Mama turned me to the shack and we made our
way to the door as Octavious drove away, the sound
of his car drifting back into the darkness. I was still in
pain. My legs felt so heavy and my head even heavier,
but I didn't complain. I didn't want to make things any
harder than they were for Mama. She managed to get
me in the house and up the stairs to my little room. It
was actually a bit smaller than the room I had been
living in at the Tate house, but it was my room and
full of my memories. It was like seeing an old friend
again.
"It's so good to be home, Mama," I said. She helped me into bed. "Just get some rest,
honey. I'll be right here if you need me," she added.
She said something else, but I didn't hear it. Before
she had completed the sentence, I was asleep. Daddy returned sometime before morning,
bitter and angry about the money he had lost
gambling, raging that he had been cheated and that he
would get revenge. He was quite drunk and smashed a chair in anger, splintering it to bits. It woke me and sent Mama flying down to bawl him out. I heard the shouting, his pounding the walls and stomping the floor. I heard the door slam so hard, the whole shack shook, and then it was deadly quiet. My eyes shut themselves and didn't open again until the sunlight brushed my face. They fluttered open, and for a moment I didn't know where I was. After a moment, it all came rushing back over me, including the racket I had heard in the middle of the night. Mama, anticipating my awakening, stepped into the room with a cup of rich Cajun coffee, the steam rising from
the mug.
"Got to get you up and about, honey. Women
who lay around like sick people after they give birth
usually develop some problem or another," she said. I sat up and took the mug of coffee. "Was I
dreaming or was Daddy screaming and yelling last
night?" I asked her.
She shook her head. "I wish you had been
dreaming. No, he came home in one of his drunken
states again, claiming he had been cheated out of the
money he lost at cards. Instead of finding a good job
and working hard, he keeps trying to make a killing
somewhere. He works harder at not working than he
would if he worked," she added.
"Does he know I'm home?"
"I tried to tell him, but he wasn't hearing
anything but his own stupid voice last night." "Where is he?"
"He fell asleep in his truck last I saw, but when
I looked out before, the truck was gone. No telling
what he's up to now. I'll fix you some good breakfast,
honey. You rise and stretch those legs, hear?" "Yes, Mama. Mama?" I said before she left the
room. She turned.
"Yes, honey?"
"What about. . ." I held my hands under my
ample breasts.
Mama's face turned sad again. "I was going to
tell you about that today," she said sadly. "You'll have
to just pump it out or you'll develop milk fever." "But the milk . . ."
"We can't offer it to anyone's baby, and that
woman won't let Paul have your milk," she added
bitterly. Mama hated waste in any shape or form. "How long will I have to do this, Mama?" "From the looks of you, a few weeks at least,
honey. I'm sorry."
My tears burned under my eyelids. Every time I did this, I would think of my baby forced to drink the milk of a stranger while his mother's milk was poured into the ground. From the way I ached, I couldn't postpone it much longer either. After breakfast Mama showed me what to do. All the hot tears I had held
back streaked down my cheeks.
They seemed to singe my heart as well as my
face. I think Mama turned away and left me because
she, too, was close to crying.
Afterward, when I lay back and closed my eyes,
I thought I could hear my baby's cry. I recalled his
tiny face and imagined what it would have been like
to have his lips on my nipple drawing the milk from
me. Perhaps, if I did this every time, it would make it
a little easier, I thought.
Late in the afternoon, Daddy returned. He had a
swollen left cheek and a black eye. There was a thin
gash along the top of his forehead, and his clothes
were wrinkled and marred with mud and grime as if
he had been dragged through the swamp. He limped
when he entered the house. Mama and I both looked
up and gasped.
"What did you do now, Jack," Mama asked
after a moment, "to get such a beating?"
"They ganged up on me is what happened," he wailed. "Those thieves down at Bloody Mary's." He fixed his eyes on me. "You shouldn't have left that house so fast, Gabriel. We coulda made them pay to
have you leave."
"What for, Jack? So you can go and throw it
away at some bar or over some game of chance?"
Mama snapped. "Just like you did every other
nickel?"
"It was what was coming to us," he declared,
his arms spread.
"Us, Jack? How's it us? She's the one's suffered
and she don't get one penny because you've gone and
lost or spent it all, right? Or did you put away a little
for her?" Mama asked, knowing the answer. "I . . I just been trying to build something for
this family, is all. But I got cheated, so I went back to
get back what's mine and they jumped me." He stared
at me a moment. "They give you anything before you
left?" he asked.
"No, Daddy," I said.
"And if they had, we wouldn't tell you, Jack
Landry," Mama said.
"Ahh. Women never appreciate what a man
tries to do for them," he complained, and sank in his
worn easy chair. "I got to think up a new plan here.
Those Tates can't get off this. easy," he muttered. "Instead of spending all this time sitting, there
trying to think up a new plan to rob people, why don't
you go look for honest work, Jack?" Mama said, her
hands on her hips. He gazed up, his nearly closed
right eye twitching.
"What'cha talking about, robbing people? It's
them who's robbed us, robbed our daughter of her
pure innocence. Just like you not to see the point." "I see the point," Mama said. "I been seeing it
grow sharper and sharper, too. It's cutting right
through here," she said, holding her hand over her
heart.
"Ahh, stop your wailing. I need quiet and
something to eat. I got to think' hard," he said. Mama shook her head and went back to her
roux.
"I said I need something to eat!" Daddy cried.
Mama continued to stir her gravy with her back to
him as if he weren't in the shack. I rose and put
together a plate of food for him.
"Thank you, Gabriel," he said, taking it and
wolfing it down. "At least you care."
"Mama cares, Daddy. She's just tired. We're all
tired," I said.
Daddy paused in his chewing, his eyes growing
darker. "Damn if I'm going to sit here and watch my
women suffer while that rich family enjoys the fruits
of my daughter," he declared. "I'm going back, and
this time I'm going to demand twice as much." "Jack, don't you dare," Mama snapped. "Don't tell me what not to do, woman. Cajun
women," he spit. "Stubborn. . ." He put th
e plate down
and rose.
"Jack Landry," Mama called, but he was
already heading for the door.
"Just sit tight and let me be the man of the
house," he yelled back, and shot through the door. "Man of the house don't mean blackmailing
people forever, Jack Landry," she called after him, but
he didn't stop. He got into his truck and pulled away,
leaving Mama and me standing by the door. "It's
going to come to no good," she predicted, and shook
her head. "No good."
Sure enough, late in the afternoon, the police
arrived to tell us Daddy was in the lockup.
"He caused a terrible commotion over at the
Tate Cannery," the policeman explained. "We're
holding him until Mr. Tate decides whether or not to
press charges."
Mama thanked the policeman for coming by to
tell us.
"What are you going to do, Mama?" I asked
after they left. "Are you going to go over to speak to
Octavious?"
She shook her head. "I'm tired of bailing your
father out of trouble, Gabriel. Let him sit in the clink
for a while. Maybe it will drum some sense in his
head."
That evening after Mama and I had a quiet
dinner, we sat on the gallery and watched the road,
both wondering if Daddy would come driving up.
Mama was very troubled, and those worries made her
look so much older to me.
"Things have a way of going so sour
sometimes," she suddenly muttered. "I guess I'm not
doing so well as a traiteir. I can't do much for my own
family," she moaned.
"That's not so, Mama. You've done a lot for us.
Where would I be without your help and comfort?" I
reminded her.
"I should have looked after you better, Gabriel.
I should have warned you about the evil that lurks
deep within some people, and I shouldn't have left you
alone so much. It's my fault," she said.
"No it isn't, Mama. I was stupid and blind. I
shouldn't have been wandering around in my own
dreamworld so much."
"It's been hard," she said. "It's like you never
had a father. Be so careful about who you fall, in love
with, Gabriel," she warned. "It's so important. That
first decision decides the road you'll follow, all the
turns and hills, the twists and gullies."
"But, Mama, if you couldn't see the future, how
can I expect to do so?"
"You don't have to see the future. Just don't be
as trusting anymore and don't let your heart tell your
mind to shut up." She rocked and shook her head. "Will Daddy ever change, Mama?"
"Fraid not, sweetheart. What's rotted in his
heart has taken hold of him. Now he's just a man to
endure. Looks like you and I will have to tend to
ourselves."
"We'll do fine, Mama. We always have." "Maybe," she said. She smiled. "Of course we
will," she said, and patted my hand. We hugged and
then talked about other things until we both grew tired
and decided to go to sleep.
I had to pump my breasts again and again; I
conjured the image of baby Paul as I did so. I fell
asleep dreaming of his tiny fingers and his sweet face. Late in the morning Daddy returned. He was
sullen and quiet, so Mama had to drag the story out of
him. He did go back to Octavious to demand an
additional payment, only this time, Octavious had his
men throw Daddy off the grounds. Daddy sat in his
truck, beeping his horn and creating a disturbance
until Octavious called the police.
This morning the police told him Octavious
wasn't making a formal complaint, but Daddy was
warned to stay away from the Tate property. If he
came within a hundred yards of it, they would lock
him up again. He ranted and raved about how the rich
controlled the law. He vowed to find a way to get
back at them. Mama, refusing to talk to him,
nevertheless made him something to eat. Finally he
calmed down and talked about taking up Fletcher
Tyler's offer to hire him as a guide for hunters in the
swamp.
"Nobody could do it better than me. It pays all
right and they give you tips," he told Mama. "Well?"
he said when she didn't comment. "What'cha so quiet
for? It's what you want me to do, honest work, ain't
it?"
"I'll believe it when I see you actually doing it,"
she told him.
That set him on a tirade about how Cajun
women don't give their men the support the men need.
He raged about it for a while and then went off to trap
some muskrats.
The day passed slowly into another hot and
muggy night. Fireflies danced over the swamp water
and the owls complained to each other. After I went
up to my room, I sat by my window and listened to
the cicadas. I wondered if Paul was asleep or being
nursed. I imagined his little arms swinging, his
excitement coming with every new discovery about
his own body, and I turned to find a pen and some
paper to write the letter I would never send.
.
Dear Paul,
You will probably grow up never hearing my
name. If we do see each other, you will not look at me
any differently from the way you look at anyone else.
Perhaps, when you are old enough to realize, you
might see me looking at you with a soft smile on my
face and you, might wonder who I am and why I am
gazing at you this way. if you ask your parents about
me, they won't tell you anything. We will remain
strangers.
But maybe, just maybe, on a night as warm and
as lonely as this one is for me, you will feel a strange
longing and you will realize something is missing.
You may never tell anyone about this feeling, but it
will be there and it will come often.
And then, one day, when you're old enough to
put the feeling into a thought, you will remember the
young girl who looked at you with such love and you
will realize there was something more in her eyes. Maybe you will confront your father or your
mother and maybe, just maybe, they will be forced to
tell you the truth.
I wonder then if you will hate me for deserting
you. I wonder if you will want to know me. I wonder
if we will ever have a conversation.
If we did, I would tell you that when you were
born, I thought it was glorious and I was filled with
such love for you, I feared my heart would burst. I
would tell you I spent night after night crying when I
thought about you. I would tell you I was sorry. Of course, you might hate your father and
resent your stepmother, so I have to think hard before
I tell you these things. It might be that for your sake I
never do, because your happiness is far more
important to me than my own.
I just want you to know I love you, and even
though I didn't want it to happen, you became a part
of me and always will be.
&nb
sp; Love,
Your mother Gabriel
.
I kissed the paper and folded it tightly. Then I
stuck it in my top drawer with my most precious
momentos. It felt good to write it even though I knew
Paul would never read it.
The moon poked its face between two clouds
and sent a shaft of yellow light over the swamp. It
looked magical for a moment, and I could swear I
heard the cry of a baby. It echoed over the water and
drifted into the darkness. I curled up in my bed and
pretended I had baby Paul in my arms, his tiny face
pressed up against my breast, my heartbeat giving him
comfort.
And I fell asleep, dreaming of a better
tomorrow.
9
A Tormented Sky
.
On warm nights when the moon peered through
clouds no thicker than dreams, I would sit on Daddy's dock with my bare feet just above the water that lapped gently against the dark wooden posts, and I would listen for the cry of a raccoon. To me, a raccoon sounded like a human baby crying. I would think about Paul and how much and how quickly he had grown these past three years. Occasionally I would catch sight of him either in town with the Tates or at church whenever they would bring him along. I hoped God would forgive me, for I went to church more to catch a glimpse of my baby than I went for the service. However, most of the time the Tates would leave Paul at home with the nanny on Sundays. I learned Gladys didn't like being bothered with a baby when she was in public. I'd never complain, I thought.
The small patch of blond hair with which Paul had been born had become a full head of chatlin hair, the blond strands just a little thicker and brighter than the brown. His eyes were the soft blue shade of the sky in the morning when the sun was just climbing from the east and the sable darkness was sliding down the horizon on the west.
Whenever Gladys Tate saw that I had caught Paul's eye, whether it be in town or at church, she would immediately toss him from one side to the other so her body would block me from Paul's sight. It was difficult for me to get close to him. Once, only once, when they were leaving the church and I had deliberately lingered behind at the doorway, I was no more than a few inches from him. I saw how graceful his hands were and how creamy pink was his complexion. I heard his sweet peal of laughter and when he turned his head my way, I saw him smile, his eyes brightening as if there were tiny blue bulbs behind them. I could see he was a happy baby, plump and content. I was glad about that, but I was also saddened by the thought that he might really be better off with the rich Tates, who could give him so much, and not with me, who could give him so little.
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