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"Please, monsieur. I was waiting for no one."
"No boyfriend about to arrive?" he asked with skeptical eyes.
"No, please."
"Come on now, you don't expect me to believe that a daughter of a man like Jack Landry wasn't waiting for some excitement. Why settle for a teenage boy? You have a man at your disposal," he insisted.
Before I could offer more protest, he lowered himself toward me, squeezing himself more firmly between my legs. I felt him nudge me with the hardness that had grown between his legs and then he pushed forward, dropping the weight of his body over my arms, pinning me back as he slipped farther under until . .
The shock of it stunned me at first, but the more I squirmed, the more he enjoyed what he was doing and the tighter he made his grip on me. I was trapped beneath him, his hot breath over my face. He was mumbling, pleading, pressing deeper and deeper into me, his thrusts faster, harder, until finally I felt him quiver. I uttered a tiny cry and stopped resisting when he filled me with his hot lust and passion. All I could do was close my eyes and wait for it to end.
After it had, we were both silent. I didn't move, but I felt him lifting himself from me. I kept my eyes shut tight, hoping that I could erase what had happened from my mind and my body if I just didn't look.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just . . . couldn't help myself. You're so beautiful and my wife and I . . . we . . . It's been a while. I'm sorry. You're okay. It's nothing. Really. You're fine."
I waited. Then I heard him dive into the water and start to swim back to his own pirogue. I opened my eyes as he pulled himself into his canoe. I sat up and took a deep breath. All the blood had drained from my face. I thought I would faint. He dressed himself as quickly as he could, looking at me periodically until he was finished. Then he seized his pole.
"It's all right. It was nothing," he said, and began to push away. "I'll never come back here. I promise. This will be your special place again. Bonjour," he added as if we had just had afternoon tea. A few moments later, he was gone.
The pirogue rocked in the water. I didn't move. It was deadly quiet. Even the frogs had stopped croaking. Only the insects circled madly over the water, but the bream, frightened by the commotion above, had swum deeper and waited in the cool shadows to be sure it was safe.
I started to cry, but stopped myself. It would do no good and it would only make me look even more horrible when Mama set eyes on me. I was terrified of that. Feeling dirty and violated, I lowered myself off the side of the pirogue and scrubbed my body vigorously. Then I got back into the canoe and dressed quickly, swallowing down my sobs, choking back my tears.
It terrified me to think of what would happen if everyone found out what Mr. Tate had done. The scandal would be worse than a hurricane. Hateful gossips would find a way to blame me, I was sure. Why was I naked in the swamp? Those who had made up fantastic stories about my wild ways with animals in the bayou would see this only as a reinforcement of their terrible lies. And poor Mama, she would bear the brunt of the storm. Daddy would only get drunker and into more fights.
No, I decided, there was nothing to do but try to forget; although right no
w, I didn't see how that was possible. For one thing, I could never return to my beautiful pond without recalling this nightmare. The surroundings lost their pristine beauty for me. I would be afraid to return. What if he returned when I was alone again?
How horrid and guilty I felt. Maybe this was my fault. Maybe I was wrong to bathe nude. I had a woman's mature body and I would be a liar to claim I never craved to be touched, to tingle and fulfill my own longing for love; but it was a longing I had hoped to satisfy with someone who truly cherished and loved me, too.
I desperately longed to talk to Mama about it, to get her advice and wisdom, but I didn't see how I could do so without her realizing what had happened. Mama would take one deep look into my eyes and know the truth. I had to be strong and not appear to be avoiding her gaze tonight, I thought. I sat there with my eyes closed and held my breath. Then I released it and took long, deep breaths, willing my heart to stop thumping like a drum. I would be calm. I would press this memory down and smother it with other thoughts.
My legs were still trembling when I stood up to begin my poling, but as I gathered speed and momentum, they grew stronger and more sturdy. I pushed myself away from the pond, the leaves of the sprawling cypress closing like a door behind me. I didn't look back. For a while as I continued, I darted my gaze from side to side, afraid Monsieur Tate might be somewhere nearby, waiting to apologize or plead with me to say nothing. The thought of facing him ever again set my heart pounding. What would I do? What would he do?
When I reached our dock and tied up my pirogue, I checked my clothing and tried to see my reflection in the water. Mama would think my appearance was due only to my swim anyway, I assured myself. I looked up at the shack where I knew she was waiting, setting the table, lighting a butane lantern, putting a record on our windup Victrola, trying to forget her own troubles. I had to do everything I could to keep what had just happened to me buried outside the house.
I took a deep breath and started up the pathway. As soon as Mama heard my steps on the gallery, she called.
"Is that you, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Mama. I'll just go up and change into something else," I said. "I got this dress wet and dirty," I added before she could inquire. I flashed a smile at her in the kitchen and hurried up the stairway to my bedroom.
"How was your swim?" she called.
"Refreshing, Mama. You should come with me someday." I heard her laugh.
"I don't remember when I swam last. Probably that time your father took us all to Lake Pontchartrain, before the war. Can you remember that?"
"Yes, Mama."
I studied myself in the long mirror over the oak armoire in Mama's room. My shoulders were red and there were faint patches of irritation on my neck, too. What was I to do? I put on my yellow and white dress, the one that had the buttons up to my collarbone, and then I wiped my hair vigorously with a towel, brushed it down, and wrapped the towel over my neck like a scarf. I kept my fingers crossed and descended to the kitchen. Mama looked up from the stove.
"This roux is delicious, honey. I boiled some crawfish, too."
"I'm starving," I said. I got us some napkins and some of Mama's lemonade. She brought the pot to the table and ladled out the crawfish and roux. She had thrown in some vegetables and rice. It smelled delicious.
"What'cha doin' with that towel?" she asked with a smile before she sat.
