. He stood staring down at Lilly lying on the moss.

Pulling herself up to her knees, Lilly said, "I'm carrying your sucker, Monk."

His face hardened. "You lies."

"Ask Mama Gomorrah."

"How do I know it's my sucker?"

"You the last buck to screw me, Monk. Ask around Niggertown, too. No nigger screws me but you now, Monk."

He raised both fists at Lilly. "How do I know it ain't him? How do I know your sucker ain't going to be half-white?"

"But you see that he don't stays inside me, Monk."

Monk thought about what Lilly said. She was right. He had seen that Peter did not stay inside her. Peter had exploded his come all over her body.

Lowering Ms fists, Monk asked, "You telling me the truth, bitch?"

Holding her arms out to him, Lilly said, "I promises you, Monk. I promises I'm carrying your baby."

"My baby," Monk repeated. The idea made him feel good.

His anger disappeared.

Soon Monk and LiJly were lying together on the moss. He was smiling while Lilly covered his face with kisses, telling him that she was having his baby.

She whispered now into his ear, "And we runs, Monk. Just like you asks me. You digs up the buried money, and we runs together."

Pulling Lilly closer to him, Monk said, "You got my baby inside you."

"Ain't we going to run, Monk?" she asked. "Ain't you got the money yet?"

272.

But he did not want to make any plans for the moment. He was too happy with the news that he had planted a child.

Albert Selby arrived at the Shed around midnight on that same night. He knew that Mama Gomorrah would still be awake.

Letting Selby into the Shed, Mama Gomorrah asked, "Not more trouble with them Tuckers, Master Selby, sir?"

Selby kept his voice low. "They've gone looking for a new place."

"I hopes they ain't stepping foot back on the Star," Mama Gomorrah said as she led Selby across the board flooring to the hearth.

Explaining to Mama Gomorrah that the Tuckers must come back to the Star to collect their personal belongings, Selby looked around the large room.

The black children were all asleep on the roosts built along the walls. There were thirty-seven children living in the Shed this year.

Standing in the small glow of light from the small fire on the hearth, Selby said softly to Mama Gomorrah, "I come for some special root you keep here."

She wrinkled her nose at Selby. "Root? What root you needing, Master Selby, sir?" He had never before asked for any of her voodoo potions and powders.

Selby looked away from Mama Gomorrah when he said, "The baston root."

"The baston?"

Selby pulled nervously at his goatee as he nodded. "You got any left?"

"Master Selby, that's poison. The baston's for killing."

"Yes."