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At first I thought I was really looking at an apparition.
When he had left, Pierre told me to watch for him
where I would least expect to see him. Well, there he
was poling a pirogue my way, something I would
never have anticipated.
Shocked, I stood with my mouth agape. He
wore dark pants and a dark shirt with a palmetto hat.
He poled very well in my direction and then let the
canoe glide to the bank.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said, scooping off his hat to make a sweeping bow with laughter around his eyes. "Isn't it a fine day we're having in the
swamp?"
"Pierre! Where did you come from? How did
you . . . Where did you get this pirogue?"
"I bought it and put it in just a little ways up the
canal," he said. "As you can see, I've been practicing,
too."
"But what are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? Poling a canoe in the
canal," he said as casually as he would if he had been
doing it all his life. "I just happened to see you
strolling along the bank."
I could only laugh. His face turned serious,
those green eyes locking tightly on mine.
"Gabriel," he said. "I've been saying your name
repeatedly to myself since the day I left. It's like
music, a chant. I heard it everywhere I went in the
city; in the traffic, the tires of cars were singing it;
from the streetcar, in the rattle of its wheels; in the
clatter of voices in our fine restaurants; and of course,
at night in my dreams.
