Catherine Carmier

by Ernest J. Gaines

  “I’m going in the field,” she said to Della. “Daddy should have been home by now.”

  “Don’t tell me you thinking ’bout him—”

  She did not hear it all. She ran across the yard and got into the car. The people moved into the ditch as she sped through the quarters. She did not see them; she did not think about the dust she sent flying all over the yard and into the houses.

  She did not slow up to go across the railroad, and she could feel the bottom of the car hit against one of the rails. She drove faster. Rows of corn, cane, cotton shot by her like spokes in a spinning wheel. A tree appeared—disappeared; a ditch, a bush, then it was all behind her. But she still had far to go. He had none of the land near the front. No, that would have been too good for a nigger. They had put him back near the swamps, but even back there he had proved himself a better man than any two of them. She had heard him say many times that if he had one man to stand beside him stride for stride he would raise as much crop as those five cousins all together. “What about me?” she had said. “I can do anything any of the others can do.” He had not said anything. He had only looked at her. He loved her, she knew that, but at moments like those, she had the feeling that he wished she were a man instead of a woman.

  She was coming up to his field, now, but she was not there yet. The car lights flashed on yellow ripe corn on either side of the road, then on tall green stalks of sugar cane that leaned toward the road like willow branches. A moment later she was passing cotton, and she noticed how much the cotton had opened during the last two weeks. She dreaded the thought that within a few days she would have to hang a sack on her shoulder, drag it from morning till night, from one end of this field to the other. She turned left, then she saw him. No, not him—the mules and the wagon. They were in a cornfield to her right. A lantern was hanging on the back of the wagon, and he was behind the wagon, too, somewhere. She heard him tell the mules go up, then stop; then go up, and stop again. She got out of the car and moved to the end of the row to wait for him. She was crying.

  Just before reaching the headland where she was standing, Raoul came to the side of the wagon to turn down another row. Catherine ran toward him, crying.

  “Daddy, what are you doing out here? What are you doing out here?”

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” he said. “What’s all this for?”

  She drew back and looked at him.

  “I thought you were hurt.”

  “I’m pulling corn,” he said. “Who’s going to do it if I don’t?”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  “Hey,” he said. “Cut that out now. What’s the matter with you?” But he liked what she had done, and he was laughing as he said it.

  “What’s all this about?” he said. “That dance?”

  “Daddy?”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry,” he said. “You’re going.”

  She looked up at him, loving him, admiring him, thinking: No, no, I will never go to him again, never go against you again.

  “You better get on back to the front,” he said. “I’ll soon be coming in.”

  “Don’t you want me to guide them for you?”

  “Them?” he said. “They know these damn rows better than I do. What the world is that you got on?”

  “Daddy, you know you bought me that perfume,” she said, happy to be near him.

  “Well, it smells all right,” he said. “But don’t think I’m going to be saying it too often. I hate complimenting women.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” she said, loving him very much. “You know you’re not so tough.”

  “Who the world you wearing that stuff for—these bullfrogs back here?”

  “Daddy, you can’t hurt me,” she said, loving him as much as she had ever loved Jackson.

  He smiled at her.

  “Maybe I have a boyfriend,” she said. “You ever thought about that?”

  “You going to have lot more boyfriends than you barking for,” he said, “once these rattlesnakes get a whiff of that scent.”

  Catherine looked down at the ground at the broken-down corn stalks and weeds around her. There was not a clean space of ground anywhere in sight.

  “You better go on back,” Raoul said.

  “Can’t I do anything?”

  “Not in those clothes.”

  She turned away from him. She was near the car when she stopped and looked at him again. He had not moved, still watching her. She ran back to him.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she said, laying her head on his chest. “Oh, Daddy. Do you love me, Daddy? Do you love me?” He held her close and awkwardly. “I love you so much, Daddy. I love you so much.”

  Then she jerked away and ran toward the car.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jackson was waiting for Catherine on the highway. He had gone out there when he saw the car coming out of the yard. Then the car had turned left. He could see the small red light on the back get dimmer and dimmer as the car went farther into the quarters. He wondered if anything had happened. Why would she be going into the fields this time of night? He would stay out there until she came back.

  He started thinking about their being together. This was all he could think about. This was all he had been thinking about. In his room, or on the porch, or at Madame Bayonne’s—he wished for the night to hurry up and come. Madame Bayonne had noticed it in his face the first day and had warned him again—but what did he care about Raoul, his aunt, or anyone else but her? Then the night would come and they would be together. Only the night would end just as fast, and they would be separated again. He would have to wait now for another night—wait, wait, wait. Would she come to him—what would he do if she did not? He did not think about this too often. He could not bear to think about it.

  He looked down the quarters again. He did not see the car. He wanted to go to the store to get a bag of candies, but he was afraid she might come out there and not see him. No, he would wait. He would get her a bag of candies somewhere else. He would probably buy her a doll. He had thought about it all day. He would find an excuse to go into a store, buy the doll, have it wrapped and tied with a ribbon, and then he would give it to her.

  He looked down the quarters again—nothing. Maybe he would have time to get the candy. He ran over to the store. The store was filled with people—Negroes and Cajuns alike. He could feel them looking at him as he came in. One of the Cajuns said in Creole, “I see the professor is still with us, hanh?” No one else said anything. After paying for the bag of candies, he went out. He felt better as he walked back toward the road.

  He saw the car coming in from the field; his heart beat faster in him. Then the car turned into the yard. She’ll have to go in first, he thought. He waited.

  He heard people talking to his right. The store had closed for the night, and the people were going home. They looked at him as they went by, but none of them said anything to him. What did he care? His mind was on Catherine. He waited. How long? Two hours? three?

  The following night he waited for her again. He had the bag of candies with him again. After the store closed for the night, the people passed by him and did not speak as they had not spoken to him the night before. He waited. He waited again the night afterward. No Catherine. What had happened? Had Raoul found out? And if he had found out, why hadn’t she let him know? Madame Bayonne saw it in his face. “No, he hasn’t found out,” she said. “If he had, you would’ve been one of the first to know about it. But didn’t I warn you—didn’t I?”

  He began to think about other things now. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should forget all about it. Wasn’t his life complicated enough already? He had come here to straighten out his life, not to get more involved. Wouldn’t she complicate things more? But a moment later he thought about her more than ever, and that night he went to the front to wait for her again. Nothing. He went through the quarters. Nothing. Just the old ho
use—big, ugly, black behind the trees, and that was all.

  He was sitting in the swing the next evening when Charlotte and Mary Louise came out on the porch. Charlotte did not look at him. No, she did not know what was going on, but she had quit talking to him long ago. She cooked his food and left it on the stove for him. She washed his clothes if he put them where she could find them. If he did not, then let him wash them himself. She kept away from him as he kept away from her.

  Mary Louise was the same as always, but he had changed toward her. He seldom talked to her now, and when he saw her coming to the house he went to his room. He did not like the way he was acting with her, but what else could he do? It was impossible to disguise his feeling for Catherine around anyone, and it would have been much harder to try to hide it in front of Mary Louise.

  “Y’all going somewhere tonight?” she asked.

  He looked at her. What was she talking about?

  “You and Brother?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said.

  She smiled at him and went out of the yard. He watched her running to catch up with Charlotte.

  Jackson waited until he was sure they had gotten to the church; then he left the house. It was Della who opened the door when he knocked.

  “Jackson?”

  He nodded.

  She was surprised to find him there; then she seemed afraid, then happy.

  “Come in. Come in.”

  He went into the room. She pulled his head down to her and kissed him very hard, then she pushed him away to look at him better.

  “But you grown; you a big man now.”

  “You look very well yourself, Mrs. Della.”

  “Shucks now, get away from here,” she said, and laughed.

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back, lovingly and thoughtfully. Then she seemed frightened again.

  “Jackson?” Catherine said behind him.

  Jackson turned to her. But he did not see his Catherine. She was very pale, her eyes were too dark. He looked for love in her face—the love that they had shared those three nights together—but he saw hatred for him instead.

  “Catherine?”

  “I’m sure you two want to be alone,” Della said, looking first at him, then at Catherine. Catherine would not look at her. Whatever Della wanted to say with her eyes, Catherine had seen it too many times already.

  “Would you like to come into the kitchen?” Catherine said. “I was baking some tea cakes.”

  He followed her down a dark narrow hall to the kitchen. The kitchen was extremely hot, and he could smell the sweet cakes that were in a bowl on the table.

  “Care for a few of them?” she asked. She was already getting them for him.

  “Thanks.”

  “A Coke?”

  “Thank you.”

  She put the things on the table for him, and Jackson sat down and began eating.

  “How’ve you been?” Catherine asked from the window. She was washing dishes and looking into the yard and not at him. She had not looked at him once since coming into the kitchen.

  “All right,” he said, looking at her.

  When she was through baking the cakes and had put them away, she asked if he would like to go to the front. They left the kitchen, and after stopping on the porch only a moment, they went out into the yard.

  “Catherine, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  He grabbed her arm and jerked her around. They were standing under one of the big oak trees to the side of the house.

  “I thought we ought to stop,” she said.

  “What?” he said. “You thought we ought to stop?”

  “You said yourself that it was all wrong. And it is wrong.”

  “Is it Raoul, Catherine?”

  She looked down at the ground. He raised her head up roughly.

  “Don’t look away from me. Is it him?”

  She turned her head and he turned it back and held it so she would have to look at him.

  “And how about me? And how about yourself?”

  She was silent, looking at him, the tears already running down her face.

  “How about us?” he screamed at her. “Me and you? Don’t you think we should have a chance?”

  He saw that it was no use talking to her, she did not hear half of what he was saying. Her face began to shake violently in his hand. He jerked his hand away from her and she looked down at the ground.

  “Is that all you wanted? Was that it? Just once in bed?”

  She raised her head and looked at him. He could tell she was hurt. Not angry—hurt.

  “Was that it? One hour—was that enough for you? Or should we have another hour right here so it would last you the rest of your life?”

  She looked at him, the tears running down her face. She was hurt, not angry. He jerked at her.

  “Come on, Catherine. One more hour. Come on. Right here on the ground.”

  The tears ran down her face, but she did not say anything. He pushed her away, and her back hit against the tree. He could see her face grimace with pain, but he moved toward her again. He raised her face to his.

  “I ought to break your neck,” he said. “I ought to break your neck.”

  He took his hand away from her face, and she looked down at the ground again. Suddenly there was a light across the yard. He looked toward the house. He saw Lillian standing at the window, watching them. He looked at Catherine again. He started to say something else to her, but he did not know what to say; and he turned away and walked out of the yard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  He had to get away from here. He had to get away. He would either go mad or get into trouble if he did not get away. The first chance he got, he would tell Charlotte that he was going back. From the way she had been acting the last few days, she probably would be glad to hear it. And it would be better for everybody. Surely, it would be better for Catherine and Raoul. Then there would be nothing to stand between them. They could have each other all to themselves for the rest of their twisted lives.

  He raised his head just before coming up to the gate. He saw Charlotte and Mary Louise on the porch. But why were they home so early? Church would not be over for at least two hours. Well, it was all for the better. He would tell her now and be done with it. Let her cry, let her scream at him, let her do anything she wanted to do. He would never get this chance again.

  Neither Charlotte nor Mary Louise looked at him when he came into the yard. No one said anything to him when he spoke, and no one paid any attention to him when he sat on the railing at the end of the porch. There was absolute silence for a long time, and he felt as cowardly about telling her as he always had.

  “I thought you were going to church,” he said to Mary Louise. He would start with her first.

  “Changed us mind.”

  “What are your two candidates going to do without you?”

  “You making fun of the Lord, Jackson?” Charlotte said, turning on him.

  He looked at her, but did not say anything. He would wait his chance.

  “Well, not here,” she said. “You don’t play with Him in my house. Get out in the road if you want play with Him.”

  She stood up to go inside the house.

  “Aunt Charlotte?” he said. She kept on walking. “Just a minute,” he said. He would not hesitate another moment.

  “What?” she said, stopping and looking at him. “What you said to me? I’m not one of your women, you know.”

  But he had not said half of what he wanted to say to her when she staggered against the door as if someone had hit her with his fist. Mary Louise jumped up from the swing to help her inside.

  “No,” she cried. “No. I can stand, I can stand. I got a pillar so strong to lean on nothing can drag me down.” She was talking to Jackson and not to Mary Louise. “Nothing can harm me. Nothing can hurt me. Not the pillar I lean on. Not the pillar I lean on.” She moved to open the screen, but she fell to the floor. Jackson left the
railing and Mary Louise broke away from the swing to help her up.

  “Get away from me, Jackson,” she screamed at him. “Get away from me. Get away and stay away. Stay away.”

  “What happened?” a woman called from the gate.

  “She fell,” Mary Louise said. She looked around at the woman who had already pushed the gate open and was coming into the yard. “Miss Selina …”

  The woman ran up on the porch and she and Mary Louise got Charlotte to her feet. When Jackson tried to open the door for them, Selina told him to get away.

  She and Mary Louise helped Charlotte inside and laid her across the bed. Selina told Mary Louise to get a pan of cold water, and while Mary Louise was in the kitchen, Selina went to the dresser and began searching in one of the drawers.

  “Can I help you find something?” Jackson asked.

  “Ain’t you done done enough helping for one day?”

  “All I did was tell her I was going back.”

  “Good,” the woman said. “Good. ’Cause if you don’t go back, you go’n kill her, or Raoul go’n kill you.”

  She found a towel in one of the drawers and came back to the bed. Mary Louise met her at the foot of the bed with the pan of water. After soaking the towel in the water and wringing it half dry, Selina passed the towel over Charlotte’s face. Jackson stood by the mantelpiece watching her.

  “How you feel?” Selina asked.

  “I’m all right,” Charlotte said.

  “You sure you don’t need a doctor, Miss Charlotte?”

  “I’m all right,” Charlotte said. “Just got little dizzy there, that’s all.”

  Selina continued to pass the towel over her face. Mary Louise stood at the foot of the bed holding the pan of water and crying.