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"So you see, you have to be careful, Pearl," Mommy said sharply, turning to me. "You have to avoid the swamp of illusions and false promises. They dangle words in front of you, words that sparkle like diamonds, but when you reach out for them, you find they are only flecks of glass that shatters in your fingers and falls into dust at your feet.
"Sometimes they don't even mean to be false to us. Sometimes they believe their own false promises; they swallow their own illusions, too. But that's even worse, for when they are sincere, you accept and believe and give yourself completely to the dreams. You float higher and higher, and the fall is that much more severe. Believe me, I know.
"This young man," she said jerking her head toward the rear, "how involved have you become with him?"
"His name is Jack, Mommy, Jack Clovis. He's not just another young man."
"Jack," she said. "You were sleeping with him last night, weren't you?"
"Jack is the first man I've met who I felt was real, Mommy. He's sincere, and he doesn't make promises he can't keep. His feet are set solidly in reality. He's not a dreamer," I told her.
She shook her head skeptically. "What I've been trying to tell you, to show you with my own tra
gic background, is that you have to be extra careful. For some reason the Landry line was born to hoe a harder field, a field filled with sharp rocks and webs of stubborn weeds."
"I am extra careful, Mommy. I've always been. You know that."
"I know, but when you came up here looking for me, you were emotionally distraught. You have to be sure that what you see in this man and what he says to you isn't colored by your own vulnerability. He must have seemed like a guardian angel to you."
"He did," I declared. "And rightly so."
"I'm afraid for you," she said, her chin quivering. "Don't make the mistakes I did. Take your time, and when your heart is pounding and your body is demanding that you give yourself completely, step back and think of me.
"When you make a mistake, you hurt not only yourself but also the people you love.
"When I was living in the bayou with you, and Gisselle wrote me that your father was going to marry someone else, I thought I'd go mad. He had given me up for dead. Here I was a young woman with a baby, so I gave in to the illusions and the promises and the hope that Paul offered. I wanted to believe I could live in a magical world where we would be forever safe and protected. But that's when all the tragedy had its ugly start." She began to cry softly again.
"It's all right, Mommy. Please don't cry." I reached for her hand.
"Poor Jean," she muttered. "My poor baby. He's gone, gone . . ."
The pain in my heart was so heavy I thought I wouldn't be able to keep driving. I took deep breaths while Mommy whimpered softly. Finally she stopped, closed her eyes, and fell asleep against the window. When I gazed at her, she looked as if she had aged years. The sight of her brought the stinging, hot tears to my eyes and clouded my vision. It was as if it was raining.
It looked as if it might storm anyway. The sky was heavily overcast with some bruised, dark clouds rolling in from the southwest.
When I pulled onto the main highway, the bayou began to drop behind me, flowing back as if it had all turned liquid and was pouring down a drain. The toothpick-legged shacks were still visible here and there, and I saw oyster fishermen and Cajun women and children harvesting Spanish moss. We passed a few roadside stands, and then the road became relatively deserted for a while.
I thought about Jack and the things Mommy had said. Maybe she was right; maybe I was in a weak and vulnerable state when we met, but why did that have to mean what we felt for each other was just illusion? And why did that have to mean that Jack was less sincere than I thought he was? Sometimes tragic and difficult times bring together people who are meant to be together, I reasoned. Mommy was understandably wary, but I needn't live like that, too.
I didn't regret anything that had happened between Jack and me. Our loving remained an oasis of happiness in a sea of turmoil and pain. Everyone was always warning me about the dangers inherent in first love. It was better to be cautious, modest, reasonable, everyone said.
But I was convinced that what I felt in my heart now for Jack was more than just a young girl's first infatuation. He and I had found depths of feelings together that were beyond the reach of mere girlish crushes.
No, Mommy, I thought. Don't worry about my relationship with Jack. It's built on solid ground, not swampland, and the only illusion for us was the idea that we could ever forget each other and what we had come to mean to each other.
I sped up. The rain started just before we reached New Orleans, but it was a slow, steady drizzle rather than a blinding downpour. Mommy woke up after we crossed the bridge and started down the city streets toward the Garden District. In the gray light of morning, the city looked tired, worn. Without the glow of neon signs, the rainbow colors of costumes, and the sound of music, New Orleans in the morning resembled an aging woman caught without her make-up. Street cleaners were still trying to remove the debris cast about by frenzied partygoers. Sleepy store owners opened their doors and squinted at the daylight.
The rain slowed to a sprinkle, but the air was so hot and humid already that the sidewalks looked steamy. "Are you all right, Mommy?" I asked.
She flashed a smile and nodded. "There were moments when I thought I would never set eyes on this city again," she said. "But that's over." She squeezed my hand. "Let's get Daddy and go to Pierre."
The rain came to a complete stop when we reached the Garden District. I pulled into our driveway, and we hurried up the steps to the front door. Aubrey, who knew we were on our way, must have been waiting by the window, for the door was thrust open before we reached it.
"Welcome home, madame," he said quickly. The warmth in his moist eyes was as much emotion as Aubrey had ever shown.
Mommy surprised him with a quick embrace. "Where's Monsieur Andreas?" she asked.
Aubrey was flustered for a moment. "Monsieur Andreas . . . oh, upstairs. I helped him dress. He's practicing with the crutches."
