Dreams Bigger Than the Night (22 page)

If true, Jay’s involvement in her return would make him complicit in her . . . what? Disappearance? If untrue, his assistance in her escape would earn Longie’s displeasure. It suddenly occurred to him that Longie had never said what to do if Jay found Arietta. Was Jay to bring her back to Newark? Find a safe place in another state? Leave the country? He needed time to think, time to clear his head and find in this state of unknowing some safe harbor. Unfortunately, Arietta would not give him time.

“Just do this one thing for me,” she importuned, “let my father and me slip away. I promise that I’ll never breathe a word of it. Then, in a few years, when the matter’s long since forgotten, I’ll write to you, God willing, and we can be as we once were.”

He probably would have been tempted, but for that staged, insincere “God willing.”

“Let’s enjoy the day,” he said lamely, “and I’ll give you my answer later.”

Her crestfallen expression spoke volumes, but she did not plead her case any further. Just as if a veil had been cast over the past, they stopped trying to pierce it and spoke only of the present and her work as a courier.

“Are you still part of the pro-boycott movement?”

“I am, but it’s fruitless. Most Americans are too preoccupied with making a living or finding a job. Why should they care about the Olympics when they have little or nothing to eat? I’ve seen parts of the hinterland they call rural America. It’s a wasteland. I hate to say so, but Negroes don’t see much difference in the treatment of Jews in Germany and colored people in America. A boycott won’t stop the spread of fascism. Jobs will.”

Jay had no desire to test that hypothesis. For now, he just wanted to get Arietta safely back to Newark, but first they had to taste the enjoyment of Chatsworth, which they soon reached. The dirt road leading into the town ran past a barracks maintained by the New Jersey mounted State Police, who patrolled the pines for criminals on the lam and for big-syndicate stills, which, according to the pasty-faced, porcine owner of the local general store, the locals usually exposed. Apparently the police turned a blind eye to small bootleg operations but intervened in the larger ones because they attracted thugs from the city. At the general store, Jay inquired about boat rentals. Down the road, they were told. As they descended the wooden steps, he asked Arietta where her cousin lived. Dropping her head on her chest, she murmured:

“I lied to you. I have no cousin in Chatsworth.”

They returned to the car and for several minutes sat silently. He then told her about his going to Wildwood and finding her Aunt Amalie’s house shut. “Where does she spend the fall and winter?”

“Los Angeles. When she finds a place she normally writes to me. But now that I’m on the run, I don’t know how we’ll connect.”

Arietta brightly smiled, as if she hadn’t just led him on a wild goose chase, and suggested they not waste the day.

“Let’s rent the canoe you wanted and go to the river.”

The day had warmed up pleasantly. He reluctantly agreed, though once again he felt emotionally used. They stopped at the rental shop. She selected a canoe, and he strapped it to the top of the car. The road took them north, and he parked in a stand of trees. They intended to paddle a short distance to Chatsworth Lake and swim there, but given the pristine, Edenic beauty of the river they paddled only a short distance before they banked the canoe and undressed. Although both of them had brought along bathing suits, Arietta insisted that their past intimacy entitled them to swim au naturel. Before he could dive in, she had disappeared in the breath-stopping cold water. He stood and watched, waiting for her to surface. At last, she exploded from the deep like a geyser, rising up to her waist with her hands extended overhead, and then sank again. She performed this rising-and-falling act several times, dripping water from her hair and glistening breasts as she rose and then disappeared completely from sight in the slow black current. Every time she submerged herself, he feared she’d disappeared. She called him to join her. He knew that her swimming skills eclipsed his; nevertheless, he stroked toward her in the middle of the river, but as he approached, she turned and swam to the far bank, where she disappeared into the woods. As naked as Adam, he followed, plunging through the scratchy underbrush.

He discovered her lying in a small open area covered with moss. She had brambles in her hair from running in the forest, and her body, like his, still exhibited the slime of the mossy slope. Holding out her arms in a come-hither manner, she eagerly embraced him, a reminder of that first night when her nipples stood rigid with anticipation. But he could not control his pent-up anger, which led him to take her not gently but roughly. Lying down next to her, he put one hand behind her head and brought her lips to his, holding them against his own till she gasped. He wanted to ravenously devour her mouth and tongue, but she murmured, “Don’t!” Pressing her breasts together, all the better to suckle her nipples, he would have bitten her had she not said, “Be gentle!”

Breathlessly, he slid his penis down the length of her body and rested his head between her legs while she ran a hand through his hair. Tonguing her labial lips, he quickly induced lubrication and then slammed into her body wanting to knife his penis right through her. Furiously, over and over again, piston-like, he drove into her soft flesh. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she forced him into a sitting position; a moment later she sat astride him with her hands pressing his head to her breasts. Suddenly her body stiffened. She turned his head and pointed. A small water snake slithered across the moss and disappeared in the ferns. Her body relaxed, and she, now in postural control, took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth, whispering, “Just tell Mr. Zwillman you couldn’t find us.”

Without answering, he slipped his arms around her waist and they gently reclined. Her smile and eyes said yes, yes, so they recklessly loved until she drove her fingernails into his back, which so excited him that instead of spilling his seed on the ground, as he had intended, he poured it into her. They lay on the moss for a long time, until she wordlessly rose and ran further back into the woods. Reaching a small tributary, she slipped into the water and, as before, disappeared from sight into the blackness. He swam to the spot where he had last seen her, but she miraculously appeared yards downstream, beckoning him to follow. Again he lost her. When she materialized, she climbed the bank and, heedlessly jumping over tree roots, made her way deeper into the woods. He trailed her into a part of the forest that must have resembled the original darkness and oozy wetness that fecundated the earth. The only sound came from birds cawing against the intrusion into their world. Ducking under branches and dashing through the sumac, she finally came to a halt. Her expression, one of radiant contentment, seemed to suggest that she had at last arrived in that primeval place from which came the first simple light. Spellbound, he took her again, but this time tenderly as if the woods shone and they, Adam and maiden, were the progenitors of creation.

Lying in a postcoital reverie, they said nothing. At last, she murmured one word, “Yes.” He knew what she meant.

Later, she spread a small tablecloth on the ground and from her basket took fruit and cheese and bottled sodas that she opened with an opener she had thoughtfully packed. As they ate, he observed that the ground seemed to move, not violently but ever so slightly.

Arietta laughed. “We are floating on a sea of water. Underneath this sandy ground lies the Cohansey Aquifer, a reservoir estimated to contain twenty trillion gallons of some of the purest water in America.” He had read once that you could fill a jug with aquifer water and it would still be potable twenty years later. Moonshiners simply dig a hole in the ground four or five feet deep and set up a still in a swamp, using apples, blueberries, peaches, or corn.

Darkness began to erode the light when they decided that they had better start back to Cape May. He knew that he had left Arietta’s plea unanswered. She folded the tablecloth carefully and then rose slowly from the ground. He interpreted her deliberate motions to mean she wanted a reply before they departed. When none was forthcoming, she asked him if he would give her a driving lesson in the Ford. Odd, for some reason he had the impression that she already knew how to drive. After they packed the car and fastened the canoe to the roof, he showed her the basics and, sitting beside her, let her meander jerkily down the road toward Chatsworth. She parked in front of the rental shop, and he removed the canoe. To his amazement, before he even reached the front door, she suddenly turned the car around and expertly sped in the opposite direction.

He waited inside the shop, hoping she’d return, and then started down the road toward Chatsworth, assailed by insects. He put out his thumb to hitchhike. Fortunately, a car stopped almost immediately, but blinded by his anger, he failed to study the driver. As he slid into the front seat, he was met by a pistol aimed directly at him. Behind the wheel sat Rolf Hahne.

“I’ll drop you off at the next side road,” Hahne said sarcastically, only to realize a moment later that it would be impossible for him to steer, change gears, and train a pistol on Jay.

“You drive!” Hahne commanded.

As Jay exited the car, he looked for a chance to run. No such luck. Hahne ordered him to stand in front of the car with his hands on the hood, and then slid into the passenger seat while Jay took the wheel.

“I’ll tell you where to turn. I saw a deserted spot a mile from here. Since you left Cape May, I’ve been following you and your turtle-dove. When she flew the coop, I could see no way of running her off the road. Too much Sunday traffic. So I came back for you.”

As Jay drove, he decided he had nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain by turning the car into the oncoming lane.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” Hahne growled.

“That’s the idea.”

Jay could see beads of sweat on Hahne’s forehead.

“The side road is up there. Get back in the right lane and turn into it.”

But Jay didn’t stop. They passed the turnoff as oncoming cars honked and swerved to miss him. To his right, drivers looked terrified. Straight ahead and coming their way was a hay wagon, too wide to avoid. Darting back into the right lane, amid the din of outraged horns, Jay veered off the road through a field and across an expanse of lawn toward a church. Stopping a few feet from a group of children playing croquet, he leaped from the car and threw his arms around an indignant pastor, as Rolf roared off.

“Are you mad?” cried the pastor.

“Just anxious to pray and give thanks,” Jay said contritely.

An hour later, a parishioner drove him back to Cape May.

He arrived at the Patulous house after dinner and gave no excuse for his lateness. He supposed that when Arietta showed up alone to collect her father, she had given T and Miss Patulous a good explanation for his absence. Unless asked what happened, he saw no need to alarm them. T-Bone had occupied himself waiting for his companion, bent over a new jigsaw puzzle that fittingly depicted the major transcontinental roads and rail routes. Jay knew that before too long they would be heading down some of those roads—pursuing Arietta and her father.

After a few hours of sleep, Jay took some breakfast with T. With the early morning light falling across the oilcloth on the table, T asked:

“What now?”

“On your fishing trip, did Mr. M. mention Kansas City or J. L. Wilkinson? That’s where Hump thought they were headed.”

“Jay, I know the city and the man. Leave it to me.”

“I was hoping that Mr. Magliocco might have confirmed Longie’s suspicions.”

T, who refused to shave until they had found their quarry and returned to Newark, scratched his beard. “All that man wanted to talk about was opera and fishin’. Him and the boat pilot had a whale of things to say about bluefish, but no one on that five-seater knew anything about two women he kept mentionin’, Aida and Lucia. You woulda’ thought they were old girlfriends he’d been wooin’ for years.”

“He’ll be courting them his whole life, I suspect.”

Procrastinating about calling Longie, Jay watched as T and Miss Patulous sat down together, hip to hip, to work on the jigsaw puzzle. When Jay finally reached Longie, he told him, without going into detail, that the Maglioccos had slipped through their fingers, and that they had good reason to believe the two were heading for Kansas City. Longie’s response set off alarm bells.

“It’s time to put some professionals in charge. Pay your bills and get back here. Irv and Rico will take over. They can handle K.C.”

Perhaps Arietta was right: Longie wanted her found because he feared for his safety, not hers. With the gunsels Sugarman and Bandello looking for the Maglioccos, the urgency of finding them both was immediate.

“You and the
schvarze
can brief us when you get back.”

Not wishing to compound Arietta’s danger and to fail in the eyes of Mr. Zwillman, Jay said, “We’re not giving up yet, Abe, we’re prepared to keep looking.”

“Not on my nickel. Bring back the car and the dough.”

Jay pleaded that he give them more time.

With uncharacteristic truculence, at least toward Jay, Longie replied, “I put my money on airy hopes once, not twice,” and hung up.

Jay weighed the consequences of continuing the journey and perhaps making himself a marked man, but he felt that Arietta’s life was at stake, and he still deeply cared. They had enough money to live on—and a car. Although he felt like a thief, he decided there was no other choice. One day, he would explain his motives to Longie.

T and Sue, relaxing in the parlor over a cup of coffee, had finished the puzzle. They sat jawing, to Jay’s amazement, about race, as in skin color. Miss Patulous was speaking with some vehemence.

“That’s why they killed him. For no other reason. They beat my daddy to death in a police station.”

Had Jay heard her correctly? Her daddy?

T gave her a modest hug, stepped back, and then hugged her again, this time with real feeling. Jay couldn’t hear what T whispered to her, but when they disengaged tears were streaming down her face.