Landry 05 Tarnished Gold (21 page)

We went out the rear door into the parking lot. Virgil dug a pack of cigarettes out of his top pocket and pounded one out. He lit it quickly and threw the match into the air, laughing.
"Bombs away. So you like living here?"
"Yes," I said.
"I got my car right here. Wanna see it? I souped up the engine myself." He pointed to a customized automobile with a lightning streak painted in yellow across the driver's side. "It's a drag car, you know."
"I don't know much about cars."
"Whatcha think of it?"
"It's nice," I said with thick indifference.
"Nice? It's more than nice. It's a prizewinning vehicle. You know, I won five hundred dollars in races already this year?"
"I'm very happy for you," I said. "I think we better go back inside." I started to turn toward the door when he reached out to seize my wrist.
"You're very happy for me? Boy, you're sure stuck on yourself, ain'tcha?"
"I am not."
"You sound like you are." He flipped his cigarette into the air and it bounced over the parking lot, sparks flying every which way. He still held my wrist. "Whatcha want to hurry back inside for? Just a lot of old people and kids. Come on, I'll take you for a spin in my car."
"No, thank you."
"No, thank you," he mimicked, laughed, and then he put his left arm around my waist and drew me to him before I could resist. He pasted his lips to mine with a wet kiss as his hand fell to my buttocks and squeezed. I struggled to free myself, but he held on tighter, pressing his tongue into my mouth with such force, I couldn't even block it with my teeth. I gagged and finally broke free, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.
"How dare you do that?"
"What's the big deal? You've been kissed before, ain'tcha?"
"Not like that and not without my wanting to be kissed."
He laughed. "Don't put on airs. I know all about you, how you was pregnant with someone else's baby," he added. I felt the breath leave my body and my blood drain down to my feet. "It's all right. I don't care about it. I still like you. The truth is, I learned it's better to have a woman already broke in. Learned that in the army. We'll go for a ride and get to know each other and maybe we'll get hitched. Come on," he urged, stepping toward his car.
"I wouldn't go with you if you were the last man on earth," I said.
He laughed. "For you, I might just be. Once everyone knows about you, no one's going to come around asking you to marry him. You wanna be livin' with your ma and pa till they got no teeth? I can make you happy. Better than that other man did," he added with a leering smile.
"You're disgusting," I said, and pivoted.
"Last chance," he called, "to have a real man."
I didn't reply. I couldn't get away from him fast enough. When I stepped back into the dance hall, I looked desperately for Mama and spotted her talking to Evelyn Thibodeau's mother. She took one look at me and excused herself quickly to walk across the hall.
"Gabriel?" she said. "What's wrong, honey?"
Tears were streaming down my cheeks. "Oh, Mama," I said, "he told. Daddy told about me so that boy thought he was doing me a favor to ask me to become his wife."
She straightened as if her spine had turned to steel. When she looked for Daddy, she found he was already well on his way to a good drunk, all his buddies around him, laughing and guzzling beer and whiskey as fast as they could. She and I stood behind him. He stopped laughing and looked around fearfully for a moment.
"We're going home, Jack," she said. "Now!"
"Now? But . . I'm jus . . havin' some fun."
"Now," she said again.
He grew angry. "I ain't running home," he replied, "to hear you roll out complaints."
"Suit yourself," Mama said. She took my hand and we marched to the front door. "We'll walk home," she told me. "It won't be the first time I left him behind and I know it won't be the last."

10
Failing
.
Mama wouldn't speak to Daddy for days after

the
fais dodo.
He didn't come home that night anyway, and when he appeared the next afternoon, looking as if he had slept in a ditch, she refused to give him anything to eat. She even avoided looking at him. He moaned and complained and acted as if he were the one who had been violated and betrayed. He fell asleep on the floor in the living room and snored so loud the shack rumbled. He woke with a jerk, his long body shuddering as if electricity had been sent through him. His eyes snapped open to see Mama hovering over him like a turkey buzzard, her small fists pressed against her ribs.

"How could you go and do that, Jack? How could you run down your own daughter for an Atkins, huh?"

He sat up and combed his fingers through his hair, gazing around as if he didn't know where he was and couldn't hear Mama screaming at him.

"We put Gabriel through all that horror living in that dreadful woman's house secretly just so no one would know what a terrible thing had happened to her, and you go and spill your guts out to the likes of Jed Atkins? Why? Tell me that, huh?"

Daddy licked his dry lips, closed his eyes, and swayed. He lay back against the settee for a moment, making no attempt to respond or defend himself.

"And then you go and promise your daughter to a no-account slob, no better than the vermin living in the rotted shrimp boats. Where's your conscience, Jack Landry?"

"Aaaa," he finally cried, putting his hands over his ears. Mama paused, put she continued to stand over him, her little frame intimidating as she glared down at him. He took his hands from his ears slowly.

"I just done what I thought would be good for everyone, woman. I ain't no
traiteur
with spiritual powers like you. I don't read the future like you, no."

"Oh? You don't read the future like me? Well, it ain't hard to read your future, Jack Landry. Just go follow a snake. How it lives and how it ends up is about the same as you will," she said.

Daddy waved his hand in the air between them the way he would swat at flies. "Never mind all this. Where's that stuff you made for headaches and bad stomach trouble?"

"I'm all out of it. You get drunk so much and so often, I can't keep tip with the demand anyway," she scolded. "Besides, there's no
traiteur
alive who can concoct a remedy for what ails you, Jack Landry."

Whatever blood was left drained from Daddy's face. His bloodshot eyes shifted my way and then back to glance at Mama.

"I ain't staying here and be abused," he threatened. "That's 'cause you're the one who's been doing the abusing, not us."

"That did it," he said, struggling to stand. "I'm going to go move in with Jed until you apologize."
"When it snows in July," Mama retorted, her eyes turned crystal-hard.
Daddy kicked a chair and then marched out of the house, slamming the screen door behind him. He wobbled down the steps and tripped on his own feet before making it to the pickup. Mama watched him struggle to get into his truck, gun the engine, grind the gears, and then spit up dirt as he spun the vehicle around and shot off.
"Every time I get to feeling too good for my shoes, I'm reminded how stupid I've been," she muttered. Despair washed the color from her face as she sighed deeply.
"Oh, Mama, this is all my fault," I moaned.
"Your fault? How can any of this be your fault, honey? You didn't go and pick who'd be your daddy, did you?"
"If I cared more about being married, Daddy wouldn't do these things," I wailed. I flopped into a chair, my stomach feeling like a hollowed-out cave.
"Believe me, child. He would do these things anyway, your being married or no. Ain't no rock around that Jack Landry can't crawl out from under," she said. "Pay him no mind. He'll come to his senses and come crawling back, just like he always does." She gazed after him one more time and then went back to work.
But days passed and Daddy didn't return. Mama and I worked and sold our linens, our towels and baskets. In the evenings after dinner, we sat on the gallery and Mama talked about her youth and her mama and papa, whom I had never seen. Sad times always made her nostalgic. We listened to the owls' mournful cries and spotted an occasional night heron. Sometimes there was an automobile going by, and that would make us both anticipate Daddy's return, but it was always someone else, the car's engine drifting into the night, leaving the melancholy thick as corn syrup around us.
I had a lot of time to pole in my canoe in the late afternoons, to sit alone and drift through a canal and think. Through my mind flitted all kinds of dreary thoughts. Virgil Atkins was probably right with his predictions, I concluded. I would die a spinster for sure now, working beside Mama, watching the rest of the world pass by. All the eligible young men would find out about me and no one decent would ever want me. I would never fall in love. Any man who showed any interest in me would show it for only one reason, and once he had his way with me, he would cast me aside as nonchalantly as he cast aside banana peels. Real affection, romance, and love were things to dream about, to read about, but never to know.
Every one of Mama's friends and even people who just stopped by to get Mama's help or buy something we made usually commented about my good looks. It became more and more painful to face them and hear the compliments. Most were surprised I wasn't married or pledged, yet whenever I went to town or to church, it seemed to rue that all the respected, decent young men looked through me. I felt invisible and alone. The only place I experienced any contentment was here in the swamp with the wildflowers, with the animals and the birds; but how could I ever share this pleasure with anyone? He would have to have been brought up in the swamps, too, and love it with as much passion as I did. Such a person surely did not exist. I was as lost as a cypress branch, broken, floating, drifting toward nowhere.
Sometimes I lay in the bottom of my canoe and just let the current take me wherever it wanted. I always knew where I ended up and how to get back, but it felt good just floating without purpose or direction, gazing up at the powdery blue sky and the egrets and marsh hawks that glided through the air between me and the clouds. I'd hear the bullfrogs or the bream breaking the surface of the water to feed on insects. Sometimes a curious gator would swim alongside and nudge the canoe; and often I would fall asleep and awaken with the sun down below the tree line, the shadows long and deep over the brackish lake.
This is how I thought my life would be now: a life of drifting, going along with the breeze, uncaring, like a leaf tossing and turning in the wind, indifferent, resigned. I did not understand my destiny or my purpose, but I was tired of the questions and the struggle to find the answers. I didn't take any real interest in how I looked and I avoided talking to people, saying as little as possible to the tourists who came by to make purchases.
My behavior upset Mama. She said the look of age in my eyes pained her heart. Unfairly, my youth had been stolen from me. She blamed herself, telling me that somehow, she, a woman with great spiritual powers, had left her own home and family
unprotected. She said she had been too arrogant, thinking the evil eye could never focus on her and her own. Of course, I told her she was wrong, but in my secret, put-away heart, I wondered about these dark mysteries that had a way of weaving themselves into our lives.
Late one day Daddy finally came home, acting as if he had been gone only a few hours. He drove up, hopped out of his truck, and came through the front door whistling. Mama didn't say much to him, but she didn't turn him out, and without any fanfare, she put a plate of food on the table for him. He sat and ate and spoke with animation about some of the tours he had guided, describing the long alligators or the rich flock of geese they hunted. Before he finished eating, he sat back and dug into his pocket to produce a roll of dollars and some change.
"All tips from my rich customers," he boasted. "Get whatever you need," he told Mama, and went on eating. She eyed the money, but didn't touch it until he had left the table. After dinner he sat on the gallery and smoked his pipe. I sat outside, too, and listened as he described some of the wealthy Creoles he had been guiding through the swamp. He talked about them as if they were gods because of the way they threw around their money, and because of the fine clothing, boots, and guns they had.
"One of these days and soon, I mean to take me a trip into New Orleans myself," he told me. "How'dja like to go along, Gabriel?"
I widened my eyes. I had never actually been to New Orleans proper, never to the Vieux Carre, but I had heard so much about it, I couldn't help but be curious.
"That would be nice, Daddy. We would all go, I suppose."
"Of course we would all go, and in style, too. That's why I don't want to go until I have enough money to do it right, get nice clothes for you and your mama to wear and enough to stay in a fine hotel and eat in the finest, expensive restaurants. And we'll go shopping and buy you and your ma clothes and--"
"And just how do you expect to do that, Jack Landry?" Mama said from behind the screen door. She had been listening to us talk for a few minutes without revealing herself.
Daddy spun around and smiled. "You don't think I can do that, do you, Catherine? It ain't in your crystal ball, no?"
"I just like to be sure you're not filling the girl up with more hot air, Jack. We got enough in the swamp as it is."
Daddy laughed. "Step out and hear, woman," he said. "Feast your ears on the delicious meal of words I'm gonna deliver."
Mama raised her eyebrows, hesitated, and then came out, her arms folded under her bosom.
"I'm out. Deliver."
"I ain't working for Jed Atkins no more," he said, nodding, his face full of excitement.
Mama gazed at me and then back at him. "Oh, is that so? So who are you working for now?"
"Jack Landry," he replied. "I'm working for myself. And why shouldn't I?" he followed quickly. "Why should I be gettin' only a quarter of what Jed gets, huh? I'm the one who does all the work. He just sits on his fat rump and schedules the trips. I got my own pirogue and there's Gabriel's, and soon we'll get a third. I got my own dock and I got it all up here," he said, pointing to his temple.
"I see," Mama said. "So what are you going to do, put up a sign and hope they come riding by and stop to buy your services?"
"That I'll do, but I've already done more," he said, smiling from ear to ear.
"What more? What do you mean?"
"I been telling some of Jed's customers about myself this past week or so and I give them directions how to get here and I got two trips already scheduled, the first tomorrow morning. There's a party of wealthy Creoles from New Orleans going to be here early. So," he said, putting his thumbs in his vest and pumping out his chest, "meet Jack Landry,
businessman."
"What's Jed Atkins say about this?"
"He don't know it all yet. I just told him I ain't coming to work no more." He leaned toward Mama. "I'm givin' them a better deal than he gives them, but I'm making it all. Smart, huh?"
"If you make appointments with people and promise them service, you're going to have to provide it, Jack," Mama warned.
"I will."
"You'll have to stay off the rotgut whiskey, stay away from the zydeco bars and gambling and be home at a decent hour."
"I will. I swear," he said, raising up his right hand. "I'm tired of bein' everyone else's po'boy."
Mama looked hopeful. "Well, if this is true ... Gabriel and I could cook up some food for the customers. Maybe we could make this into
something."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Daddy said, slapping his knee. I couldn't recall seeing him so excited. "With what you can do in that kitchen and with what I can do in the swamp, we could have us a pretty successful little business, no?"
"Maybe," Mama said. "But if I go in there and cook and no one shows tomorrow morning, Jack . . ."
"They'll show, all right." He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "Father and son and two of their friends. Name's Dumas. These rich people tell other rich people and then they come here, too. We're going to be well off," Daddy concluded, "or my name ain't Jack Landry."
"I don't have to go out in the canoe, too, do I, Daddy?" I asked.
"Not if you don't want to, but it would sure be nice to have you along, Gabriel. You know these swamps better than me."
"I can't stomach seeing men go out there and shoot the animals, Daddy."
He grimaced. "Then don't come along, but don't you go preaching or sayin' anything stupid to them, hear? I don't want them feelin' bad about comin' here, no."
"Can't you just run swamp tours and show people the plants and animals, Daddy? Maybe you can get one of those glass-bottom boats and--"
"No, there ain't as much money in it, and besides, if we don't kill off some of them animals, they'll overrun us. Tell her I'm right, Catherine."
"You let her believe and think what she wants, Jack. Besides, Gabriel doesn't need me telling her what's right and what's wrong. She knows more in her heart than you think."
"Oh, don't start that mumbo-jumbo on me," Daddy wailed. "I'm trying to make something for this family. No preachin'!" he warned. "I mean it."
He stumped off to check on his canoe and the dock.
"Come on, honey," Mama said, looking after him. "I don't have the power to turn a frog into a prince, but if he's doing honest labor and it keeps him from drinking, we got something better than we had. Sometimes that's all you can hope for," she concluded, and went into the house to start a fresh roux.
Mama was up early the next morning, but Daddy surprised both of us by rising before her and putting up a pot of rich Cajun coffee. The aroma drew both of us downstairs where we found Daddy dressed and ready, wearing his best hunting clothes and clean boots.
"They'll be here in an hour," he predicted. "I patched up the dock and cleaned up my canoe and Gabriel's. I see you made some beignets. That's good. They're used to that, only yours will be better than anything they get in the city."
"Don't go saying that, Jack. New Orleans is just full of great cooks."
"Yeah, but you're the best in the bayou. Ain't she, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"I don't need your flattery, Jack."
"Ain't flattery. It's just the truth," Daddy said, winking at me. His excitement was contagious, and despite what work he was doing, I couldn't help but be flooded with delight.
"I'll go get us some wildflowers for the tables outside, Mama," I said, and went off right after having a beignet and coffee myself.
I knew where there was some lush flowering honeysuckle and wild violets as well as hibiscus and blue and pink hydrangeas. This early in the morning billows of fog rolled in over the swamp. As I drew closer to the water, I could hear a bass flapping and a bullfrog falling off a log into the water. Ahead of me a white-tailed doe sprinted through the bushes. It saddened me to think that rich grown men could possibly get pleasure from killing such beautiful creatures. It seemed such a great betrayal, but I knew there was little I could do to stop it, and if I did speak up, Daddy would be enraged. Things would return to being dreadful in our home.
I spent longer than I had intended to spend in the swamp gathering flowers. By the time I started back, Daddy's party of hunters had arrived and were unloading their vehicle near the dock. I paused to watch for a moment. A slim young man, only about an inch or two shorter than Daddy, with thick chestnut hair stepped out from behind the car. Just as he did so, a rice bird landed on my shoulder. It was something they often did. Most birds had no fear of me because I often fed them and spoke softly to them. The young man stared at me with a gentle smile on his lips. I shifted some flowers to my left arm and extended my right for the rice bird to trot down to my wrist before flying away. As usual, his tiny feet tickled and I laughed.
And so did the young man. I could see him asking Daddy about me, and then he looked at me more intently, shaking his head. I glanced shyly at him and continued toward the house. He gazed back at the work going on at the dock before crossing over the grass to meet me halfway.
"Hello," he said. As he drew closer, I saw he had soft green eyes and a slim but firm torso. "When you came walking out of the fog like that, I thought you were some sort of swamp goddess."
"I'm far from being a goddess," I said.
"Not really too far," he replied, his smile spreading from his eyes to his lips. "I've never seen a wild bird land on someone and strut around as if it were on a tree. Does that happen often?"
"Oui,
monsieur."
"Why aren't they afraid of you?"
"They know I mean them no harm, monsieur."
"Astounding." He shook his head and then he smiled. "My name's Pierre Dumas. Your father told me your name's Gabriel."
"Oui.
I'm just bringing some flowers to our tables," I said, continuing on my way.
"Let me help," he said, following.
"Oh no, I I. . ."
"Please," he insisted, taking a bunch of the violets from my arms.