“Now ’member wut I tells yuh,” he said. “Yuh kin stay wid de cripple ’til de cotton come. Den I comin’. Davy will hide we on de ribber boat fur as Sawannah. Den soon de cotton will be comin’ in fas’, an’ libbin will be easy. Yuh gits dat?”
For a moment she looked into the narrow, menacing eyes, then nodded.
“Go ’long den, an’ tote fair, les yuh wants tuh meet yo’ Gawd.”
She stepped into the open. Already most of the party were on the boat. She crossed the narrow beach to the wharf.
Maria stood by the gangplank and looked at her with suspicious eyes. “Wuh yuh been all day?” she demanded.
“I git los’ in de woods, an’ I can’t git my bearin’s ’til sundown. But dat ain’t nobody’ business ’cep’ me an’ Porgy, ef yuh wants tuh know.”
She found Porgy on the lower deck near the stern, and seated herself by him in silence. He was looking into the sunset, and gave no evidence of having noticed her arrival.
Through the illimitable, mysterious night, the steamer took its way. Presently it swung out of one of the narrow channels and wallowed like an antediluvian monster into the stillness of a wide lagoon. Out of the darkness, low, broad waves moved in upon it, trailing stars along their swarthy backs to shatter into silver dust against the uncouth bows.
To Porgy and Bess, still sitting silent in the stern, came only the echoes of drowsy conversations, sounds of sleeping, and the rhythmic splash and drip of the single great wheel behind them. The boat forged out into the centre of the lagoon, and the shore line melted out behind it. Where it had shown a moment before, could now be seen only the steady climb of constellations out of the water’s rim, and the soft, humid lamps of low, near stars. The night pressed in about the two quiet figures.
Porgy had said no word since their departure. His body had assumed its old, tense attitude. His face wore again its listening look. Now, he said slowly: