It looked as if I would fail as I had so many times before, when suddenly his lips opened and his clenched teeth unlocked. Excited, I started to feed him the juice in tiny increments. He took some on his tongue, and then he swallowed and took some more.

"That's good, Pierre. That's wonderful. We'll get you off this I.V."

I rushed out to tell the nurse, who called Dr. LeFevre. By the time Daddy arrived, Pierre had drunk most of the juice. He wasn't speaking and he wasn't moving, but at least there had been this small change.

Daddy was overjoyed. "We've got to get home to tell Ruby. Maybe now she'll get up and come to see him," he said.

We hurried home; a shaft of bright light and hope had finally pierced the dark clouds over us. When we pulled into our driveway, we saw a tall, slim black woman leaving the house. She wore a long red skirt, sandals, and a bone-white blouse. Her bracelets were made of animal bones, and her dangling earrings were silver embedded with what looked like cats' eyes. She glanced our way, but didn't pause. I saw she had a scar across her right cheek with a triangular cut at the top end of it right beneath her sharp cheekbone.

"Who the hell is that?" Daddy muttered.

The woman disappeared around our gate. We hurried inside and up the stairs. Mommy wasn't in the bedroom, but a can of brimstone was burning on each nightstand. The scent of sulfur permeated the air.

"What the . . ." Daddy snuffed them out quickly. "Where is she? What is she doing?"

"Don't yell at her, Daddy," I warned. "She's—"

"I know what she's doing. I know exactly what she's doing," he said and left the room. I followed him downstairs. Mommy wasn't in the sitting rooms, the study, or the kitchen. We finally found her in her studio. She was sketching on an easel, but on either side of her burned a blue candle.

"Ruby," Daddy said and she turned slowly. "Hello, Beau."

"What was that woman doing here? Why were you burning that stuff in our bedroom? And what is this with these candles?"

"I had to get us some good gris-gris and fight back, Beau. Don't be angry. I feel safe again. I'll start to work, too." She smiled at me, but I thought it was a strange smile, the smile of someone who was under a spell. Like Daddy, I wondered what that voodoo woman had done.

"I can't believe this," Daddy said. "Stinking up our bedroom . . ." He shook his head and then remembered why we had rushed home. "Anyway, we've got some good news. Pearl got Pierre to drink some juice."

Mommy just stared at him, that same strange smile frozen on her lips.

"Didn't you hear what I said, Ruby? Pierre has drunk some juice. Perhaps he can be taken off the I.V. soon. There’s light at the end of the tunnel," Daddy said, obviously annoyed that Mommy remained so unanimated.

"Of course there is, Beau," she finally said. "I knew it. It's because of what the voodoo mama did here. Don't you see? Nina's going to help us . . . from beyond." She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. "She's going to help us."

"Mon Dieu," Daddy said. "I can't believe this. Don't you want me to take you right over to see Pierre?"

"Not yet, Beau. I'm not ready yet. Soon."

"I give up." Daddy threw up his hands. "You talk to her, Pearl. Maybe you can get her to regain her senses so she can visit her son and not act like a lunatic," he cried and left the studio.

"Beau's always been so skeptical," Mommy said. "But he'll change." She turned back to her sketch.

"Mommy," I said, going to her. "You can't bury yourself in these rituals and charms now. You've got to come with me to see Pierre."

"Not yet," she said. "There are still some things to be done. Otherwise I'll only bring him bad luck. He'll understand. Later I'll make him understand. You see I'm right, don't you, honey?"

I said nothing. I gazed at the sketch Mommy was doing. She was drawing Jean floating in the swamp. "Mommy . ."

She continued her work as if I weren't standing there. After a while I started to turn away, but she sensed it and reached for my hand. "You've got to do something with me, Pearl. We've got to do it tonight. Only you must not tell your father. I know he'll try to stop us; he just doesn't understand."

"What, Mommy?"

"We've got to go to the cemetery at midnight. Mama Leela will be there with a black cat. We will be able to speak to Nina and see what else we can do."

"Oh, Mommy, no. We can't do that."

"We must," she said, her eyes wild. She was digging her fingers into my skin.

"Okay, Mommy. Okay."

She relaxed. "Promise not to tell Daddy."

"I promise," I said. Now I was feeling as if I were making a deal with the devil.

"Good." She smiled and turned back to her painting.

I watched her for a moment and then left. I found Daddy sitting on the sofa in the office, sipping from his glass of bourbon.

"Can you believe your mother?" he asked as soon as I entered.

"She's having her own sort of nervous breakdown, Daddy. We've got to be sympathetic and indulge her for a while, until she returns to her senses," I added.

Pain flashed in his eyes. "I thought she would want to rush out to the hospital with me. Instead, she's burning candles, painting weird pictures, and mumbling about chants and gris-gris. I've got only one friend now," he said and lifted his glass.

"That's not any better than what Mommy's doing, Daddy. You've got to stop drinking," I warned.

"I know," he said. "Soon. Well, I have to attend to some business problems. We'll stop in on Pierre after dinner. Maybe Ruby will snap out of it and come with us."

I didn't want to discourage him, but I didn't think she would. "We'll see," I said.

Mommy wouldn't come with us to the hospital, of course.

The nurses told us Pierre had eaten some soft-boiled egg and drunk some milk. He still didn't speak or act as if I heard what anyone was saying, but we were all encouraged. It was enough to buoy Daddy's spirits. He was more talkative and energetic.

"You've got to come with us tomorrow, Ruby," he told Mommy when we returned home and found her in the sitting room listening to music and reading.

"All right, Beau," she said, giving me a conspiratorial glance. "I will."

"Good. Good," Daddy replied and looked at me. I could tell from his face that he thought things were finally turning around. "I'm going up to bed."

"I'll be right along, Beau," Mommy told him.

"Pierre has made good progress, Mommy, but he needs to see and to hear you now," I told her.

"I know, dear. And he will as long as you remember what you promised."

"Mommy . . ."

"I'll come by your room at eleven-thirty and knock softly. Be ready," she said.

I stared at her a moment. What was I going to do? Then I looked down at the book in her hands.

She was holding it upside down, just using it to stare at her own maddening thoughts.

"Mommy, it's too dangerous to go to the cemeteries at night. Daddy would be very, very angry at both of us, but especially at me. Please," I begged.

She gazed at me. "Okay, Pearl," she said. "If you don't want to do it, it's all right."

"But you're not going either, Mommy, right? Right?" I insisted.

"I won't go," she finally said, but I didn't believe her.

I pledged to stay awake and listen for her footsteps just in case.


7

  Beyond the Grave

Despite my urgent and great desire to do so, I had trouble keeping myself awake. I tried reading, but my eyes were drifting off the page and my head was nodding more and more. I told myself it would be easier to just-lie quietly in the dark, but almost immediately after I put out the lights and lowered my head to the pillow, my eyelids closed. The next thing I knew, I woke with a start and when I glanced at the clock, I saw it was nearly a quarter to midnight. If Mommy had come to my door to knock or if she had walked by, I hadn't heard her. I couldn't imagine her going out at night to a cemetery by herself. Confident I would find her still in her bed, I rose, put on my slippers and robe and tiptoed across the hallway to my parents' room.

The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it gently and peered in. The amber light of a half moon outlined the silhouettes of the dresser, lamps, chairs, and vanity table. I could see Daddy's head on the pillow, but when I looked closer, I did not see Mommy's. For a long moment panic nailed my feet to the floor. She must be in the bathroom, I told myself. I waited and listened, but there was no sign or any sound of her. I knocked gently on the door and waited for Daddy to lift his head. He didn't move.

I entered their bedroom and whispered loudly, "Daddy."

A heavy, resonant snore was his only response. I went to his side and touched his shoulder. I didn't want to wake him abruptly and frighten him. He might think the hospital had called about Pierre. But he wasn't responding.

"Daddy." I shook him. He moaned and turned over, still not opening his eyes.

The strong odor of bourbon reached me, and I saw the nearly empty tumbler on the nightstand. When I shook him again, more roughly, my father groaned and his eyelids fluttered but barely opened.

"Whaa," he said.

"Daddy, wake up. Where's Mommy?"

"Whaa." He closed his eyes and turned on his side. Frustrated but frantic about Mommy, I retreated from the bedroom and hurried down the stairway. I searched the rooms, all of which were dark, and then I peeked in the kitchen, hoping she had gone there to make herself some warm milk. But I found only the night-lights on and no one anywhere.

I thought for a moment and then hurried down to her studio. Even though it was dark, I could imagine her sitting there, so I flipped on the lights. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath. She wasn't there, but her recent picture caught my attention. I drew closer to it and saw that she had added more detail.