And so he expounded, at some great length. But I had lost interest in the details of all these intrigues. The moment he had spoken of the wasting of years, I was most forcibly and poignantly brought to reflect upon my own waste of years as a captive here, and I fell to brooding, paying him no heed. He did drone on and on about the iniquities of Don Francisco, and the remedies he proposed for them, and I listened little, so that he took me by surprise when suddenly he said, “And what is this, Andres, have you committed murder?”
“Sir?” said I, startled.
“There is to be an inquest upon you, I am told. You are charged with the wanton slaying of Tristão Caldeira de Rodrigues, that was a man of high birth.”
“He was a scoundrel, and a thief!”
“Well, and if he was? His blood was royal, or close to it. Come, Andres, what is this crime? You may be open with me. I knew the man a little: there was no merit to him. Yet if you have indeed slain him—”
“I took his life,” said I wearily, “but it was to save the lives of many other men. It was not murder. When that we were wrecked, he essayed to force his way into a longboat that was already too crowded, and I drove him back, and he fell to the water and drowned.”
“Ah,” said Don João, pouring more wine.
“Drowned, furthermore, because he would not let go his hold of the treasure-sack he clutched in his hand, that was full with the precious goods he had stolen from the grave-site of the kings of Loango, and weighed him down, so that he went under. It was the stealing of these things, moreover, that I think did lead to the downfall of us alclass="underline" for angry demon-gods did send hot dry winds upon us, and rip away our sails and drive us onto a secret shoal, all in the midst of a fair and pleasant day.”
“Ah. Ah,” said he. “Ahah.”
And for a long while he sat with his eyes closed, and held his wine-cup close against his chest, and I thought he had fallen to sleep, so sluggish and slow was he from all his drinking. But then he looked about at me and said, “Was it truly as you say?”
“Upon mine honor.”
“Then it is true,” he said. “Be there witnesses?”
“Ample, unless their fear of the dead man’s brother brings them to lie against me.”
Don João nodded. “The brother. Aye. It is the brother who brings this charge: Gaspar Caldeira de Rodrigues. Another worthless man, a pestilent rogue. He will cause you much difficulty, for he is bent on vengeance.”
“And will I be prisoned again for this? I tell you, sir, if I am, I would rather die first: and take this Gaspar with me, when I do go.”
“Prison? It could be, if the inquest finds against you.”
“Then I will slay him!”
“Soft, soft, Andres. There is the inquest, first. Over which I think I shall preside.” He stretched out his hand toward me and smiled and said, “We must arrive at the truth. But I think I know it already: for I do know you, and I somewhat know Gaspar. And I would not readily part with my Piloto.” He yawned most broad, and belched, and rubbed his swelling belly. “Go, now, Andres. I grow.torpid now, and would rest. We will talk on these matters another time. Go: and beware. This Gaspar makes an evil enemy, and he may not wait for the inquest to have his vengeance.”
I left him and returned to the small house that they had given me, a pleasant one on the seaward side of town, where good winds often blew. Mine eyes I did keep sharp, lest Brother Gaspar and his comrades spring out at me with drawn swords, but it did not happen. I was in a troubled mood, over this inquest, yet I was not greatly surprised, knowing the influence Gaspar Caldeira de Rodrigues wielded here. Yet the truth would be my defense, and I had the support, so I fervently hoped, of Don João de Mendoça, and though truth alone might not be sufficient, the strength of that most powerful fidalgo might perhaps see me through.
As I made my way to my dwelling I saw some proclamation being read in the great square, with soldiers standing to attention, and much ceremony. I neared it and discovered that it pertained to intercourse between the Jesuits and the native chiefs. But I was tired, and did not care to hear more just then on that subject. Turning homeward, I lay down and slept a time, and then came a soft rapping at my door, in the night.
I parted the curtain and saw Dona Teresa in the darkness.
“You come so late?” I asked, for it was not like her.
“Don João is elsewhere.”
“Nay, I saw him only at midday.”
“That was at midday. Tonight he is in conference with the governor and the council, and it will last for hours. Oh, Andres, Andres, will you not ask me in? I feared so much for you! When they said your ship was lost, how I grieved, how I mourned! And how I prayed!”
“To Jesus and Mary, or to your mokisso?”
“Mock me not,” she said sharply, half wounded, and half angered. “Let me in!” And she thrust herself through the door and into my arms.
In the short while since my return we had not been alone together even once, though I had passed her one time on the plaza, and at a distance we had exchanged a cautious glance and a secret smile. Now she slid against me and greeted me with a tigerish hungry kiss. She wore only the lightest of wraps, moist from a gentle rain that was falling. She raked her fingers fiercely down my bare skin, and drew her breasts across my chest. There was heat coming from her. I cupped her round teats and found her nipples swollen and firm, and she made a little hissing noise as I did tenderly squeeze them.
“Andres!” she cried. “Oh, I prayed! I longed for you so!”
“As did I for you.”
“Truly?” said she, and her eyes held an inquest most severe. “Did you think on me at all?”
“Constantly.” I brought forth her little statue, that I had stroked so often, and held it high. “A thousand times did I touch this witchy thing, and tell myself it was your breasts I touched, and not a piece of wood!”
“Ah. I feared for you, all the time you were in Loango. It is a dangerous place.”
“It seemed not like that to me.”
“They are not Christians there. They hold to strange ways.”
“And you, the maker of idols, you are Christian?”
“Yes!” she cried, in deep wrath. “Never say I am other!”
“But the idol—”
“A precaution,” she said. “I am Christian, but I discard nothing valuable.”
We stood only inches apart, both so crazed with desire that we could not move, but went on chattering. She told me fifty times how she had died deaths for me, and prayed to every god of Africa as well as all the saints and the Madonna that I would not be harmed in Loango or perish on the sea, and I told her how I had tossed and twisted in desire for her. And yet we did not move. Until at last she let her light wrap fall to the ground, and she urged me impatiently toward my rumpled bed, and I followed in haste.
The rain became less gentle, and drummed the thatch of my dwelling with much vigor. In my nostrils was the scent of Dona Teresa’s body, harsh, acrid, the lust-scent that all animals do have, and at that moment she seemed no more than an animal, sleek, quick, a thing of the jungle. She lay down and planted the soles of her feet upon the bed, and flexed her back so that her buttocks were in the air and her body arched. By the dim light of my single candle I saw her taut and spread for me, a dark foreign creature with every muscle quivering, the strength of her thighs showing in the contours of them, and the jet-black hairy diadem between them pulling me like a lodestone. I went to her and fell on her and into her in almost a single motion, and she relaxed the torsion of her frame and eased us both down to the surface of the bed, and there we lay motionless a moment, content merely to have our bodies joined again after so long a sundering. Her eyes gleamed with a wantoning.