Duma Key

How to Draw a Picture (XI)

Don’t quit until the picture’s complete. I can’t tell you if that’s the cardinal rule of art or not, I’m no teacher, but I believe those six words sum up all I’ve been trying to tell you. Talent is a wonderful thing, but it won’t carry a quitter. And there always comes a time — if the work is sincere, if it comes from that magic place where thought, memory, and emotion all merge — when you will want to quit, when you will think that if you put your pencil down your eye will dull, your memory will lapse, and the pain will end. I know all this from the last picture I drew that day — the one of the gathering on the beach. It was only a sketch, but I think that when you’re mapping hell, a sketch is all you need.

I started with Adriana.

All day long she has been frantic about Em, her emotions ranging from wild anger at him to fear for him. It has even crossed her mind that Daddy has Done Something Rash, although that seems unlikely; his grief has made him torpid and unresponsive ever since the search ended.

When sunset comes and there’s still no sign of Em, you’d think she’d become more nervous than ever, but instead she grows calm, almost cheerful. She tells Nan Melda that Em will be back directly, she’s sure of it. She feels it in her bones and hears it in her head, where it sounds like a small, chiming bell. She supposes that bell is what they mean by “woman’s intuition,” and you don’t become fully aware of it until you’re married. She tells Nanny this, too.

Nan Melda nods and smiles, but she watches Adie narrowly. She’s been watching her all day. The girl’s man is gone for good, Libbit has told her this and Melda believes her, but Melda also believes that the rest of the family may be saved… that she herself may be saved.

Much, however, depends on Libbit herself.

Nan Melda goes up to check on her remaining babby-un, touching the bracelets on her left arm as she climbs the stairs. The silver bracelets are from her Mama, and Melda wears them to church every Sunday. Perhaps that’s why she took them from her special-things box today, slipping them on and pushing them up until they stuck on the swell of her forearm instead of letting them dangle loose above her wrist. Perhaps she wanted to feel a little closer to her Mama, to borrow a little of Mama’s quiet strength, or perhaps she just wanted the association of something holy.

Libbit is in her room, drawing. She is drawing her family, Tessie and Lo-Lo very much included. The eight of them (Nan Melda is also family, as far as Libbit is concerned) stand on the beach where they have spent so many happy times swimming and picnicking and building sand castles, their hands linked like paper dolls and great big smiles running off the sides of their faces. It’s as if she thinks she can draw them back to life and happiness by the pure force of her will.

Nan Melda could almost believe it possible. The child is powerful. Re-creating life, however, is beyond her. Re-creating real life is even beyond the thing from the Gulf. Nan Melda’s eyes drift to Libbit’s special-things box before going back to Libbit herself again. She has only seen the figurine that came from the Gulf once, a tiny woman in a faded pink wrap that might once have been scarlet and a hood from which hair spills, hiding her brow.

She asks Libbit if everything is all right. It’s all she dares to say, as far as she dares to go. If there really is a third eye hidden under the curls of the thing in the box — a far-seeing mojo eye — it is impossible to be too careful.

Libbit says Good. I just drawin, Nan Melda.

Has she forgotten what she’s supposed to do? Nan Melda can only hope she hasn’t. She has to go back downstairs now, and keep an eye on Adie. Her man will be calling for her soon.

Part of her cannot believe this is happening; part of her feels as if her whole life has been a preparation for it.

Melda says You may hear me call yo Daddy. If I do, you want to go pick up those things you lef’ by the pool. Don’t leave em out all night for the dew t’git at.

Still drawing, not looking up. But then she says something that gladdens Melda’s frightened heart. No’m. I’ll take Perse. Then I won’t be scared if it’s dark.

Melda says You take whoever you want, jus’ bring in Noveen, she still out there.

It’s all she has time for, all she dares when she thinks about that special probing mojo eye, and how it might be trying to see inside her head.

Melda touches her bracelets again as she goes downstairs. She is very glad she had them on while she was in Libbit’s room, even though the little china woman was put away in the tin box.

She is just in time to see the swirl of Adie’s dress at the end of the back hall as Adie turns into the kitchen.

It is time. This is going to play out.

Instead of following Adie to the kitchen, Melda runs down the front hall to the Mister’s study, where, for the first time in the seven years she’s worked for the family, she enters without knocking. The Mister is sitting behind his desk with his tie off and his collar undone and his braces hanging down in slack loops. He has the folding gold-framed pictures of Tessie and Lo-Lo in his hands. He looks up at her, his eyes red in a face that is already thinner. He doesn’t seem surprised that his housekeeper should come bursting in unannounced; he has the air of a man beyond surprise, beyond shock, but of course this will turn out not to be so.

He says What is it, Melda Lou?

She says You got to come right away.

He looks at her from his streaming eyes with a calm and infuriating stupidity. Come where?

She says To the beach. And bring at-ere.

She points to the harpoon pistol, which hangs on the wall, along with several short harpoons. The tips are steel, not silver, and the shafts are heavy. She knows; hasn’t she carried them in the basket enough times?

He says What are you talking about?

She says I cain’t be takin time to explain. You got to come to the beach right now, less you want to lose another one.

He goes. He doesn’t ask which daughter, or inquire again why he should want the harpoon pistol; he just snatches it off the wall, takes two of the harpoons in his other hand, and strides out through the open study door, first beside Melda and then ahead of her. By the time he reaches the kitchen, where Melda has last seen Adie, he’s at a full-out run and she is falling behind even though she’s running herself, holding her skirts before her in both hands. And is she surprised by this sudden break in his torpor, this sudden galvanizing action? No. Because, despite the blanket of his grief, the Mister has also known that something here is wrong and going wronger all the time.

The back door stands open. An evening breeze frisks in, stirring it back farther on its hinges… only now it’s actually a night breeze. Sunset is dying. There will still be light on Shade Beach, but here at Heron’s Roost, dark has already come. Melda dashes across the back porch and sees the Mister already on the path to the beach. He’s only a shadow. She looks around for Libbit, but of course she doesn’t see her; if Libbit is doing what she is supposed to be doing, then she’s already on her way to the swimming pool with her heart-box under her arm.

The heart-box with the monster inside it.

She runs after the Mister and catches him at the bench, where the path drops down to the beach. He is standing there, frozen. In the west, the last of the sunset is a sullen orange line that will soon be gone, but there is enough light for her to see Adie at the edge of the water, and the man who is wading to greet her.

Adriana screams Emery! She sounds mad with joy, as if he’s been gone a year instead of a day.

Melda shouts No, Ade, keep away from him! from beside the frozen, gaping man, but she knows Adie will pay no attention, and she doesn’t; Adie runs to her husband.

John Eastlake says What — and that’s all.

He’s broken free of his torpor long enough to run this far, but now he’s frozen again. Is it because he sees the two other forms, farther out but also wading toward shore? Wading in water that should be over their heads? Melda thinks not. She thinks he is still staring at his oldest daughter as the dim figure of the man coming out of the water reaches for her with his dripping arms and lays hold of her neck with his dripping hands, first choking off her glad cries and then dragging her into the surge.

Out there in the Gulf, waiting, ticking back and forth on the mild swell like a clock that tells time in years and centuries rather than minutes and hours, is the black hulk of Perse’s ship.

Melda grabs the Mister’s arm, sinking her hand deep into the bicep, and speaks to him as she has never spoken to a white man in her life.

She says Give a help, you son of a bitch! ’Fore he drownds her!

She yanks him forward. He comes. She doesn’t wait to see if he keeps on or freezes up again, and she has forgotten all about Libbit; all she can think about is Adie. She has to stop the Emery-thing from dragging her into the water, and she has to do it before the dead babby-uns can get there to help him.

She cries Turn loose! Turn loose of her!

Flying down the beach with her skirt belling out behind. Emery has gotten Adie in almost up to her waist. Adie is now fighting, but she’s also choking. Melda flounders toward them and throws herself on the pallid corpse who has his wife by the throat. He screams when Melda’s left arm, the one with the bracelets on it, touches him. It is a bubbling sound, as if his throat is full of water. He writhes in Melda’s grip like a fish, and she rakes him with her fingernails. Flesh sloughs away beneath them with sickening ease, but no blood flows from the pale wounds. His eyes roll in their sockets, and they are like the eyes of a dead carp in the moonlight.

He pushes Adriana away so he can grapple with the harpy that has attacked him, the harpy with the cold, repelling fire on its arm.

Adie wails No, Nanny, stop, you’re hurting him!

Adie flounders forward to pull Melda off, or at least separate them, and that’s the moment when John Eastlake, standing shin-deep in the Gulf, fires the harpoon pistol. The triple-bladed bit takes his oldest daughter high in the throat, and she stands bolt-upright, with two inches of steel poking out in front of her and four more jutting out behind, just below the base of her skull.

John Eastlake shrieks Adie, no! Adie, I DIDN’T MEAN TO!

Adie turns toward the sound of her father’s voice and actually begins to walk toward him, and that is all Nan Melda has time to see. Adie’s dead husband is trying to tear itself free of her grip, but she doesn’t want to let it go; she wants to end its terrible half-life and perhaps by doing so warn off the two baby-horrors before they can get too close. And she thinks (so far as she can think) that she can do that, because she has seen a smoldering scorch-mark on the thing’s pale, wet cheek and understands that her bracelet has made it.

Her silver bracelet.

The thing reaches for her, its wrinkled mouth yawning in what might be either fear or fury. Behind her, John Eastlake is screaming his daughter’s name, over and over.

Melda snarls You done this! and when the Emery-thing seizes her, she lets it.

You and the bitch been runnin you, she would add, but its white hands close on her throat as they closed on poor Adie’s, and she can only gurgle. Her left arm is free, however, the one with the bracelets on it, and that arm feels very powerful. She draws it back and swings it forward in a great arc, connecting with the right side of the Emery-thing’s head.

The result is spectacular. The creature’s skull caves in under the blow, as if a little immersion had turned that hard cage to candy. But it’s still hard, all right; one of the shards that comes poking through the mat of Emery’s hair slashes her forearm deep, and blood goes pattering down into the water that surges around them.

Two shadows pass her, one on her left, one on her right.

Lo-Lo cries Daddy! in her new silver voice.

Tessie cries Daddy, help us!

The Emery-thing is trying to get away from Melda now, floundering and splashing, wanting no more to do with her. Melda jabs the thumb of her powerful left hand in its right eye, feeling something cold, like toad-guts under a rock, come squishing out. Then she whirls around, staggering, as the rip tries to pull her feet from under her.

She reaches out with her left hand and seizes Lo-Lo by the scruff of her neck and pulls her backward. “You ain’t!” she grunts, and Lo-Lo comes flailing with a cry of surprise and agony… and no cry like that ever came from no little girl’s throat, Melda knows.

John howls Melda, stop it!

He’s kneeling in the last thin run of the surf with Adie before him. The harpoon’s shaft juts up from her throat.

Melda, leave my girls alone!

She has no time to listen, although she spares a thought for Libbit — why has Libbit not drowned the china figure? Or did it not work? Has the thing Libbit calls Percy stopped her somehow? Melda knows it’s all too possible; Libbit is powerful, but Libbit is still only a child.

No time to think of that. She reaches out for the other undead, for Tessie, but her right hand isn’t like her left, there’s no silver to guard it, and Tessie turns with a snarl and bites. Melda is aware of thin shooting pain but not that two fingers and part of a third have been bitten off and now float in the water beside the pallid child. There’s too much adrenaline whipping through her for that.

Over the top of the hill, where the bootleggers sometimes tote pallets laden with liquor, a small sickle moon rises, casting further thin radiance on this nightmare. By its light, Melda sees Tessie turn back to her father; sees Tessie hold out her arms again.

Daddy! Daddy, please help us! Nan Melda’s gone crazy!

Melda doesn’t think. She reaches across her body and seizes the child by hair she has washed and braided a thousand times.

John Eastlake screams MELDA, NO!

Then, as he picks up the dropped harpoon pistol and casts about on the sand near his dead daughter’s body for the remaining shaft, another voice calls. This one comes from behind Melda, from the ship anchored out there on the caldo.

It says You should never have interfered with me.

Melda, still holding the Tessie-thing by the hair (it fights and kicks, but she’s hardly aware of it), spins clumsily in the water and sees her, standing at the rail of her ship in her cloak of red. Her hood is down, and Melda sees she is not even close to human, she is something other, something beyond human understanding. In the moonlight her face is ghastly and full of knowing.

Rising from the water, thin skeleton arms salute her.

The breeze blows apart the snakes of her hair; Melda sees the third eye in Perse’s forehead; sees it seeing her, and all will to resist is snuffed out in an instant.

At that moment, however, the head of the bitch-goddess snaps around as if she has heard something or someone tiptoeing up behind her.

She cries What?

And then: No! Put that down! Put it down! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!

But apparently Libbit can — and has — because the shape of the thing at the ship’s rail wavers, turns watery… and then becomes nothing but moonlight. The skeleton arms slither back beneath the water and are gone.

The Emery-thing is gone, too — disappeared — but the twins shriek together in shared pain and desolation at their abandonment.

Melda cries to the Mister It’s goan be all right!

She turns the one she’s had by the hair a-loose. She doesn’t think it will want anything to do with the living, not now, not for awhile.

She cries Libbit’s done done it! She —

John Eastlake shrieks GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTERS, YOU BAD NIGGER!

And he fires the harpoon pistol for the second time.

Do you see it strike home, piercing Nan Melda through? If so, the picture is complete.

Ah, God — the picture is complete.