"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho! Only to be."
Plaxico lowered Delilah to the floor and nodded to Lu, who placed his palm on her stomach.
"This woman will have a son," Lu pronounced.
"A son!" Plaxico shouted.
"A son!" everyone replied.
The crowd cheered and shouted. The drums pounded so long and hard that people thought the paddles and fishing gear stuffed in the rafters would fall on top of them.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Who's the Pa?" Hatchet Jack shouted.
"The Pa?" Plaxico shouted back. "Who cares about the Pa? This boy belongs to everyone."
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho! This boy belongs to everyone."
The men pounded their fists on the floor while the women pulled their children even closer.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
A bowl of whiskey was passed around the circle. Gusts of rain swept across the sea and poured into the longhouse through large cracks in the supporting wall posts and between the roof planks. When the wind knocked over the lamps of whale oil, candles were lit and placed around the room on flat stones.
Plaxico continued his prowl around the room with bulging eyes, as if a fire were smoldering inside his head. Stopping in front of Zebulon, he grabbed the bowl of whiskey from Lu, took a swig, and sprayed it into Zebulon's face and eyes, shaking his rattles and crying out.
Then he slammed his fist into Zebulon's heart, sending him to the floor.
When Zebulon came to, Plaxico was kneeling on the floor, laughing at him.
"Before you went out, you sounded like an old whore suckin' on a stick of ice."
Zebulon grabbed him by the throat, trying to strangle him, an act which made Plaxico laugh even harder.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
Again, he slammed his fist into Zebulon's heart.
"It ain't your pump that's broke. It's your spirit. You think it's all over when it ain't even begun."
The crowd shouted and clapped their hands.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho! His spirit is broke, and it ain't even begun!"
Plaxico continued around the room, shaking his rattle and crying out.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
Zebulon floated above the floor, staring at the parade of figures dancing across the ceiling. He knew them alclass="underline" outlaws and mountain men, Comanches, Arapahoes, Shoshonis, and Sioux, all wearing headdresses and war paint. There was a water spirit with pendulous breasts rising from an angry, howling sea, goats, frogs with snake-like tongues, ravens, and thunderbirds, and struggling not to be left out, Sergeant Bent, Snake Eyes, his Ma and Pa, the Warden and his wife, Stebbins, and Captain Dorfheimer.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
As the night wore on and visions waned and roared back, objects were exchanged. Plaxico gave Delilah a turquoise belt buckle and she gave him her gold and ruby necklace that had been given back to her by Large Marge. Indians handed out and received fishhooks, beads, rifles, shirts, bowls, and chisels. Zebulon tossed the Warden's gold pocket watch to Lu, who gave him a Tlingit knife with a carved sea otter handle. Large Marge handed an ornate French pen to Plaxico, who slipped a beaded African necklace to Hatchet Jack, who gave him his Green River bowie knife, and so on and on around the room.
The Colt was passed from Hatchet Jack, to Delilah, to Large Marge, to Plaxico, who exchanged it with Zebulon for the fossilized walrus penis that Zebulon had taken from the Warden's desk. Zebulon gave it to a Tlingit, who gave him an oyster-shell necklace. He gave the necklace to Lu, who handed Delilah her gold and ruby necklace, who kept it hidden inside her blouse.
The orgy of giving and receiving rose to a frenzy as objects were pushed, thrown, negotiated, and handed back and forth. Drums pounded, rattles shook, children screamed and laughed, men and women pouted and cried and clapped their hands. Soon no one cared or remembered the origin of the gold nuggets, knives, rifles, beads, mirrors, copper plates, boots, paddles, cards, dominoes, bullets, belts, long johns, chisels, fishing gear, Lakota Sioux rattles, or sacks of flour and food that passed from hand to hand around the room.
"Waaaaaaaaagh!" Zebulon cried, holding the Colt in his hands.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
Zebulon recognized Captain Dorfheimer as he appeared on the ceiling, dealing cards to a bandy-legged man and Azariah Keyhoe; and there was Hans, the German from The Rhinelander, shooting a cue ball into the side pocket of a billiard table floating on the ocean; and Cox and Plaxico, comforting Frau Sutter; and the Sheriff; and Stebbins, who was holding Miranda Serenade in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he read his latest dispatch to her; and there was Delilah, sweeping by, arm and arm with the Count and Hatchet Jack, and then just as suddenly, floating apart.
Zebulon joined the crowd, stomping, whistling, and shouting, all of them crying out:
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
Delilah offered him the queen of hearts and then took it back as her face dissolved into that of an old crone and then into a bleached skull. The skull could have been Miranda Serenade from Vera Cruz, Rosita from Denver, Suzy from El Paso, Louisa from Alamosa, or Not Here Not There — all the women from all the lost times, dead and alive. There was his Ma, pulling him out of the river by his hair. And there was Hatchet Jack, sitting on the bank, laughing and laughing.
The Warden loomed up, bowing before him, along with his wife and son. He was followed by the photographer, who was lining up his camera for a shot of the room. The Sheriff smoked a cigar, blowing smoke into the doc's eyes and then into Plug's. They were all posing — the Count and Vanderbilt, Large Marge and Ivan, the bandy-legged man and the doc, the Finn, the Seminole, Tok-u, Not Here Not There, Captain Dorfheimer, and the Irishman from Belfast — all congratulating each other as the camera flash went off and they danced and danced, grinding their spit and sweat and booze and urine into the floorboards. "You'll be sorryyyyyy," Plug was yelling as he slid backward out the door.
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
"Oh…! Ha…! Ho!"
Delilah crawled into his arms, listening to his heart pound with the drums. Before they passed out, they heard Stebbins' voice report news of Zebulon's capture, or maybe it was his death, or a reward of one-thousand dollars. Or more likely, they were dreaming.
When Zebulon woke, Delilah wasn't next to him and his heart wasn't beating. And yet, he was breathing. In and out. A faint pulse. Out and in. Then a thump. More breaths. More thumps. Life and death and life.
' Quien es?"
He looked at Hatchet Jack, who was standing by the door with Plaxico and Lu, all of them moving their jaws back and forth like pensive goats. Near them, two small boys and a girl sat on the floor playing with the Colt. One of the boys pointed the Colt at the girl and pulled the trigger, only to find the chamber empty. Then the other boy took the Colt and pointed it at Delilah, who still lay on her back in the middle of the room, her lips moving as if she were trying to explain something to someone, maybe to herself. When the girl pulled the trigger, the chamber was still empty.
Zebulon stood up and exhaled, then slowly inhaled. He tried again, and his breathing still worked. He tried once more, in and out as he walked towards Plaxico, who was still standing by the door with Hatchet Jack and Lu.
' Quien es?" he asked Plaxico.
Or was he speaking to himself?