"Are you sure?" he whispered one final time.

"Yes, oh, yes, Jack," I replied.

With each touch of his lips, of his hands, I felt electrifying sensations. I realized I was not some scientific creature, after all. I was a woman.

We exploded against each other. I bit down on his ear so hard I thought I tasted blood, but he didn't complain. He held me tightly, his kisses winding down slowly as our hearts slowed. He held on to me like someone who never wanted to let go.

"Are you all right?" he asked when I didn't speak and practically held my breath.

I nodded and whispered yes. He released his hold on me and lay back beside me. Neither of us said a word for a long moment.

"Pearl," he finally began, "I don't want you to think that—"

"Don't" I pressed my finger to his lips. "Don't you dare explain anything."

I could see his look of surprise.

"Je ne regret rien. I regret nothing," I said quickly. He smiled and kissed me.

We made love passionately, both sure of what we wanted. Without timidity and hesitation, it was a long, flowing stream of passion that climbed higher and higher until it burst in a waterfall, pounding rocks below again and again and again, each time punctuated with a bigger, happier Yes.

Exhausted, we separated and lay next to each other, waiting for our breathing to slow, our hearts to stop pounding. I felt a warm glow over my body and closed my eyes.

Jack found my hand and held it. "You were born in a hurricane all right," he said, and I laughed.

As my passion receded, however, my reason and logic returned, bringing with it the baggage of guilt. What was wrong with me? How could I behave with such abandon? I knew if I said one word, Jack would be filled with guilt, too, and I didn't want that.

Yet in the midst of all this turmoil and unhappiness, I had found such pleasure. It wasn't right, was it? I turned my back to him and bit down on my lip.

Jack, as if he were listening to my thoughts, turned to me and whispered, "It's all right. It doesn't mean you care less about your family or you're not trying hard to help them. You can't drive yourself at top speed without taking a break to recharge your batteries. You're human, Pearl. I think maybe you forget that sometimes."

I turned to him slowly and smiled.

"I won't forget it anymore, Jack." He smiled, too. He kissed me again and then cradled me in his arms, and I closed my eyes.

Sleep came rushing in as hard and as fast as the winds of the hurricane. I could no more keep it away than I could the wind. In moments I was drifting.

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was pouring through the windows. It was hard to believe we had endured such a vicious storm the night before. In fact, the whole night seemed like a dream. Had Jack and I really enjoyed a romantic dinner? Did we really make love? When I turned to him, I found he was already gone. He had scribbled out a note and left it on the pillow.

Didn't have the heart to wake you. You looked like an angel asleep. I had to get up very early because of the storm. Come to the trailer when you get up, and I'll fix you breakfast Cajun style.

Love,

Jack

I sat up and looked at my watch. I had slept until almost ten. Panic seized me. I should have risen early and gotten to a telephone. I had to see how Pierre and Daddy were doing.

I rose quickly and tried the sink in the bathroom. To my happy surprise, after a flow of brown water, clean water appeared. I had no warm water, but I was able to wash my face and go to the bathroom. Afterward I dressed and went downstairs. Jack had cleaned everything up from our dinner, but I saw the results of the storm's invasion everywhere: shattered plates, broken windowpanes, soaked drapes and floors.

It was terrible of the Tates to let this beautiful mansion fall apart, I thought. Why was it that people who had everything could be so wasteful and vicious? What possible revenge did Gladys Tate enjoy from watching her son's pride and joy deteriorate? Did she just want to make sure no one else ever enjoyed the house? Even from the little I remembered about Uncle Paul and from what Mommy had told me, I knew he wouldn't have wanted this.

I started when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Jack? Is that you?" I called. There was no response, but a floorboard creaked in the corridor.

Slowly I turned. It's Mommy, I thought. She has finally returned. My heart pounding with expected joy, I hurried down the corridor toward the kitchen. I would surely find her sitting there, waiting for me.

"Mommy!" I cried as I burst through the doorway; but instead of Mommy, I found a tall giant of a man. His face was bloated so that his thick nose had nostrils big enough to inhale three times the air he needed. He had heavy jowls and a round chin with thick purple lips. He was unshaven, and his three- or four-day beard of gray and brown stubble was thicker under his lower lip. When he smiled, I saw he was missing a lower tooth and some back teeth. All the rest were nicotine-stained yellow.

He was dressed in knee-high boots and torn jeans with a T-shirt that had a tear in the shoulder and looked as if it had been washed in rusty water.

He smiled, the curve in his soft, thick lips cutting deep into those bloated cheeks and narrowing his dull brown eyes over which his thick, heavily wrinkled forehead protruded.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"It's true," he said. "You are Ruby's daughter, ain' tcha?"

"I am Ruby Dumas's daughter, yes. Who are you?" I demanded more fervently. He stopped smiling.

"Name's Trahaw, Buster Trahaw. I'm a friend of your mother's," he replied. "Friends of mine told me you was here lookin' for her, so I come to see for myself."

"Have you seen my mother?" I asked. I didn't remember her mentioning a Trahaw, and I couldn't imagine why she would ever be friends with someone who looked like this, but as Jack had said last night, there were people I never knew and Mommy could have gone to see them or stayed in their homes while she was here, especially if she had gotten caught in the storm.

"Sure, I seen her," he said. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Where is she? How is she?" I asked quickly.

"She . . . She ain't well," he said. "She's sick as a dog. When they told me you was here, she said, 'Go fetch her quickly.' So I come."

"Where is she?"

"She's at my mother's house," he said. "My mother's a traiteur."

"Oh," I said. It made sense. "Will you take me to her please?"

"Sure," he said. "Only we got to go quick. I got work to do and I can't be wandering about long."

"Okay. Let's go," I said, turning. "My car's out front."

"We can't go in no car," he said, not moving. "My mother's house is in the swamp. I come here in a pirogue to fetch you. This way . . ." He headed toward the rear door.

"But . . ."

"You coming or what, missy? I told you, I got work."

I hesitated. I should tell Jack, I thought. I took out his note and turned it over to scribble my own on the back.

Dear Jack,

Went with Buster Trahaw, who said my mother was at his house. Be back soon.

Love, Pearl

I left the note on the counter and hurried after Buster Trahaw, who had already stepped out of the house.

He nodded toward the dock. "My pirogue's just down here."

I followed along, looking back only once and regretting that I couldn't have the time to see Jack. But maybe I would get to my mother and bring her back before Jack even found my note. Full of hope, I hurried along. Buster Trahaw didn't wait for me. He practically ran to the dock and got into his pirogue. I hesitated. I couldn't recall the last time I had been in one, or the last time I had gone into the canals.

He reached up finally to help me, and I stepped into the canoe.

"Good," he said. "Finally."

He smiled, dipped his pole into the water, and pushed us away from the dock and into the swamps. I sat down hard and watched him anxiously. He never took his eyes off me, and he never stopped smiling.


14

  Great-Grandpère's Debt Must Be Paid

Buster Trahaw's pirogue was so old and rotten that I was afraid it would simply come apart and dump us into the swamp water, which became the color of dark tea as we left the dock. Buster groaned and grunted as he pushed down on his pole. Soon beads of sweat as big as small marbles were breaking out over his forehead and rolling over his rough skin to drip off his chin and jawbone.

"How far do we have to go?" I asked nervously. Pieces of sun-dried bait and worms littered the canoe floor, as did cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, and crushed tin cans.

"Not far, not far," he said quickly.

Instinctively I looked back toward the dock. I had a strong urge to ask him to return me there, but I couldn't help being afraid he was telling the truth and Mommy really needed me. I would have felt so much safer and reassured if I had seen Jack before I left. Who knew how long it would be before he found my note, and what if he didn't find it? I shouldn't have run off like that, I told myself.

"Don't worry," Buster said, still smiling. "We gonna be there soon. No one poles a pirogue faster than Buster Trahaw in these here canals."

I sat back. I really couldn't recall being in a pirogue when I was just a little girl, but certain visual memories returned when I saw things that were once familiar. Off to my right, among the lily pads and cattails, bream were feeding on the insects that circled just above the water. It looked like bubbles popping. Sheets of Spanish moss draped over cypress branches rose and fell with the breeze. Dragonflies hovered inches above the canal until something triggered them to veer right or left and hover over another area. They moved like dots merging into one large fly.