Hidden Jewel (13 page)

I sat there for a while staring at her until her breathing became slow and regular. Then I got up quietly and slipped from her room, thinking about the heavy burden of guilt Mommy had kept buried in the vault of her memory. Surely it had weighed down her heart before, but she had been able to pretend it had never happened. She had been lonely and afraid, I told myself. Everyone she loved but Paul had deserted her. I could never blame her for anything evil. Never.
Mommy was like an invalid for the next few days, never leaving her room, getting up only to bathe and change her nightgown. Daddy and I visited Pierre often in the psychiatric ward. Daddy did a little work, but by early evening, he was usually in his study drinking bourbon to help him sleep.
One afternoon about four days later, I went to the hospital first. I started talking to Pierre the same way I always did: first reviewing the things that had happened at the house, the people who called, the friends of Pierre's and Jean's who had asked about him. I talked and talked and stroked his hand and kissed his cheek and told him how much Mommy needed him. And then the nurse's aide brought in some juice and as usual, I tried to get Pierre to take something by mouth.
It looked as if I would fail as I had so many times before, when suddenly his lips opened and his clenched teeth unlocked. Excited, I started to feed him the juice in tiny increments. He took some on his tongue, and then he swallowed and took some more.
"That's good, Pierre. That's wonderful. We'll get you off this I.V."
I rushed out to tell the nurse, who called Dr. LeFevre. By the time Daddy arrived, Pierre had drunk most of the juice. He wasn't speaking and he wasn't moving, but at least there had been this small change.
Daddy was overjoyed. "We've got to get home to tell Ruby. Maybe now she'll get up and come to see him," he said.
We hurried home; a shaft of bright light and hope had finally pierced the dark clouds over us. When we pulled into our driveway, we saw a tall, slim black woman leaving the house. She wore a long red skirt, sandals, and a bone-white blouse. Her bracelets were made of animal bones, and her dangling earrings were silver embedded with what looked like cats' eyes. She glanced our way, but didn't pause. I saw she had a scar across her right cheek with a triangular cut at the top end of it right beneath her sharp cheekbone.
"Who the hell is that?" Daddy muttered.
The woman disappeared around our gate. We hurried inside and up the stairs. Mommy wasn't in the bedroom, but a can of brimstone was burning on each nightstand. The scent of sulfur permeated the air.
"What the . ." Daddy snuffed them out quickly. "Where is she? What is she doing?"
"Don't yell at her, Daddy," I warned. "She's--"
"I know what she's doing. I know exactly what she's doing," he said and left the room. I followed him downstairs. Mommy wasn't in the sitting rooms, the study, or the kitchen. We finally found her in her studio. She was sketching on an easel, but on either side of her burned a blue candle.
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"Ruby," Daddy said and she turned slowly. "Hello, Beau."
"What was that woman doing here? Why were you burning that stuff in our bedroom? And what is this with these candles?"
"I had to get us some good gris-gris and fight back, Beau. Don't be angry. I feel safe again. I'll start to work, too." She smiled at me, but I thought it was a strange smile, the smile of someone who was under a spell. Like Daddy, I wondered what that voodoo woman had done.
"I can't believe this," Daddy said. "Stinking up our bedroom . . ." He shook his head and then remembered why we had rushed home. "Anyway, we've got some good news. Pearl got Pierre to drink some juice."
Mommy just stared at him, that same strange smile frozen on her lips.
"Didn't you hear what I said, Ruby? Pierre has drunk some juice. Perhaps he can be taken off the I.V. soon. There's light at the end of the tunnel," Daddy said, obviously annoyed that Mommy remained so unanimated.
"Of course there is, Beau," she finally said. "I knew it. It's because of what the voodoo mama did here. Don't you see? Nina's going to help us . . . from beyond." She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. "She's going to help us."
"Mon Dieu,"
Daddy said. "I can't believe this. Don't you want me to take you right over to see Pierre?"
"Not yet, Beau. I'm not ready yet. Soon."
"I give up." Daddy threw up his hands. "You talk to her, Pearl. Maybe you can get her to regain her senses so she can visit her son and not act like a lunatic," he cried and left the studio.
"Beau's always been so skeptical," Mommy said. "But he'll change." She turned back to her sketch.
"Mommy," I said, going to her. "You can't bury yourself in these rituals and charms now. You've got to come with me to see Pierre."
"Not yet," she said. "There are still some things to be done. Otherwise I'll only bring him bad luck. He'll understand. Later I'll make him understand. You see I'm right, don't you, honey?"
I said nothing. I gazed at the sketch Mommy was doing. She was drawing Jean floating in the swamp. "Mommy . ."
She continued her work as if I weren't standing there. After a while I started to turn away, but she sensed it and reached for my hand. "You've got to do something with me, Pearl. We've got to do it tonight. Only you must not tell your father. I know he'll try to stop us; he just doesn't understand."
"What, Mommy?"
"We've got to go to the cemetery at midnight. Mama Leela will be there with a black cat. We will be able to speak to Nina and see what else we can do."
"Oh, Mommy, no. We can't do that."
"We must," she said, her eyes wild. She was digging her fingers into my skin.
"Okay, Mommy. Okay."
She relaxed. "Promise not to tell Daddy."
"I promise," I said. Now I was feeling as if I were making a deal with the devil.
"Good." She smiled and turned back to her painting.
I watched her for a moment and then left. I found Daddy sitting on the sofa in the office, sipping from his glass of bourbon.
"Can you believe your mother?" he asked as soon as I entered.
"She's having her own sort of nervous breakdown, Daddy. We've got to be sympathetic and indulge her for a while, until she returns to her senses," I added.
Pain flashed in his eyes. "I thought she would want to rush out to the hospital with me. Instead, she's burning candles, painting weird pictures, and mumbling about chants and gris-gris. I've got only one friend now," he said and lifted his glass.
"That's not any better than what Mommy's doing, Daddy. You've got to stop drinking," I warned.
"I know," he said. "Soon. Well, I have to attend to some business problems. We'll stop in on Pierre after dinner. Maybe Ruby will snap out of it and come with us."
I didn't want to discourage him, but I didn't think she would. "We'll see," I said.
Mommy wouldn't come with us to the hospital, of course.
The nurses told us Pierre had eaten some softboiled egg and drunk some milk. He still didn't speak or act as if I heard what anyone was saying, but we were all encouraged. It was enough to buoy Daddy's spirits. He was more talkative and energetic.
"You've got to come with us tomorrow, Ruby," he told Mommy when we returned home and found her in the sitting room listening to music and reading.
"All right, Beau," she said, giving me a conspiratorial glance. "I will."
"Good. Good," Daddy replied and looked at me. I could tell from his face that he thought things were finally turning around. "I'm going up to bed."
"I'll be right along, Beau," Mommy told him.
"Pierre has made good progress, Mommy, but he needs to see and to hear you now," I told her.
"I know, dear. And he will as long as you remember what you promised."
"Mommy . ."
"I'll come by your room at eleven-thirty and knock softly. Be ready," she said.
I stared at her a moment. What was I going to do? Then I looked down at the book in her hands.
She was holding it upside down, just using it to stare at her own maddening thoughts.
"Mommy, it's too dangerous to go to the cemeteries at night. Daddy would be very, very angry at both of us, but especially at me. Please," I begged.
She gazed at me. "Okay, Pearl," she said. "If you don't want to do it, it's all right."
"But you're not going either, Mommy, right? Right?" I insisted.
"I won't go," she finally said, but I didn't believe her.
I pledged to stay awake and listen for her footsteps just in case.

7
Beyond the Grave
.
Despite my urgent and great desire to do so, I

had trouble keeping myself awake. I tried reading, but my eyes were drifting off the page and my head was nodding more and more. I told myself it would be easier to just-lie quietly in the dark, but almost immediately after I put out the lights and lowered my head to the pillow, my eyelids closed. The next thing I knew, I woke with a start and when I glanced at the clock, I saw it was nearly a quarter to midnight. If Mommy had come to my door to knock or if she had walked by, I hadn't heard her. I couldn't imagine her going out at night to a cemetery by herself. Confident I would find her still in her bed, I rose, put on my slippers and robe and tiptoed across the hallway to my parents' room.

The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it gently and peered in. The amber light of a half moon outlined the silhouettes of the dresser, lamps, chairs, and vanity table. I could see Daddy's head on the pillow, but when I looked closer, I did not see Mommy's. For a long moment panic nailed my feet to the floor. She must be in the bathroom, I told myself. I waited and listened, but there was no sign or any sound of her. I knocked gently on the door and waited for Daddy to lift his head. He didn't move.

I entered their bedroom and whispered loudly, "Daddy."
A heavy, resonant snore was his only response. I went to his side and touched his shoulder. I didn't want to wake him abruptly and frighten him. He might think the hospital had called about Pierre. But he wasn't responding.
"Daddy." I shook him. He moaned and turned over, still not opening his eyes.
The strong odor of bourbon reached me, and I saw the nearly empty tumbler on the nightstand. When I shook him again, more roughly, my father groaned and his eyelids fluttered but barely opened.
"Whaa," he said.
"Daddy, wake up. Where's Mommy?"
"Whaa." He closed his eyes and turned on his side. Frustrated but frantic about Mommy, I retreated from the bedroom and hurried down the stairway. I searched the rooms, all of which were dark, and then I peeked in the kitchen, hoping she had gone there to make herself some warm milk. But I found only the night-lights on and no one anywhere.
I thought for a moment and then hurried down to her studio. Even though it was dark, I could imagine her sitting there, so I flipped on the lights. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath. She wasn't there, but her recent picture caught my attention. I drew closer to it and saw that she had added more detail.
It was a sketch of Jean's face on a ghostlike body floating out of the swamp, but vaguely suggested in the water below was the figure of a man, his eyes wide.
I studied the picture and then stepped back and gasped. This was the face I saw so often in my own nightmare; it was the face of Paul Tate, who was thought to have drowned himself out of grief when
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Mommy went to live with Daddy. It was a face that obviously haunted her as well.
I turned off the lights and hurried through the house to look in the garage, where my worst fear was confirmed. Mommy's car was gone; she had driven off to meet the voodoo mama in the cemetery in which Nina Jackson had been buried. Upstairs, Daddy was in a drunken stupor. What was I to do?
I dressed quickly and drove Daddy's car to the cemetery. In the glow of the moonlight the burial vaults took on a pale flaxen glow, and the shadows around them deepened, creating long corridors of darkness that wrapped themselves tightly around most of the ovens and permitted only the very tops of monuments to be seen. The darkness resembled a sea of ink.
I hesitated and then drove slowly around the cemetery. At first I saw nothing and hoped Mommy had gone someplace less ominous; but when I made a final turn, I saw her car near an entrance, and she wasn't in it.
My heart began to thump. I pulled up behind her car and reached into the glove compartment for the flashlight. Then I turned off the engine and the lights, allowing that sea of ink to rush in around me, too. A wave of anxiety washed over me and sent my throbbing heartbeat into my bones. My fingers trembled when I reached for the door handle and stepped out. For a moment it felt as if the ground beneath my feet had softened into quicksand. Every step toward the cemetery took great effort.
I turned on the flashlight and directed the beam down the corridor ahead of me, not daring to look back or to my left or right. With my attention glued to the ray of light, I walked on, listening, hoping to find Mommy quickly and get her out of here and home.
Suddenly the screech of a cat sent sharp shivers through my chest and made my stomach do flip-flops. Blood drained down into my feet. I stopped and waved my flashlight over the ovens, cutting across the stone figures, the engraved words, and the embossed faces of the dead. A second screech was followed by a snarl, and then all went silent.
"Mommy!" I cried into the night and waited for her response, but I heard nothing except the drumming of my own heart in my ears. "Mommy, where are you?"
A shrill laugh pierced the silence. It didn't sound like Mommy, so it sent me retreating a few steps. I spun around when I heard loud whispering on my right.
"Mommy, it's me! Where are you?"
The whispering stopped. I waited and then turned down another corridor. A few moments later the voodoo mama whom Daddy and I had seen leaving our house the other day crossed in front of me. She had a black cat in her arms. She didn't look my way. She walked into the darkness as if she had flashlights for eyes, and just as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared. A moment later Mommy stepped out of the darkness, cupping a white candle in her palms, walking as slowly as a somnambulist, the glow of the candle turning her eyes into pools of gray light and making her cheeks glitter.
"Mommy!" I cried and ran to her.
"Pearl. It's all right," she said softly, but she didn't look directly at me and she didn't pause. Her eyes were fixed on what she remembered rather than what she saw, and she kept walking. It was as if she thought I too was an apparition. I seized her hand, and she turned to me, her eyes still full of the candlelight. "Nina has spoken to me," she said. "I know what I must do."
"Mommy, stop this. You're scaring me." I shook her hard, and the candle fell from her hands and was snuffed out as soon as it hit the ground.
"Oh, no!" she said, looking back into the darkness. "Quickly. We have to leave the cemetery. Quickly, Pearl." She grasped my hand desperately and pulled me forward. We ran down the dark corridors to the street. There she paused to catch her breath.
"Why did you do this, Mommy? Why did you come here by yourself?"
"I had to, Pearl. I had to. Let's go home now. It's all right. You didn't have to come looking for me."
"You told me you weren't going to do this. I fell asleep, and when I went to look for you, I saw you were gone and had taken your car. I tried to wake Daddy, but he's sound asleep," I said, eager to keep myself talking and hear the sound of my own voice. A thin wisp of a cloud had moved across the moon and weakened the little light there was around us. The silence in this dark cemetery was terrifying.
"It's all right," Mommy said. "It's going to be all right."
"Can you drive yourself home, Mommy?"
"Of course. Let's go. And, Pearl, there's no need to tell Daddy where we were."
"Let's just get home, Mommy. Quickly."
She got into her car, and I got into mine. She drove slowly but carefully, and we pulled into the driveway together. We put the cars in the garage and then went into the house and upstairs.
"What did you do there with that woman, Mommy?" I asked her outside my bedroom.
"I did what I had to do to speak with Nina."
"You spoke to her?" I was astonished that she could believe in such a thing.
"Yes, and then she spoke to me through the cat. I know what I must do."
"What, Mommy? What did she tell you to do?"
"It's not for me to tell anyone else, darling Pearl. Only know this: I love you and your father and your brother more than I love my own life."
"Mommy, what are you going to do? I'm frightened."
"There's nothing to be frightened of, not anymore," she said with a smile. Then she hugged me. "My sweet, darling Pearl," she said wiping strands of hair from my forehead. "You deserve better than to be born under so many dark clouds. But soon, soon, we'll have sunshine again. I promise."
"Mommy, you must tell me what you think you should do. Please. I won't tell Daddy."
"It will be all right. You have to have faith, Pearl. I know you have a scientific mind, but you must have faith in things that are beyond microscopes, beyond the laws of nature, too. You must believe in things you cannot see, for there is something behind the darkness, waiting, watching. Believe and do not be afraid," she said. Then she closed her eyes.
"Mommy . ."
"I'm tired. Let's talk tomorrow. Okay? Now let me slip into bed without waking Daddy. Get some rest, honey. Go on," she prodded.
I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from asking more questions as I watched her cross to her bedroom. She seemed to float through the doorway and was gone.
My heart was beating fast, and it was difficult for me to breathe and not be drowned by everything that was happening so fast. I hated the thought of betraying Mommy, but I was convinced that I had to tell Daddy about this night and the things she had said. He had to take more interest in what she was thinking and doing and stop being so angry about it.
I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, waking and falling back into a deep sleep like drifting. Although I was exhausted, I welcomed the soft kiss of sunlight on my face and rose quickly to wash and dress so I could hear happy voices, and smell the scent of morning blossoms. The memories of last night felt so vague that I thought perhaps I had dreamed all of it; but when I looked at my sneakers, I saw the dirt from the cemetery and a chilling shiver ran down my spine.
To my surprise I discovered that Daddy had risen early and had already left the house to go to his office. Mommy hadn't come downstairs. I waited for her and finally went back upstairs to see how she was doing. I saw she was still fast asleep. Poor thing, I thought, tormenting herself so. I closed the door softly and returned to...the dining room to eat my breakfast. Mommy still had her eyes closed when I looked in on her again, but I entered the bedroom and stood by her side, watching her chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm. As I turned to leave, she groaned, opened her eyes, and sat up.
"Good morning, Mommy," I said.
She raked the room with her eyes as if she had forgotten where she was. Before she responded, she rubbed her forehead vigorously as if to erase her lingering dreams. Then she took a deep breath and brushed back her hair. "Good morning, honey. What time is it? Oh, dear," she said, gazing at the clock on her nightstand. "I hope your father isn't waiting for me before he has his breakfast."
"No, he rose early and has already gone to work."
"Work?" She thought a moment and nodded.
"Good. That's what he needs to do . . . keep himself busy. You too, honey. I want you to go back to work at the hospital."
"Not yet, Mommy. I want to devote as much time as possible to Pierre."
"Don't worry about Pierre. He's going to be fine," she said with confidence and that strange half smile she had been wearing ever since Jean's funeral.
I returned to her bedside. "What did you mean last night when you told me you knew what had to be done now, Mommy? What exactly are you planning on doing? What did that voodoo lady tell you?"
"Oh, it's just some harmless chants and rituals, Pearl. You need not worry. Let me indulge myself in my old beliefs. It doesn't do anyone any harm and who knows . . . As I always told you, you shouldn't discount any one else's faith." She dropped her half smile and grew concerned. "You didn't tell your father about last night, did you, Pearl?"
"No, Mommy. He was already gone by the time I went downstairs this morning."
"Good. Please don't say anything, darling. He's so emotionally fragile as it is. One more thing could push him over the edge. You don't want that, do you?"
"But, Mommy, going to cemeteries at night . ."
"I promise I won't go there again. Okay? Come here, honey," she said and reached out for me. I stepped closer, and she took my hand. "You and I have always had a deep bond between us, haven't we? We have always trusted each other entirely." "Yes, Mommy."
"Trust me, then, Pearl. Please," she pleaded, her eyes soft and loving.
"All right, Mommy. As long as you don't go back there."
"I won't." She looked around. "Well, I guess I'll get up and have breakfast. I am hungry this morning."
"Will you go to the hospital with me today, Mommy?"
"I will," she said. "I have just a few things to do first. Why don't you go ahead and I'll join you later?"
"When?" I demanded.
"After lunch. Okay?"
"Maybe I should wait for you and we should go together," I said, not believing her.
"Now, Pearl, what did I just ask from you? I asked for a little trust between us, right? I'll be fine. Besides," she said, "by the time I arrive, Pierre will have begun a real recuperation. You'll see," she said. She rose and went into the bathroom. I lingered awhile, wondering if I shouldn't just call Daddy and tell him to rush right home.
But then I realized that Mommy was right. Daddy was fragile, too. If he was beginning to put himself together, I should let him do that unhampered. It had fallen to me to be the pillar of strength in our house, whether I wanted it or not. It was getting late anyway, and I didn't want Pierre to see so much of the day go by without any of us there.
When I arrived, however, I learned that Daddy had already visited with him. He had brought him his favorite comic books and some of his favorite pralines, but everything remained on the table where he had left it. Pierre was propped up comfortably in his bed, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes fixed on the wall, the lids blinking reflexively. His lips quivered slightly when I kissed his cheek and sat beside him, taking his left hand into mine.
"Mommy's coming to see you today, Pierre. Won't you try to speak just for her. She desperately needs to hear your voice."
His blinking continued in the same rhythm, and his eyes didn't shift. I looked down at his hand in mine. His fingers were curled inward and his palm was cool.
"We're all blaming ourselves, but it was no one's fault, Pierre, no one's," I murmured. Slowly his fingers began to straighten. I looked up and saw his eyes and then his face turn toward me. His lips began to stretch with his effort to open his mouth and then I saw his tongue lifting against his teeth. His eyes widened with the tremendous struggle to animate his face and produce an intelligible sound. I waited, holding my breath.
And then his lips moved up and down, followed by a clicking sound. I rose and stroked his forehead and his hair.
"Easy, Pierre. Easy. What do you want to say? I'm right here."
I kissed his cheek again. His lips moved faster, and a sound started in his throat. It formed itself into his first word since Jean's tragedy: "I . . ."
"Yes, Pierre," I said, my tears building. "Yes, honey."
"I . . . tha . . . tho . . . thought."
I brought my ear closer to his lips.
"Thought it was a branch," he said and closed his eyes.
"Oh, Pierre." I hugged him. "We know. We know, honey. No one blames you. No one," I said rocking back and forth with him in my arms. When I released him and sat back, however, he was staring at the wall again, his lips frozen, his eyelids blinking in that same rhythm.
"How are we doing?" I heard someone say. I turned to greet Dr. LeFevre.
"He spoke to me!" I said. "In a whisper, but he said a sentence."
"That's wonderful. His recovery has really begun. I am going to recommend that you and your family take him home. He'll need some nursing care, but he's off the I.V. and taking in food and water. The rest is just a matter of time and tender loving care. Afterward we'll see what sort of therapy is required."