Chattanooga was a military city. Grey-uniformed military police stood at the intersections2, and soldiers on rest leave from both East and Middle armies trooped in laughing gangs along darkened Market Street. Few civilians3 were abroad.
The siren and circled stars on Beauregard's car cleared a path for him through the sparse5 downtown traffic. The car roared out Broad Street, swung under the viaduct and sped up the curving drives of Lookout6 Mountain.
At a darkened house on the brow of the mountain, overlooking Georgia and Alabama, the car pulled up. Beauregard spoke7 a word to the driver, got out and went to the front door. Behind him the car's lights went out, and it crunched8 quietly into the shadowed driveway.
There was light in the house when Piquette opened the door to him. She held out her hands in welcome, and her smile was as sweet as sunshine on dew-sparkling fields.
Piquette's skin was golden, like autumn leaves, with an undertone of rich bronze. Her dark eyes were liquid and warm, and her hair tumbled to her shoulders, a jet cascade9. She was clad in a simple white dress that, in the daring new fashion, bared the full, firm swell10 of her breasts.
Beauregard took her in his arms, and as her lips clung to his he felt a grey old man, as grey as his braid-hung uniform. He held her away from him. In the mirror behind her he saw his face, stern, weather-beaten, light-mustached, with startling blue eyes.
"Piquette, what on earth is this folly11?" he demanded, kicking the door shut behind him. "Don't you know I'm moving on Tullahoma in the morning?"
"You know I wouldn't call you unless it was important, Gard, as much as I long for you." When she talked, her delicately molded face was as mobile as quicksilver. "I've found something that may end the war and save my people."
"Dammit, Quette, how many times have I told you they are not your people? You're a quadroon. You're three-fourths white, and a lot whiter in your heart than some white women I've seen."
"But I'm one-fourth Negro, and you wouldn't have married me, for that, even if you'd known me before you met your Lucy. Isn't that right, Gard?"
"Look, Quette, just because things are the way they are...."
She hushed him with a finger on his lips.
"The Negroes are my people, and the white people are my people," she said. "If the world were right. I'd be a woman instead of a thing in between, scorned by both. Can't you see that, Gard? You're not like most Southerners."
"I am a Southerner," he answered proudly. "That I love you above my own blood makes no difference. No, I don't hate the black man, as so many Southerners do—and Northerners too, if the truth were known. But, by God, he's not my equal, and I won't have him ruling over whites."
"This is an old argument," she said wearily, "and it isn't why I called you here. I've found a man—or, rather, a man has found me—who can end this war and give my people the place in the world they deserve."
Beauregard raised his bushy eyebrows12, but he said nothing. Piquette took him by the hand and led him from the hall into the spacious13 living room.
A Negro man sat there on the sofa, behind the antique coffee table. He was well-dressed in a civilian4 suit. His woolly hair was grey and his eyes shone like black diamonds in his wizened14 face.
"General Courtney, this is Mr. Adjaha," said Piquette.
"From where?" demanded Beauregard warily15. Surely Piquette would not have led him into a trap set by Northern spies?
Adjaha arose and inclined his head gravely. He was a short man, rather squarely built. Neither he nor Beauregard offered to shake hands.
"Originally from the Ivory Coast of Africa, sir," said Adjaha in a low, mellow16 voice. "I have lived in the United States ... in the Confederacy ... since several years before the unfortunate outbreak of war."
Beauregard turned to Piquette.
"I don't see the point of this," he said. "Is this man some relative of yours? What does his being here have to do with this crazy talk of ending the war?"
"If you will excuse me, General," said Adjaha, "I overheard your conversation in the hall and, indeed, Piquette already had informed me of the dissension in your heart. You would be fair to my race in the South, yet you fear that if they had equality under the law they would misuse17 their superiority in numbers."
Beauregard laughed scornfully.
"See here, old man, if you think I'm ripe to lead a peace and surrender movement in the South, you're wasting your time," he said. "The South is committed to this war, and so be it."
"I ask only that you listen for a brief time to words that may be more fruitful than a few hours in a quadroon's bedroom," said Adjaha patiently. "As I said, I am from the Ivory Coast. When the white man set foot in that part of Africa, he found a great but savage18 kingdom called Dahomey: the ancestral home of most of the slaves who were brought to the South.
"Before Dahomey there was a civilization whose roots struck back to the age when the Sahara bloomed and was fertile. Before the great civilizations of Egypt, of Sumer and of Crete was the greater civilization of the African black man.
"That civilization had a science that was greater than anything that has arisen since. It was not a science of steel and steam and atoms, but a science of men's minds and men's motives19. Its decadent20 recollections would have been called witchcraft21 in medieval Europe; they have been known in the West as voodoo and superstition22."
"I think you're crazy," said Beauregard candidly23. "Quette, have you hired a voodoo man to hex me?"
"Be tolerant, General," admonished24 Adjaha in his mellow voice. "Many of you in the West are not aware of it, but Africa has been struggling back to civilization in the Twentieth Century. And, while most of its people have been content to strive toward the young ways of the West, a few of us have sought in our ancestral traditions a path to the old knowledge. Not entirely25 in vain. Look."
Like a conjuror26, he produced from somewhere in his clothing a small carved figure. About six inches high, it was cut from some gleaming black stone in the attenuated27 form so common to African sculpture. It dangled28 from Adjaha's fingers on a string and turned slowly, then more swiftly.
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1
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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2
intersections
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| n.横断( intersection的名词复数 )；交叉；交叉点；交集 | |
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3
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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4
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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5
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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6
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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9
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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10
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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11
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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12
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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13
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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14
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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15
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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16
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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17
misuse
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| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
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18
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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19
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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20
decadent
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| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
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21
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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22
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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23
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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24
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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25
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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26
conjuror
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| n.魔术师，变戏法者 | |
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27
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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28
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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