The quarters were extremely quiet. There was a moon, very high and very bright. Shadows from the trees, from the weeds along the ditch bank, from the old warped picket fences, lay across the road in front of him. Every house was quiet, looking gray and ghostlike. A dog barked at him every now and then, but other than that, absolute silence.
He walked on in the middle of the road. The dust was cool and soft and felt good under his shoes. He crossed the railroad tracks, but did not know where to go from here. To his right was the cemetery. He could see the big trees and the high weeds that stood over each grave. He thought he would walk over there. When he came up to the fence that surrounded the cemetery, he looked through the fence at places where graves ought to be, or where he thought they had been. He could not see any graves for the high weeds, and he was not sure that he was looking in the right places. He moved along the fence, but he could not see anything. When he was a child—ten years ago—he could have found his way to any grave in the cemetery with his eyes shut. Today he did not know if he was looking into the same cemetery. He moved away from the fence, stood back, looked over everything again, and then turned away.
He did not like the way he was feeling. He was feeling empty. He did not like being empty—unable to recognize things, unable to associate himself with things. He did not like being unable to recognize the graves. He did not like being unable to associate with the people. He did not like being unable to go to church with his aunt, or to drink in the sideroom with Brother. What then? Was it to be there? No, that was not it either. If neither there nor here, neither the living nor the dead, then what?
He was in the quarters again—the shadows were all around him. The high, bright moon made the dust in the road look as white as snow.
He stopped in front of the church. This had also been his school. He went into the yard to look at his church-school. How small it seemed. How large then, but how small now. How small was the yard. He could hardly knock a ball out of here once—but look at the size of it. What had happened? Had he grown so big or had the place actually shrunk in those ten years?
He went up to one of the windows to look inside. He looked at the straightback benches upon which he had sat in church as well as in school. He looked at the places against the wall where blackboards had once hung. How many whippings he had gotten for giving the wrong answer to a problem, the wrong definition to a word. Madame Bayonne loved him—yes; but she would whip him as quickly as she would any of the others—quicker sometimes. He looked toward the front of the church where she used to sit behind her desk. It was not really a desk. It was a table—the same table that the minister and his deacons used on Sundays for fixing the sacraments. Once it seemed that the distance from the blackboard to the table was a mile; now he felt as if he could have made it within a stride or two.
He went to the back of the church and looked over the yard. A sugar-cane field came all the way up to the yard from the side and from the back. He looked at the two old toilets by the fence, and he looked at the old elm tree in the corner of the fence which had been killed by lightning even before he left. There was a pecan tree across the ditch, and he remembered how the wind and the rain used to blow the pecans into the yard, and how he and the other children used to gather them and eat them during recess. He went back there to get a better look at the tree, but after a while he turned and walked away.
Just before going out of the yard he saw something shining on the ground in front of him. When he picked it up, he saw that it was a small piece of a broken key chain. He started to throw it away, but changed his mind and put it in his pocket.
Part Three
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CATHERINE wondered whether Jackson had gone back to California. Five days had gone by now and she had not caught a glimpse of him. She did not think too much of it the first day. Maybe he did not have a reason to go down the quarters the first day. And why should he pass by the house after what had happened? But when she did not see him the second day, Thursday, she began to wonder. She got into the car that afternoon and went out to the store. He was not there and neither was he sitting on the porch. Mary Louise was in the swing, but she could not tell from Mary Louise’s face whether he was there or not. Later, she drove through the quarters. Maybe she would see him at Madame Bayonne’s. But only Madame Bayonne sat on the porch. She was wearing eyeglasses and reading a book. Madame Bayonne looked at her a long time each time she went by the house. She must have known what had happened.
Friday she went to the store twice, but he was not there; neither did she see him on the porch. She drove through the quarters on Saturday. She saw only Madame Bayonne. Madame Bayonne was sitting on the porch basing a chair with corn shuck. Again Madame Bayonne looked at her a long time each time she went by. (She did not know whether Jackson had told Madame Bayonne, but she knew that Madame Bayonne knew. That old woman knew everything. Some of the children used to call her a witch, but that was not it. Madame Bayonne knew human beings.) She went back to the house. She stood at her bedroom window, she stood at the kitchen window, she sat out on the front porch, she walked across the yard under the big old mossladen trees—but he never did go by. He must have left. She wished there was some way she could find out—some way. But how? Ask someone? Ask whom? She knew how the people felt about her. Before Jackson came there, only a few of them would speak to her. Now, none of them did. Whom could she go to, whom could she ask? Brother? Yes, why not try him. He was Jackson’s friend.
She drove to Three Stars that evening and knocked on the back door. The Negro who came to the door, dressed all in white, including a big white cap, told her that Brother was not there. Could he help her? No, he could not. She got into the car and drove away. She looked for Jackson again when she went past the house. Nothing. She felt as though she would die.
She wanted only to see him—that was all—only to see him. She did not want anything else to happen. She did not want him to touch her, she did not want him to kiss her—she wanted only to see him. From a distance, from near, only a glimpse, and that would be enough. But, no—nothing.
Catherine was standing at the kitchen window when she thought she saw Jackson going down the quarters. The man wore a green shirt and brown pants, and he was walking with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Catherine watched him go past the little gate, then the big gate, and her heart sank in her body, because it was not Jackson.
She went back to her ironing board in the center of the room. She tried to forget Jackson and think about the dance that she was going to that night. She wondered what the girls would be wearing at the dance. The dance was informal, so they could wear almost anything. She wondered what her cousin Jeanette would be wearing. She was glad that she was going to see Jeanette. She had not seen Jeanette in a long time.
CHAPTER FORTY
Catherine sat at the kitchen table, looking through one of the magazines that Lillian had brought from New Orleans. She had dressed for the dance and now she was waiting for Raoul to come home so they could eat and then leave for Bayonne. Della sat across the table from her with Nelson in her arms. Nelson was wide awake, but he sat as quietly as if he were asleep. He had been like this ever since he saw his mother dressed to go out. In her room down the hall, Lillian was still getting ready for the dance. She had started before Catherine, but she could not find the proper combination of hat, shoes, and dress to wear.
“Better go and see ’bout her,” Della said.
“She’ll make out all right.”
A moment later they heard Lillian coming down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Cathy, see what you can do with this zip.”
Catherine started to lay the magazine on the table, but she picked it up again.
“Let Mama help you,” she said. “I don’t want to lose the place I’m reading.”
Lillian looked quickly at Catherine. She probably would have gone back up the hall if Della had not already pushed Nelson away and been standing up to help
her. She turned her back to Della, and Della began working with the zipper. Catherine looked up from her magazine at them.
“Getting it?” she asked Della.
“Not yet.”
The zipper had caught in the seam of the dress and could go up only a few inches. Della drew it back down a couple of times and pulled it up again, but each time it stopped in the same place. She drew it all the way down, and Catherine noticed her working with the seam. She could see the side of Lillian’s face, too, and Lillian looked as though she was becoming more irritable by the second. Catherine looked at Della as Della drew the zipper up again. It moved much more freely this time, and Catherine could see that Della had worked it loose from the seam. But just as she passed the original place where the zipper had gotten stuck, it stopped again.
“Don’t look like it want pass that spot.”
The zipper was not stuck, and Catherine could see that it was not. But Della had stopped it there in order for Lillian to stand before her a few minutes longer. This was the nearest she had gotten to Lillian since Lillian had come back there—the nearest she had gotten to Lillian since she had started coming back there six years ago. Was it only six? It seemed more like sixty. Della remembered how she had thrown her arms around Lillian, and Lillian had broken away from her as if she were some kind of wild animal trying to attack her.
Catherine saw Della’s hand move toward Lillian’s shoulders, then toward her hair. But each time she made an attempt to touch her, she drew back again. Any other time she might have taken the girl in her arms, but she did not want to spoil this evening for her. Lillian already knew that the zipper was free, and she was waiting impatiently for Della to pull it farther up.
“You all right now,” Della said.
“Thanks, Mama,” Lillian said, and went back up the hall without looking at Della or Catherine.
“She’ll be gone in a week or two,” Della said.
“I suppose so,” Catherine said indifferently. She was looking through the magazine again, and she did not feel like talking about Lillian.
“And I suppose I’ll never see her again,” Della said.
Catherine started not to answer, but she changed her mind. “I’m sure she’ll come back,” she said.
“She won’t,” Della said. “And you know she won’t.”
Catherine continued looking through the magazine. She did not feel like thinking about it. Maybe tomorrow, but not now. She heard the tractor coming in from the field, and she laid the magazine to the side.
“I’ll open it,” Della said. “You might go out there and snag your dress on something.”
A moment after Della walked outside, Lillian came back into the kitchen. She was fully dressed now—including hat, purse, and gloves. She looked at Catherine, but Catherine was looking the other way.
“I’m sorry, Cathy.”
“What are you sorry about, Lillian?” Catherine said, without looking at her.
“Cathy,” Lillian said, after a while. “Let’s get away from here. Me and you. Let’s get away from here, Cathy.”
Catherine was silent.
“I would do just what you want me to do, Cathy,” Lillian said. “I swear I would. Anything you want me to do.”
Catherine was silent, looking the other way.
“Let’s get out of here, Cathy,” Lillian said again.
But Catherine was silent.
“Look like somebody’s fixing to go somewhere,” Raoul said, when he came into the kitchen.
“Somebody is,” Catherine said. “As soon as you take your bath and eat.”
“Bath?” Raoul said.
“That’s right,” Catherine said. “A bath.”
“Didn’t I take one of them things last week?” Raoul said.
“I don’t know about last week,” Catherine said.
“But you’re taking one tonight if you’re going with me.”
“And if I don’t?” Raoul said.
Catherine was silent. She knew Raoul could and would change his mind with little provocation. An hour later they were driving out of the yard.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Raoul was so deep in thought when Catherine stopped the car at the only red light in Bayonne that he had to look out at the theater to reassure himself that they had already gotten there. He had not moved from the place he had sat in when he first got into the car. He had sat against the door directly behind Catherine, and he had not even shifted his feet.
Raoul wore a blue striped double-breasted suit. His green necktie seemed almost as wide as the lapel of his coat. With the brim of his gray felt hat broken down over his eyes, Raoul was the perfect picture of the gangster made famous by Hollywood during the thirties and forties.
While sitting in the backseat of the car, Raoul had been looking at his two daughters. First, Catherine. He liked the way she combed her hair—the pride she took in showing its full length. He could imagine the two little pearl earrings and the string of beads around her neck. At the house he had wanted to tell her how lovely she looked, but he had not said anything. If he had said anything to her, then he would have had to say something to Lillian, also. Another reason he did not say anything was that he felt he had no business going to Bayonne tonight when he had to get up before daybreak in the morning to go out into the field. “That priest” wasn’t going to take five cents of “that money” to pay anybody to come back there and help him, no matter how far behind he got in his work.
Raoul looked at Lillian. Lillian sat back in the seat, staring out in front of the car as though she were in a deep trance. Raoul looked at the little white hat sitting up on top of her head, and at her hair twisted into a big ball in back. He could also see one of the small earrings and the pearl necklace that he had given her several Christmases ago. He supposed it was the same necklace, since he could not imagine where she could get another one from. He knew that in spite of those high and mighty words those in the city used, they would not put out money for anything.
Raoul shook his head and looked out of the window.
“Something the matter?” Catherine said. She had been watching him through the rearview mirror.
Raoul shook his head.
Lillian looked halfway around, but did not look at him, and looked out in front again. The light turned green and Catherine drove off. After she had gone two blocks up the street, she made a left turn down a dark road that led back of town.
I don’t know what happened, Raoul was thinking. I don’t know. It was a mistake to put her there in the first place. I told her mon that, but … he tried not to think about it any more. He knew he had it all wrong. He knew that it was not Della who had put her there, but that it was his people who had insisted that she go with them when they were sure … but he did not want to think about that either.
He had his Catherine; and that was enough. He looked at her again. He looked at her beautiful brown-black hair and the natural way it curled at the ends. He loved the way she handled the car, and he knew if he closed his eyes for an hour, for a day, he was in safe hands.
Something caused Raoul to turn his head to the left, and he noticed the weeds along the ditch bank. Damn, he thought. They call this a town and they got more weeds here than I got in my cane field. He thought about his field again; he thought about all the time he would lose tomorrow just because he came here tonight.
Catherine stopped the car in front of her aunt’s house, and passed Raoul the keys. A young woman standing on the porch, wearing a red dress and white shoes, watched them come into the flower garden.
“Hello, there, you old sweet,” she said, coming up to Catherine and kissing her. “Hello, there, old Lily. You’re just like a living doll.” She kissed Lillian. “And hello, there, old Uncle.” She kissed Raoul. “Ah, I’m so happy you all finally got here. Was getting ready to say you all weren’t coming. What happened? Car broke down?”
“I had to feed my mules,” Raoul said. “You don’t mind?”
“Oh, gruff to
you,” Jeanette said to Raoul. “Gruff, gruff.”
They went inside the house, and three women met them in the living room. Margaret Toussaint, Jeanette’s mother, a little heavier than either of the other two women, and who was to be chaperon that night, smiled at her two nieces when they came into the room. Elvira Carmier, whose name was once Wills but was changed back to the family name two years later because that “ ’Merican nigger drank everything that poured,” went up to both girls, hugged them and kissed them on the jaw. The third woman, who was called Bertha Taveras, wearing a light-blue dress and a large red flower pinned just over the heart, was not a relative; but she had been trying to get into the family now for a long time. She looked at the two girls and smiled, and then she looked at Raoul who stood near the door as though being around so many women talking at the same time made him feel uncomfortable.
“How’s everybody been?” Catherine asked.
“Suffering,” Elvira said. “This heat’s been murder the last few days.”
“I came from work today, and I tell you I could do nothing but sweat,” Jeanette said. “Been drinking beer ever since, and it hasn’t done one ounce of good. I think it did worse.”
“Why don’t you all sit down?” Elvira said. “You all going now?”
“I think we ought to,” Jeanette said. “Maybe Cathy and Lily will want something cold before going inside. That hall is so hot.”
“I thought Maggie was taking y’all,” Raoul said.
“Oh, gruff to you,” Jeanette said. “Gruff, gruff.”
“Maybe we ought to go now,” Margaret said. “I don’t mind having a Coke or something myself. Will you all mind, Cathy? Lily?”
“A Coke would be nice,” Catherine said. “It is a little warm.”
“Good,” Jeanette said. “Off to the dance, to the dance. Ahh, I’m going to dance and dance and dance—cha-cha-cha.”
“Catherine,” Raoul said, nodding toward the kitchen. Catherine followed him. “I want you and Lillian back here no later than twelve o’clock, you hear?”
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