Color Blind

by Sobel, Sheila;

  Kate called up the stairs, “We’re leaving now. I’ll be home around ten thirty or so. Remember, you are grounded. Stay home and stay out of trouble.”

  I came out of my room, leaned over the railing, waved the newspaper at her, and said, “No problem. Have a nice time! Bye!”

  As soon as they drove off, I threw the newspaper back in my room and ran downstairs to see if the spare set of keys was still hanging in the pantry. Bingo! I slipped the key ring into my pocket and ran back upstairs to get my purse, my cell, and the directions. I was on my way out when it occurred to me that I could use some of the fresh baked goods as a gift for Angel’s mother. Simone wouldn’t question why I was out there by myself if I was simply being neighborly. I picked a pastry box from the shelf, loaded it up with goodies, and tied a pink satin ribbon around it for good measure.

  Excited at the prospect of bringing my chaos to an end, my heart raced as I pulled away from the curb. I inched the Mini through the French Quarter until, finally, the traffic ground to a halt. A wedding parade, led by a jazz band, danced away from St. Louis Cathedral on their way to the soon-to-be-raucous wedding reception. Guests had already armed themselves with red plastic cups filled to the brim with indeterminate alcoholic beverages. They twirled their way through the streets as if nobody else or what they needed to do mattered.

  I glanced at my watch; the clock was ticking. I needed to get Angel and get to the dock, before I quite literally missed the boat. As the last of the revelers passed in front of my car and the music faded into the early evening, I hit the gas and sped out of the Quarter. Already off schedule, I hoped I could make up the time to get to the Ninth Ward, even though I’d never found it on my own before.

  I stopped at a light, quickly reread the directions, I was on track. I hadn’t yet made a wrong turn.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As I made my way closer to the Ninth Ward, I was overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding. The sky had turned a sort of yellow-gray, with skyscraper-sized clouds. The wind gusted, rocking the Mini. I tried to shake off the bad feeling by rationalizing that it was caused by a change in barometric pressure from the next storm headed our way. It was nothing more than that. Angel and I would be back home, safe and sound, well before the weather became hideous and anyone realized we were gone.

  I stopped the Mini in front of Angel’s house, removed the pastry box from the seat, and went to find her. I didn’t have to look very hard. The screen door slammed open and Angel flew out, with Gumbo on her heels. Simone watched from the doorway, smiling when she saw me with the pretty pink pastry box.

  “Why, honey, you didn’t need to bring us anythin’.”

  “Kate and I wanted you to have these. She was in a frenzy this morning, a baking frenzy that is, and she sort of overdid it. She baked way too many sweets for us. We wanted to share them with you, so here I am! Aunt Kate sends her regrets, she had to work.” A perky smile lit up my face.

  “Mighty nice of her to let you drive her fine car. Sit yourself down, I’ll get us some sweet tea.”

  “Thank you for asking, but I don’t care for any tea. I thought maybe Angel and I could take Gumbo for a walk, spend some time together? That is, if you’re okay with it, ma’am.” Charm simply oozed from my lips.

  “Don’t think so, a storm is comin’ in.”

  “Please Mama? We won’t go far. Promise.” Angel crossed her heart and said, “Scout’s honor.”

  “Just up the block,” said Simone. “I’ve gotta get the wash off the line before the storm comes up. Can’t you hear the flappin’ comin’ from the back? The sheets have gotta be dry by now!” she laughed.

  Angel hooked Gumbo up to his new leash and off we went.

  I glanced at my watch again. “Angel, we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About us. You and me.”

  “Me and you? Why?”

  “We’re cousins. You and I are cousins.”

  Angel pulled on Gumbo’s leash to stop him. She stared at me and began to laugh.

  “You’re funny. Look at me, I’m not white like you and you’re not black like me. You’re crazy girl, you wound those curls on your head too tight today.”

  “I’m serious. You know that picture of your maw-maw? I found one just like it in a box of our family photos. I thought she was a maid or something, but when I asked Kate, she said she wasn’t a servant, she was family. A well-kept family secret is how she put it. She’s my maw-maw, too!”

  “Huh? How’s that work?”

  “It works through mixed-race relationships. Sexual relations between different races can change the dominant race. Look Angel, we don’t have time to go into our family genealogy. We have to leave. We can talk about it in the car.”

  “Gene-ology? What’s that? What’s up with you, girl? Go where?”

  “To the swamp. To the spiritual cleansing ceremony. Marguerite said you should be there. I don’t want to go alone anyway. Please come with me. I need you. I’ll take Gumbo, put him in your room and close the door. I’ll go say goodbye to your mom. You go hide in the car.”

  “I can’t. I’ve never lied to my mama before. I told her we’d be right back.”

  “She won’t even know you’re gone. We won’t be long. I promise,” I said, crossing my heart. “Scout’s honor.”

  “I do wanna ride in her car!” Angel giggled, “Okay, I’ll go!”

  I gave her a little push towards the car and took the leash, then went back inside the house and closed Gumbo in Angel’s room. I walked through the kitchen to the backyard, found Simone and told her that Angel was tired after our walk and wanted to take a little nap. I said “Goodbye” and headed for the car. I was dripping with sweat and wished I’d brought towels to cover Kate’s nice leather seats. I hated sticking to car seats; it was such a pain. I looked at the sky again, now more charcoal than yellow-gray. I needed to put the car top up anyway, so when I turned on the A/C, the car would be more comfortable. I turned the car around and parked down the block, out of view from Angel’s house. Angel and I struggled against the wind to close the canvas top. Finally, we were on our way.

  I hesitated, unsure how to ask the next question.

  “Angel, you can read, right?”

  “What kind of fool question is that? Course I can read. What’s got into you today? You’re actin’ all weird.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t see a school in your neighborhood, so I figured . . .”

  “We’ve got these big yellow things called buses, they get us to school.” Angel gave me the stink-eye.

  Ashamed, I said, “That was rude of me. I apologize. Let me start over. Would you please read the directions for me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Please, Angel?”

  “You’ve gotta tell me how we’re cousins, it makes no sense to me.”

  “I’ll try to explain, as best I can, but help me get out of the city first.”

  We both fell silent.

  “You know, Angel, I don’t understand any of this myself. It’s all news to me. I haven’t wrapped my head around it yet. I’m hoping Marguerite can help. Or maybe you and I can figure it out together. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “She’s a woman I know. Sort of. She’s a Voodoo high priestess, she understands these things. I believe she can help us.”

  “Voodoo priestess? Like my, uh, our maw-maw? That’s cool! My mama says Voodoo isn’t anything more than a different kind of religion. My mama and me, we’re Baptist, but she told me maw-maw was Catholic and a Voodoo. I don’t get how that works.”

  “Angel, where do I go from here? I’ve never been outside of New Orleans, have you?”

  “I got an uncle that lives out the swamp. We go fishin’ sometimes and he lets me drive his boat. Don’t tell my mama, she says I’m too young yet to run a boat.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t lie to your mama?”

  “It’s not lying if you just don’t
say anythin’, right?”

  “Right!”

  Another gust of wind pushed against the Mini. I fought for control as we crossed the canal that flowed into Lake Pontchartrain. Again, silence filled the car. We both looked at the levees and thought about the tropical storm heading our way.

  “April?”

  “Yes?”

  “You sure about this? Goin’ to the swamp mightn’t be a good idea.”

  “We’ll be fine. We’ll do this ceremony thing, hop back in the car and get home before the storm makes landfall. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

  “You need to get on the causeway, that’ll get us to the swamp. Mama told me once it’s the longest bridge in the world. I was scared first time I rode over it, but I was just a little kid back then. Nothin’ but water and bridge, water and bridge, water and bridge. Pretty scary.”

  That didn’t sound too good to me either, but I had to get to the swamp. There was no other route except across that bridge.

  Angel looked out of the car window and said, “My mama told me after Hurricane Katrina, lots of places out here were left to just die.” She pointed out the window, “See over there? The Six Flags Jazzland, that’s one of them. Mama told me she went there once.”

  I glanced out her window at the skeletons of roller coasters and other monstrous park rides half hidden under mountains of weeds, where the laughter and amusement had long since died. I imagined on days like this or on full moon nights, the ghosts of enjoyment past could still be heard echoing in the gloom.

  I turned on the radio. Every station warned their listeners to “batten down the hatches.” The commentators tried to be light, but serious. Everyone was on edge, especially me. As we drove onto the causeway, another blast of heavy wind tried to blow us into the wall. Angel screamed, grabbed for the dashboard and braced for collision. My heart pounded as I tightened my grip on the wheel and fought to bring the little car back under control.

  “It won’t be much longer,” I told her. “We’ll be off the bridge soon.”

  “Sign says the bridge is twenty-four miles long. That isn’t soon.”

  Angel was right. We wouldn’t be off the bridge soon. There was no way to go except forward. There was no way to turn back.

  “Hang on tight, Angel!” I shouted as the wind pushed against the car again.

  After what seemed like forever, the Mini rolled onto terra firma. I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel and began to breathe a little easier. Angel high-fived me, let out a nervous little laugh. “That was some ride! Man oh man.”

  The landscape changed to a lush, green marshy one that was quite beautiful to look at. The late afternoon sun escaped from behind an enormous cloud, its rays casting a golden-black glow over us. Maybe it was a sign that everything would be okay. I could use a good omen about now. I doubted that would be the case, though. I watched a flock of birds fly inland, away from the water and the gathering storm.

  Angel pointed to a sign. “Here! Turn here. We’re goin’ to Prosper’s Fish Camp.”

  I did as she said, made a sharp right turn onto a dirt road and slowed the Mini. In addition to a stop for gas, the car would need to be washed before going back to Kate’s house.

  “You sure you wanna do this, April? We can turn back ’n’ go home right now.”

  “We can’t do that now, Angel.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s why.” I pointed towards the dock.

  Standing on the dock, shrouded in the early evening mist, was Madame Marguerite, beckoning us to join her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Welcome, my girls.” Marguerite’s voice was quiet and smooth as silk. She leveled her pale gold gaze on my new cousin. “You must be Angel.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Angel, retreating somewhat.

  “Come, we must hurry. The hour is late, the ceremony will soon begin.”

  “I have to go,” cried Angel. “Real bad.” She crossed her legs for emphasis.

  “Me, too,” I said, now not so sure I wanted to be here.

  Marguerite pointed to a nearby porta potty. “Over there. Make it quick. We must leave!”

  Angel and I scurried over to the blue plastic rectangle.

  Inside, the portable toilet was hot, airless, and suffocating, its tiny window covered by a broken screen. No air could get in, only flies and other creepy, crawly things, and they had all died in quiet desperation in the minuscule sink. The “odor absorbing” chemicals couldn’t overcome the steamy stench. My head began to spin, I stumbled out the door, falling into Angel.

  “Can we go home now?” she whined. “I’m scared.”

  I leaned close to Angel. “Me, too, Angel. Listen to me. I need to do this. My father’s spirit needs to find peace. I need to find peace. Marguerite said she could help me. You know I can’t leave you here, or in the car by yourself. You have to come with me. You have no choice. I promise I’ll take care of you. Scout’s honor.” Angel said nothing, just kicked at the dirt.

  “Young ladies, come now!” ordered Marguerite.

  Surreptitiously, I looked at my phone and was amazed to see full bars. Concerned by the low-battery indicator, I powered off the phone and slipped it into my pocket.

  “We can wait no longer!” shouted Marguerite.

  “Coming.”

  Angel had a death grip on my hand as we ran towards the boat, but I was not unhappy about it. I had a death grip on hers as well.

  Marguerite cast off even before we planted ourselves on the bench in the middle of the boat. Two paddles lay at our feet and a large cage full of chickens had been secured to a hook at the front of the boat. Chickens? What’s that about? What on earth do chickens have to do with spiritual cleansing? I glanced at my watch again. It was 7:30, thirty minutes before the start of the ceremony. If the ceremony started on time and didn’t take too long, there would still be plenty of time to get gas, get the car washed, get Angel home, and get back myself before Kate returned. I should be good. Everything was going according to plan.

  With Angel dead silent beside me and Marguerite busy piloting the boat, my mind wandered. I pushed aside any dark thoughts of what might be in store for us when we docked. I focused on anything and everything I could possibly absorb from this primeval paradise. Fascinated by the rich environment, I wished Miles were here to give another of his fabulous tour commentaries. This was a world I had never experienced before, but would like to know more about. It was quiet, peaceful, and dramatic in a tropical-rain-forest sort of way. Under any other circumstance, I would have a better appreciation for the verdant landscape.

  The tiny, bright green plants that covered the water’s surface slipped easily away as the boat moved through the everglade. Sage-green Spanish moss dripped from every tree branch and deep purple water lilies dotted the shoreline. A blue heron, a bird I’d only seen in National Geographic, perched on a partially submerged log, still as a garden statue. It was a beautiful canvas, a living Impressionist painting. The swamp air was heavier, more humid, even more oppressive than the city’s. Steam rose from the water, giving the swamp a Jurassic Park feel.

  I pointed to the shore. “Is that an alligator?”

  “No, it’s a log,” Angel answered. “Gators don’t come out before a storm. They go to where they feel safe. Nobody knows where the gators go, they just go. Smarter than you and me, they are.”

  Lost in the beauty of the swamp, I had forgotten about the impending storm. Out here, there were no big gusts of wind or threatening clouds, only the quiet passing from day to evening. Is the storm moving back out into the Gulf?

  As we motored past, lights came on inside a ramshackle cabin. Weathered shanties and abandoned shacks lined the shore, nestled alongside brand new double-wide trailers balanced on stilts high above the water line. Some places were well kept, others not so much. I was surprised to see there was a community of sorts out here. People living in a swamp was something I hadn’t ever thought about. Then again, why would I? This was all
so foreign to me.

  Old wringer wash tubs and ice boxes decorated yards, adding the flair of a junkyard sculpture garden to the neighborhood. Flat boats and the occasional fishing boat rocked idly at weathered docks. Some of the oldest buildings looked like they had been here since the Civil War. No matter how old or ugly their appearance was, none of the homes was without a satellite dish. It was amazing to me that the tentacles of technology had reached this remote place. My mind flashed on a bizarre new reality show, Real Housewives of the Bayou. Not a pretty picture.

  We passed a weathered general store at Prosper’s Fish Camp, where an old blue sign with icicle letters advertised Refrigerated Air Inside. A barrel of live bait and two sparkling vending machines crowded the sagging porch. I wondered how long it would be before everything fell in on itself and was swallowed up by the marsh, disappearing as if it had never existed in the first place. Daylight slowly faded as we motored on, deeper into the gloom.

  “Not much farther, ladies,” said Marguerite, cutting the motor and pulling it out of the water.

  “Help me,” she said, reaching for a paddle. “The roots from the cypress trees and the water plants, they grow too thick to motor in. We paddle from here.”

  The night was alive with insect song. Wildlife moved unseen through the trees; at least I hoped it was wildlife. I heard drums in the distance and saw a reddish glow above the tree tops. We were almost there.

  We paddled to the shore, where Marguerite tied our boat to a low-lying dock in desperate need of repair. She hefted the old wooden cage full of protesting chickens, as if she had done this many times before.

  Marguerite turned to us. “Follow me.”

  Angel gasped, held back, whispered to me, “April, this don’t feel right. Even the chickens know this isn’t right. How come you don’t know this isn’t right? Let her go ahead. We can take the boat and skedaddle on outta here.”

  “Angel, I need to do this. It won’t be long now. Then we can go, I promise,” I whispered back. “When the ceremony is over my father’s spirit will rest easy for all eternity. Mine, too. I need this.”