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the path of crushed thorns and snapped vines。
Every few feet there were drops of blood； and ahead the pathway turned through a grove of dead； rotting trees。 He followed it for perhaps twenty minutes； knowing he was insane for going alone and without a weapon； but still； he was pelled to follow。 And then； breaking through a high growth of thorns； he saw he had e to one of the old； decaying plantation great houses； a square slab of a structure over which dead trees hung in a tangle of shriveled branches。 The roof had collapsed into the second floor； and black timbers protruded from the open sockets of windows。 A second…floor balcony sagged； its supports fallen away； and vines crept along the gray； weather…battered wood。
And here the boot marks ended。
In the distance a bird shrieked sharply； then was silent。 Kip looked around； found a branch he could use as a club if necessary； and walked toward the concrete stairs leading up to the massive doorway。 There were more droplets of dried blood； Kip stopped just in front of the door； listening； but he heard nothing。 He tightened his grip around the club and kicked the door open； it swung out； ripping off its hinges and falling to the bare floor with a loud； echoing crash。 Kip stepped into the cold dampness of the room； his skin crawling as he saw the puddles of blood and a bloody smear where something…the woman's body？…had been dragged。 He stood in a huge； high…ceilinged room with corridors branching off on all sides； a wide stairway with a broken banister reached the second floor before plummeting into darkness。 Kip could see the tree limbs through the holes above。
He moved slowly along one of the halls； the club held up before him； his free hand feeling the way。 A few feet farther and something streaked across his hand： a lizard scrambling for the safety of a hole。 He pulled his arm back； stifling a cry； and waited until his pulse had calmed down before going on。 He heard the lizard racing along the corridor。 At his feet there were more droplets and smears of blood； leading him into another room。 Get out of this place； he told himself。 Get a gun； bring back more men to help； but get out of here before it's too late！ But then the next step brought him into the room； and the terrible stench of rot choked him。 Timbers had fallen in from the ceiling； littering the floor； there were square windows； devoid of glass； from ceiling to floor； and through them streamed thick columns of gray light。
A body lay on its back in a corner。
Kip moved forward； slowly； his eyes widening and his teeth gritted against the stench。
It was not the corpse of Nora Cale。 It was a skeleton from which almost all trace of flesh had fallen away； it wore the tatters of a uniform…brown； matted with grime and fungus like the cloth Turk had clutched in his death…grip…and its arms were outstretched as if seeking either death or mercy。。。 or perhaps both。 Kip stared down into the empty eye sockets； feeling his practical； trained resolve seep away。
It was madness； he thought； the real world was a place of boundaries； of blue sea and sky； green jungle； clapboard and stucco buildings； flesh…and…blood people。 There was no Damballah； nor Baron Samedi； nor jumbies that haunted the village。 But what was this； then； this skeleton in the remnants of a Nazi uniform？ His soul cringed away from the things that lurked beyond the edge of the fire； all his life he had tried to reach a balance； to make reality his base and core。 But that central part of him； hidden from all others and often even from himself； did believe。 It had faith in the same superstitions； the power of voodoo； the evil things that sucked life from night sleepers； that moved through graveyards carrying cold steel scythes； that stood in shadows and regarded the world of light through hooded eyes。
And now here this dead thing lay； miles from the risen U…boat； time had finally caught up with it； collapsing its bones and flesh with a touch of sea air。 Kip backed away from it； he had seen more blood on a windowsill and he knew the things had taken whatever was left of the woman with them。 NO！ NO IT CANNOT BE！ Yes； the voice whispered； the voice of his 〃uncle；〃 his teacher； yes； it is true remember the forces of a man live on after death after death after death after death。。。
These things that he had feared all his life； that he had buried at the back of his mind； were real。
And suddenly the brick wall he had built inside him so long ago broke open； a cracking of mortar grown weak and useless； and the howling dark forms swept over him。
Seventeen
THEY DID NOT LIKE the foreigner。 If he had approached any of them； if he had sat in on any of their card games； or taken a shot of rum or even talked to them； perhaps their feelings might have been different。 But he had locked himself away in his below…decks cabin； not speaking to anyone； even paying extra to have a steward bring his meals to him。 The black； hard…eyed seamen didn't like that； he would only be on board for a three…day trip； but they didn't trust whites anyway； and this foreigner was very strange。
The man seemed to dislike the sun； his flesh was a pasty white； his hair dull； tinged with yellow and bed straight back in an old style。 He had never e up on the freighter's deck during the day； but there were stories circulating that he'd been seen walking the forward deck in the dead of night； standing at the bow as if trying to sight something off in the distance。 And he had spoken to the galley steward in a strange accent： not British or American； but something else。 When the freighter tied up at the mercial wharf in Coquina harbor； the seamen were glad to be rid of him。 The captain had told the first mate and talk had trickled down through the men that he would not be returning to Kingston with them。
As the seamen worked their lines； the foreigner emerged through a hatchway onto the deck； he squinted； though the sun was dim in the gray sky； and walked past the men toward the port side where the gangplank would be lowered。 He carried a battered brown suitcase and wore a suit； once…white； that had yellowed with age。 The men moved out of his way so he could pass。 He walked slowly； stepping over lines and cables； and he winced occasionally because today his leg was bothering him； he thought it must be the humidity and the heat； perhaps even rain ing。 One could often judge the weather from the pain of shattered bone。
He waited until the gangplank was secured and squinted again； the light almost painful to him。 When he crossed over onto the wharf； one of the seamen behind him muttered； 〃Damn good riddance。。。〃
The man walked along the wharf for a moment； limping slightly； then stopped to gaze across the village ahead。 A small boy lugging a basket of bananas was passing； and the man asked him； 〃Please。 Is there a hotel here？〃
The boy looked up at the stranger； turned； and pointed at the blue house on the hill。 〃Indigo Inn；〃 he said； then quickly moved on。
〃Danke；〃 the foreigner replied。 He gripped his suitcase and began to walk toward the street beyond。
The jukebox began to throb in the Landfall Tavern as coins tinkled down