They settled into a routine on the towboat. It was so pleasant to have good food. Chandra made ribs and chicken and dumplings, biscuits, cornbread, peach cobbler, fried okra and fried chicken. She was particularly good at fried chicken. Drexel said he could eat it for every meal.
“Down at Angola they wait until a chicken dies before they cook it,” Drexel said.
And the watches were spread out enough so every night Stephen got plenty of mosquito-free sleep. After his watch he went straight to Angela’s bed. He liked going to sleep with his hand resting between her legs or on a thigh or breast. He was still awkward at lovemaking, but Angela was patient. She claimed she didn’t have that much experience herself. He wondered if she was telling the truth, but he thought it unwise to press her on the subject.
“So you think in four years I slept with every boy at LSU,” he could imagine her saying.
It was obvious to everyone that Chandra and Drexel were lovers. Drexel praised her food, even if it was just a bowl of grits. He kept the kitchen clean for her.
As long as the water level stayed right where it was, they could wait on the towboat for a long time. They had plenty of water and fuel and food. The very best outcome would be for a military boat to appear on the lake and ferry them to safety. After watching the helicopter crash, he was not eager to be airlifted.
Captain Sullivan kept trying to reach her husband, but by the end of their fifth day on the boat she had heard nothing. She had no luck getting the National Guard or anyone else on the radio again.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gone all the way to Cuba to find those barges,” she said.
They were sitting at the table for the evening meal, eating Chandra’s fried catfish and slaw. She had used the last of the cabbage to make it.
“Yes, ma’am, I believe he would,” Mary Jane said.
“Stephen, what’s that ole Swamp Hog been saying these days?” Richard asked.
Richard told them about the prisoner who was broadcasting from some unknown location.
Stephen had not turned on the radio since they arrived at the towboat. It seemed to him that you needed to be out in the swamp to listen to the Swamp Hog, and he said this to the group.
“Yeah,” Drexel said. “You need to be hungry and dirty and the mosquitoes all over you. That’s when you dial him up. That crazy man will make you laugh and laugh.”
On the boat’s radio they heard the usual contradictory reports. Last night the governor had come on and asked everyone to remain calm, that soon order would be restored.
“Don’t you give out all your pardons,” Drexel said.
“That’s the governor of Mississippi,” Captain Sullivan pointed out.
Everyone laughed.
“Ask the Swamp Hog for a pardon,” Richard said.
“You’re looking for one too,” Drexel said. “You children remember your story.”
“I think the truth will do,” Angela said.
“Drexel wants them to say that he wrestled an alligator as long as the bridge boat to save ’em,” Richard said.
“There’s some big gators out in them swamps,” Drexel said.
“Dial in that station,” Richard said.
Stephen stepped up to the radio that was on a shelf by the window.
He turned it on and tried, but there was only static.
“Use your radio,” Angela said.
Stephen went to get the radio. When he returned, Angela was trying to find the station on the boat’s radio but was having no success. Stephen cranked the generator and then spun the dial to the station. To his surprise the Swamp Hog’s voice came in clearly.
“Listen children,” he said. “The deluge ain’t over. Great whales will swim through the French Market. Sharks are swimming through the streets of Lake Charles. I’ve seen ’em myself. Go inland. Don’t stop until somebody offers you a ride on an elephant. In the western mountains. The jungle in Death Valley…”
The voice abruptly descended into static.
“That’s how it always is,” Stephen said.
Captain Sullivan wondered where he was transmitting from.
“We’ve talked about that,” Richard said. “It ain’t the prison. That’s underwater now.”
“Duck Hill,” Drexel said.
“Hush up,” Richard said. “They don’t want to listen to your crazy talk.”
Chandra threw her arms about Drexel’s neck.
“He ain’t crazy,” she said. “Tell us about Duck Hill.”
“He’s right,” Drexel said. “I was just making up stories.”
“You ain’t been makin’ up anything else to me?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” Drexel said. “No, ma’am.”
“You better be telling me nothing but the truth,” she said.
“That’s all I can speak,” Drexel said.
Richard laughed.
“He is truthful. Mostly.”
Then Drexel got up to help Chandra with the dishes. Captain Sullivan set the watches and went off to bed. Mary Jane had the first watch. She took the machine gun, which had a short belt loaded into it, and went out on deck. Captain Sullivan had ordered enough lights to be left on so the boat would be easy for her husband to find in the dark. Angela went off to bed. Stephen lingered at the table with Richard.
“Pour me ’bout half a cup of coffee,” Richard asked.
Stephen poured one for Richard and one for himself.
“Do you think the governor will give us that pardon?” Richard asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Stephen said. “After he hears what you did for us, he’s certain to.”
But Stephen realized he really knew nothing of the pardons. It seemed to him that Richard was a good man. He had had a lapse that cost his wife her life and him his freedom. He wondered how long ago that had been and what kind of man Richard was at that time.
Richard wrapped his big hands around the cup of coffee.
“I guess if I get that pardon, I’ll go to Memphis and find me a woman,” Richard said.
It turned out that was where he was born. His father worked for the railroad and made a good living.
“Memphis is probably full of refugees,” Stephen said.
“I expect it is,” Richard said.
Stephen wondered what the encounter between Richard and some prostitute would be like. It would be sad. Richard would be trying to make up for all those lost years with the hired body of some girl from a small town in Tennessee or Mississippi or Arkansas, a girl who had probably come to Memphis hoping for something else. He had once heard Josephine say something like that about prostitutes in New Orleans.
“Then what will you do?” Stephen asked.
“I know about farming,” Richard said. “If I had some money, I’d buy me some land. But I won’t be able to do that. I guess I’ll work for somebody. Once the water goes down they’ll need folks to help get the land back in shape. I can drive a tractor. Do a little work on engines.”
Stephen thought of the paintings his mother was concerned about and how just one of them would buy Richard a small farm. He imagined slipping back into New Orleans and making off with a painting.
Probably get shot by one of those mercenaries, he thought.
He looked through one of the windows and saw Mary Jane standing on the deck.
“Drexel’s gonna have a hard time forgetting about Chandra if we don’t get that pardon,” Richard said.
Stephen imagined Chandra going to visit Drexel in some new prison. The water covering Angola might never recede.
“She won’t be able to do nothing for him,” Richard said. “She’ll just have to get on with whatever she was doing before she met him.”
“You’ll be pardoned,” Stephen said. “You’ve got to be.”
“It’s hard to accept things turning out different than you want. I put my hands on my wife. Drexel walked into a bank with a pistol. We weren’t born at some other place or time, so we wouldn’t have to do those things. We were at that place, at that time. Nobody else was there. Just us.”
Stephen did not know what to say, so he said nothing. He wished Richard goodnight and went off to Angela’s bed.
As he lay there with her in his arms, he found himself still thinking of Richard and Drexel.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He told her about his conversation with Richard. And he added his fantasy of stealing one of his mother’s paintings and selling it to buy Richard some land to farm.
“Shot by one of her mercenaries,” she said.
“She’d probably shoot me herself if she caught me doing that,” he said.
She laughed.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But she’d be mighty mad. Military school would surely be waiting for you.”
Then it was his turn to laugh.
“She finds out about me and I’ll be chopping cotton with Richard and Drexel,” she said. “You’re underage.”
“She’ll be glad to be rid of me,” he said.
“She loves you.”
“I suppose.”
“Now put all that out of your head and make love to me.”
He wrapped his arms around her, determined to lose himself in the feel of her body against his. And he succeeded, both of them borne away to a place where the flood and the floating dead did not exist.