Southern Cross the Dog (11 page)

F
rom his cot, Robert could hear thunder in the distance, the hungry murmur of cloud and sky. Then came rain—
pock, pock, pock
ing—over the roofs and trees and windows. His fever had long since broken, and though he still felt weak, Robert had grown tired of lying in bed, tired of being still. The world was not forever, he told himself. He threw off his sheets and stood himself up. The ground was cold and he felt it through his soles. At first he was uneasy being on his feet, unaccustomed to the weight of his own body. He climbed up the steps and threw open the door.

There was no one in the kitchen. No one in the front room or out in the back. He thought for a moment that the hotel had emptied, that once again he'd been abandoned. Then he remembered that tonight was the night of the show. From the hall, he saw the crowd out on the porch. He ignored them, moving past to the staircase and climbing up to the third floor. He knocked on the door and it gave way under his hand.

Hermalie was sitting at the mirror.

Robert, she said.

He walked across to the window and opened it, letting in cool sweet air.

He sat at the sill.

I like you, he said.

I like you too.

She looked at him, her face furrowed.

So why are you so sad?

He looked below into the yard. Something moved through the bushes. At first he thought it was the mutt from across the street, the one that belonged to that Percy woman, but it was sleek and black, almost oily in the way it passed through Miss Lucy's roses. The dog sat down beneath the window and looked up at him.

I don't think there's much time left, he said.

Robert turned. Hermalie had sat down beside him.

He looked at her and felt something collapse. He leaned toward her and they kissed. Her tongue slid inside his mouth. They made their way over to the bed and he laid her down. He suspended himself above her. His hand moved across her small breast and settled on the hard nub between his fingers.

She unbuttoned his trousers and he felt between her legs. Robert, she said. He didn't answer. The blood stood in his chest. He slipped his hands down the soft cotton of her underwear and massaged the dark mound of her hair, then down still to the moist folds between her legs. She made a small noise in her throat. The little devil tapped lightly at his chest. He found the hem of her skirt and lifted it over her head. She hummed lightly and guided his hands down her waist into her warmth. A cold wind blew in from the window, and he could feel her skin prickling.

Above them, thunder rolled, and stitch by stitch, he could feel the sky unravel.

IN THE HOURS BEFORE THE
show, Duke locked himself in his room and began his final preparations. He laid his suit out on the bed, then went to the shaving mirror. He passed a razor through the errant hairs of his chin and cheeks, scraping along the soft supple flesh until the skin filled with an itchy bloom. His nails he filed down into perfect half-moons.

He let himself have a nip from his flask to even out his nerves, then proceeded to dress himself. He put on his shirt and his pants and his jacket, and with his large thick hands, he worked out the knot of his violet bow tie. He reached into his breast pocket and found the small silver ring, his father's. He took another pull from his flask. He heard a knocking. He opened the door and on the other side was one of Miss Lucy's girls.

Elijah Cutter?

Duke narrowed his eyes.

No, he said. Wrong room.

Oh, the girl said. Sorry about that.

Wait, he said.

He noticed the case of liquor behind her and the envelope in her hand.

What do you have there?

It's from Miss Lucy, sir. She wanted it sent up to Mr. Cutter.

Mr. Cutter is resting before the performance tonight, he said. You may leave these things with me.

The girl shrugged. She handed him the envelope and brought the case into the bedroom. When she left, Duke tore open the envelope and read Lucy's note.
Best of luck tonight
. He felt suddenly weak. He reached for his flask, having forgotten that he had already emptied it. In a rage, he launched it across the room.

He tore the ribbon from the case of liquor. He uncorked a jug with his teeth and emptied it in one manic pull down his throat.

HE FOUND LUCY DOWNSTAIRS WITH
who else but Eli in the parlor. They were alone in the empty room, a row of chairs already arranged to face the harmonium as per his suggestion. They were at the bench, their bodies side by side. Eli moved his hands over hers, guiding her hands above the keys.

It's gorgeous, he heard her say.

This, madam, is just a box, Duke found himself saying, startling them. They turned quickly on the bench. Duke strode confidently across the room, his unlit cigar pinched between his thumb and index finger.

What is truly gorgeous is the smooth and thrilling mind that sits before it.

Duke clapped Eli hard on the shoulder.

Without this magnificent man, the box is mute, incoherent, worthless—knowing no grace, nor beauty, nor soul.

Duke dug his fingers hard into the flesh. Eli winced but held his tongue.

Oh . . . yes, Lucy said, unnerved. Of course.

I was hoping to speak with you, Duke said. He struck a match on the back of his thumb and lit his cigar. Privately, if you don't mind, miss.

Very well, she said.

Duke grinned. He bowed and swept his arms to the side.

After you.

She stood up from the bench. Then she bent and kissed Eli on the cheek.

For luck, she said. A look flickered across Duke's face and he made a show of puffing on his cigar.

DUKE LED LUCY BACK INTO
his room. The shades were down and the afternoon sun spread across the room in bars of amber light. He shut the door and slung off his jacket. Already his shirt was soaked, dark gray halos blooming underneath his arms and neck.

Can I pour you something?

He gestured to the case of liquor on the floor by the bed and watched her, trying to read her face.

No, thank you, Lucy said.

He hunted for his flask. He went around the room, violently jostling the furniture. Finally, he found it hidden between the wall and the dresser. He smiled at it, clucking his tongue, and uncapped it. He uncorked another jug and began to pour messily into the spout.

Mr. Duke, I believe you've asked me here for a reason.

He took a deep tug, then wiped his lips on his sleeve.

Matter of fact, I did, he said. He fought down a belch and sat down on the edge of the bed. He motioned for Lucy to sit next to him but she remained standing.

I've thought it over, he said, and I've decided that I am unhappy with our current arrangement.

He kept watching Lucy's face.

After all, it is
my
man,
my
instrument,
my
show. This very night I can go out on the road and earn twice what I'll take in here.

You're joking, Lucy said.

I can part with thirty percent. Thirty percent, you'll agree, is an act of generosity.

Lucy rolled her eyes and folded her arms.

I'm not running a dance hall, Mr. Duke. People don't come here to listen to music. Time they spend with your box is time they're not upstairs with my girls. So you tell me, who's taking the real loss? Sixty-forty as agreed.

Duke nodded slowly. They could hear the music coming from downstairs. It was both eerie and soulful, coming up through the floorboards, charging the air. Eli must have started practicing. Duke looked at Lucy, her face turned toward the door, her look faraway.

That old boy can play, can't he?

Yes, Lucy said. She closed her eyes. Yes, he can certainly do that.

He was in prison when I found him. Doing fifteen years for killing a girl. Did you know that?

I didn't, Lucy said. Why are you telling me this?

Duke set the flask down on the bed. The two soft orbs inside his skull peered out at her, red and glassy, the right lid twitching.

All right. As you say. Sixty-forty. What can I say, you've called my bluff.

Duke stood up from the bed and shrugged deeply.

I'm sure there's another way for us to settle this. After all, he said, you are a beautiful woman. And I am a man.

He was surprisingly fast, given his bulk. Before Lucy could react, he had grabbed her and pinned her body against the door. She struggled against him and he forced his tongue into her mouth and tasted the rush of iron.

She pushed him away.

Mr. Duke! What's the matter with you!

She sneered, wiping her mouth.

He could not help but laugh. His tongue was bright and stinging.

Come on, Lucy. Just a little luck for tonight?

Lucy spat. Her jaws tensed.

You will not speak like that to me, she said.

Oh, does the whore have pretenses?

Duke came at her again. There was a flash of dull light and Duke seized her wrist, twisting it until the stiletto dropped from her grip. She let out a cry and raked her hand across his face. The shock sent Duke stumbling backward. There was a crash, and then a thud as he tripped on the empty jug. A horrible sucking noise escaped from his chest. He rolled over onto his knees and started hacking for air.

Lucy readjusted her clothes.

Don't you forget yourself, Mr. Duke.

She bent down and picked up her knife. Fifty-fifty. If that don't suit you, you can find your own way out.

Duke gripped his face. His hands were shaking.

He called out after her.

So that's your choice, is it?

She ignored him and walked out to the hall.

BEFORE SHOWTIME, ELI DREW HIMSELF
a bath and scrubbed his body down. When he'd finished, he went to the mirror, swept back his hair with a fine-tooth comb. He put on the cleanest shirt he could find and took an early supper of chitlins and rice alone in his room. All around him, the house was humming. He could hear the girls, running back and forth, stealing each other's makeup and powdering up their parts.

When it was time, he went downstairs to find the parlor had already filled up. They made way for him as he entered.

He passed by Lucy, who had staked a position near the door. She looked distracted. He winked at her, hoping to get her attention, but her arms were folded and if she saw him, she did not show it.

Duke was waiting by the harmonium. He did not look well. There was a series of gashes across his face, and his skin had turned an angry plum. He puckered at his cigar. Eli took his place at the bench and Duke leaned into his ear.

You're late, he said.

Sorry, boss.

Never mind that. Just get ready.

Duke cleared his throat and rapped twice on the wood top.

Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.

Duke scooped off his hat.

My name is Augustus Duke. Thank you for joining us for this evening's entertainment. Before we begin, perhaps a small token to show your appreciation of God's work on this earth.

He handed his hat to one of the guests.

Don't be shy. Just a coin or two to wind up our precious music box.

When the hat came back around, Duke bowed deeply before the crowd and shoved the money into his pockets.

Ladies and gentlemen, the man who sits before you tonight is an interesting specimen—a native to your parts. He has walked amongst you, eaten what you have eaten. Drunken what you have drunk. And yet, who of you truly knows Eli Cutter? Oh, his is a long and varied story, and I have traveled far and wide to make record of it.

Who would guess that this gentle, simple man, is—point of fact—a beast among lambs! He stands here before you accused of idolatry and devil worship! A murderer and rapist of children!

Duke turned to Eli.

Mr. Cutter, are there laws yet, either of man or of God, that you have not broken? Ah! And here you are, gifted with a talent of such grace, of such stupefying beauty—it boggles the mind.

But enough of that—I believe I have done you justice. If you would, pleasure us with one of your tunes.