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"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry, I know." He came to the edge of the little porch. He wasn't so young, really, she could see that now, and she did know this young man, didn't she?
"I'm so sorry about Miss Gifford, ma'am. I've been taking orders for flowers all morning long. I meant I'd like to call Miss Alicia to come and get you and take you home."
"You think Alicia could come to pick me up, shows what you know, poor boy." But why speak? Why speak at all? She had given up this sort of feisty foolishness long ago. She would wear herself crazy today going back to this sort of chatter.
But what was this man's name? What on earth was he saying now? Oh, she'd remember if she tried, who he was, and where she'd seen him last, or most, and that he'd come with a delivery or two, or that he'd waved to her in the evening as he walked along, but was it worth it to remember such things? Like following the string back through the labyrinth. Oh bother! Oh stupid bother!
The young man came down the steps.
"Ancient Evelyn, won't you let me help you inside? How pretty you look today, with that lovely pin on your dress."
I'm sure I do, she thought dreamily. Hiding in the body of this old woman. But why say such things to hurt the feelings of an innocent man, an unimportant man, even if he was hairless and anemic? He didn't know how long she'd been an old woman! Why it had started not long after Laura Lee was born, in a way, her walking the wicker baby carriage all the way up here and round and back around the cemetery. Might as well have been old.
"How did you know my granddaughter died! Who told you?" It was astonishing. She wasn't certain now how she herself knew.
"Mr. Fielding called. He said to fill that room with flowers. He was crying when he called. It's oh, so sad. I'm sorry, Ancient Evelyn, truly I am. I don't know what to say at such times."
"Well, you ought to, you sell people flowers. Flowers for the dead more often probably than flowers for the living. You ought to learn and memorize some nice things to say. People expect you to talk, don't they?"
"What was that, ma'am?"
"Listen, young man, whoever you are. You send flowers for me for my grandchild Gifford."
He'd heard that right enough but it was a dollars and cents order.
"You make it a standing spray of white gladiolus and red roses and lilies, and you put a ribbon on it. You write Grandchild on the ribbon, do you hear? That's all. Make sure it's big and beautiful and they put it beside her coffin. And where is that coffin to be, by the way, did my cousin Fielding have the decency to say, or are you supposed to call funeral parlors on your own until you discover it?"
"Metairie, ma'am. I already know. Others are calling."
What was in Metairie? What? What was he saying? A huge truck had bounced and rattled across the intersection and down towards Carondolet. Nuisance. And look at those town houses over there! Good Lord, so they had torn down that beautiful house too, idiots. I am surrounded by idiots.
She pushed at her hair. The young man was pulling at her arm. "Get away from me," she said, or tried to say. What had she been discussing with this young man? Indeed, she did not know. And what was she doing here of all places? Had he just asked her that very question?
"Let me put you in a cab for home, or I'll take you there myself."
"You will not," she said, and as she looked at the flowers behind the glass she remembered. She walked on, past him, turning off the Avenue and going into the Garden District and towards the cemetery. Always been one of her favorite walks this way to see the Mayfair tomb when she passed the gates, and lo and behold, Commander's Palace was still there. She could see the awnings all the way from here. How many a year had it been since she dined inside! Of course Gifford was always begging to take her.
Lunch with Gifford at Commander's, and Ryan such a proper shiny-faced boy. Hard to believe a child like that was a Mayfair, a great-grandson of Julien. But more and more the Mayfairs had taken on that shiny look. Gifford always ordered the Shrimp Remoulade, and never spilt a drop of the sauce on her scarf or her blouse.
Gifford. Nothing really could have happened to Gifford.
"Young man," she said.
He walked beside her holding her arm, perplexed, superior, confused, proud.
"What happened to my grandchild? Tell me. What did Fielding Mayfair tell you? I am so distraught. Don't think me a forgetful old woman, and let go of my arm. I don't need you. What happened to Gifford Mayfair, I'm asking you now."
"I don't know for sure, ma'am," he said. "They found her in the sand. She'd lost a lot of blood, some kind of hemorrhage they said. But I don't know any more than that. She was dead by the time they got her to the hospital. That's all I know, and her husband is on his way there now to find out everything."
"Well, of course he is on his way," she said. She jerked her arm free. "I thought I told you to let me go."
"I'm afraid you'll fall, Ancient Evelyn. I've never seen you so far from home."
"What are we talking about, son? Eight blocks? I used to make this walk all the time. Used to be a little drugstore there on the corner of Prytania and Washington. Used to stop for ice cream. Feed Laura Lee ice cream. Please, do, let go of my arm!"
He looked so crushed, so hurt, so frozen and sorry. Poor thing. But when you were old and weak, your authority was all you had left, and it could crumble in an instant. If she fell now, if her leg went out from under her--But no, she would not let that happen!
"Well, bless your soul, you are a sweet boy. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but please don't talk to me as if I were addle-brained, for I am not. Walk me across Prytania Street. It's too wide. Then you go back and fix the flowers for my darling girl, won't you, and how do you know who I am, may I ask?"
"I bring your flowers on your birthday, ma'am, lots and lots of flowers every year. You know my name. My name is Hanky. Don't you remember me? I wave when I pass the gate."
It wasn't said with reproach, but he was highly suspicious now and very likely to take action, to force her into a cab, or worse, to go call someone to head her off, for it was perfectly obvious that she ought not to be able to make this trek alone.
"Ah, yes, Hanky, I do remember you of course, and your father was Harry who went in the Vietnam
War. And then there was your mother, who moved back to Virginia."
"Yes, ma'am, you've got it all right. You've got it perfect." How delighted he was. That was the most maddening and annoying aspect of old age. If you could add two and two people clapped for you! They clapped. It was true. It was pathetic. Of course she remembered Harry. He'd delivered flowers to them for years and years. Or was that old Harry? Oh, Lord, Julien, why have I lived this long? For what? What am I doing?
There was the white wall of the cemetery.
"Come on, young Hanky, be a nice boy and cross me over. I have to go," she said.
"Ancient Evelyn, please let me drive you home. Let me call your grandson-in-law."
"That sot, you twit!" She turned on him full face. "I'm going to hit you with this walking stick." She laughed in spite of herself at the idea of it, and he laughed too.
"But ma'am, aren't you tired? Don't you want to rest? Come back into the florist shop and rest."
She felt too weary suddenly to say another word. Why speak? They never listened.
She planted her feet on the corner and held tight to her cane with both hands and stared down the leafy corridor of Washington Avenue. The best oaks in the city, she often thought, all the way to the river. Should she give up? Something was terribly wrong, terribly terribly wrong, and her mission, what had it been? Good God, she could not recollect.
An old white-haired gentleman stood opposite, was he as old as she? And he smiled at her. He smiled and he waved for her to come on. What a dandy he was! And at his age. It made her laugh to see such colorful clothes, the yellow silk waistcoat! By God, that was Julien. Julien Mayfair! It gave her such a great and pleasurable shock, she felt it all over her face, as if someone had touched her with a cool cloth and wakened her. Look at him. Julien! Waving to her to come on, hurry it up.
And then he was gone, simply gone, yellow waistcoat and all, the way he always did it, the stubborn dead, the crazy dead, the puzzling dead! But she had remembered everything. Mona was up at that house. Gifford had suffered a fatal loss of blood, and Ancient Evelyn had to go to First Street. Julien knew she must go on. That was good enough for her.
"You let him touch you!" Gifford had asked her, in amazement, CeeCee laughing in that snide, silly way.
