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I tried to act cheerful whenever I was with Mama or whenever I thought she was watching me, but my face was like a glass pane to her. She finally asked me if I was feeling all right.
"I'm fine, Mama," I said. I thought quickly and added, "I saw little Paul in town the other day and he smiled at me."
"Oh," she said, thinking that was it. "Did the Tates . . ."
"No, I left before either saw me looking at the baby."
"That's good," Mama said. "We don't need any more turmoil in our lives," she added, raising her eyebrows. "No more, hear, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Mama."
I went on about my business. The next morning I found a lark had thatched a nest with goose down, but a family of field mice had made a home beneath it. The lark didn't seem to mind, and the wonder of Nature cheered me up for a while. Then, as I returned home from my walk, I gazed at our dock and saw the blue silk cravat waving in the breeze.
My love was back.
My heart was full again.
13
Secret Wife
.
In the days and weeks that followed, I lived for
the sight of Pierre's blue silk cravat fluttering in the breeze. It was as if we had our own country, our own world, and the cravat was our flag, hoisted to announce our love. His arrivals were always unexpected, for he never knew exactly when he would be free to come. Sometimes we met in the afternoon, sometimes at night. He never stayed more than two days.
After a while there was no question that Mama knew, but she said nothing. A few times I caught a glimpse of her crossing herself while she looked at me. She wore that expression she always had when she believed something sad was inevitable or meant to be.
But these days Mama was distracted by and occupied more with Daddy than with me. Having some success and some money had gone to his head. Mama tried to get him to put something in the bank, but he never trusted banks or bankers. Daddy was suspicious and disdainful of anyone who made
a living with his brain instead of his hands. To him it was just a more elaborate or sophisticated form of a scam that had its roots in the con games and tricks scoundrels employed to tempt hardworking people into investing their money in phony land deals or companies.
Mama told him if there was anyone who should know about that sort of evil, it was he, since the Landrys had a string of embezzlers, con men, and thieves throughout their family line. Those comments only started new arguments between them. The truth was, Daddy could be as stubborn as Mama, and what he claimed to be true about Cajun women was just as true about Cajun men.
With money in his pocket, a new truck, and the growing respect of other Cajun trappers and fishermen, Daddy became somewhat arrogant. He bought himself new boots and some new clothes, new knives and fishing poles, and paraded about the old haunts, buying some of his worst drinking buddies jugs of "Good Old Nongela" and rye whiskey, and going off with them to drink and gamble. His stash quickly shrunk and he started in again, day after day, demanding Mama share some of the money he had given her to hold for a rainy day.
"It's pouring now," he'd complain. "I need it." "If it's raining, it's raining because you brought the storm clouds over yourself, Jack Landry. Stay home nights and think about ways to earn new money, not spend the money we have," she told him. She refused to give him a penny no matter how much he pleaded.
One night he came home drunk and started to pull the shack apart looking for hidden dollars. Mama was out treating Mrs. Bordeau for gout, and when she returned, she found me hovering in the shadows out front, frightened. She heard the racket coming from inside.
"What's going on, Gabriel?"
"Daddy's drunk again, Mama," I wailed. "He came charging into the house, demanding I tell him where you hid money. I told him I didn't know and he started pulling the pots and pans out, throwing them across the kitchen, and nearly hitting me with one. I ran out here to wait. I think he's pulling up
floorboards now."
"This is coming to a quick end," she vowed, and charged toward the front door, her tiny body swelling up so that her shoulders rose almost even with her ears. She pulled open the screen door, reached into her basket, and came up with a statue of the Virgin Mary. She held it up in front of herself and walked in, chanting something in French. I heard the racket come to a stop. Mama shrieked something that sounded like voodoo and Daddy came out of the house, his face beet red, his eyes wild. He tripped on the gallery steps and fell. Mama appeared above him and shook a bottle of holy water at him. When the drops hit him, he howled as if he had been scalded. I had never seen anything like it before. He bellowed and crawled away, clawing the air to get to his feet.
"Don't you come back here, Jack Landry, unless you repent and are sober as a church deacon, hear?" she screamed after him. He practically flew down to the dock and into his canoe, poling off into the night as soon as he was able to push off. Mama sat herself on the gallery top step to catch her breath.
"He near wrecked our home," she moaned as I approached. "I swear," she said, her eyes full of tears and frustration, "the devil sent him to me as part of his battle against my good works. He's the curse I wear around my neck, and just because I listened first to the woman in me. You hear, Gabriel? You see what comes of paying more attention to this than this?" she said, pointing from her heart to her head.
"Oui, Mama," I said softly. I knew what she meant, but never in a thousand years would Pierre be anything like Daddy, I thought. His first concern was always my happiness. Whatever brought sadness to me brought sadness to him. There was a great difference. The woman in me hadn't blinded me to that truth. I looked down so Mama couldn't see my defiant eyes. I heard her sigh deeply,
"Nothing to do but fix up what he broke," she said. "I'll help you, Mama."
I followed her in, shocked myself at the sight of smashed furniture, torn-out cabinets, ripped-up floorboards, and holes in the walls. We worked until we were both exhausted and had to go to sleep.
