“What’s to keep us apart, Catherine?”
“We must think about the others. We must think about them. We owe them our lives.”
“How about our own lives? Yours and mine?”
“My life?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get snatches of happiness where I can,” she said, looking far away.
“Like with this guy Paul?”
“He’s a good dancer. That’s all.”
“Is that part of your plan?”
“I love to dance.”
“And can you be satisfied with that?”
“No. But there will be other little things.”
“And will these other little things satisfy you?”
“I hope so.”
“We both know differently, don’t we, Catherine? We both know we need each other, don’t we? You want to leave that place, and you know it. And I need you, and you and I both know that.”
She turned her head. He turned her back to him.
“All of our lives, we’ve loved each other. All of our lives. Isn’t that so? Isn’t that so, Catherine?”
She did not answer him. “Isn’t that so, Catherine?”
“They have nothing,” she said, trying to make him understand. “They have nothing. Do you know what it means to have nothing? Nothing?”
“I know. I know.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know. You have no idea.”
“I know,” he said. “I know what it means to have nothing. To not believe—” He stopped. He was not supposed to say this. He could tell by her face that he was not supposed to say this. With her you must believe—you must definitely believe in something. She looked away. They were silent. He looked at her long and hopelessly, but she continued to look away. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe you’re right. What do I have to offer you? Paul has much more, hasn’t he? I have nothing. I have nothing in the world—”
She put her hand on his mouth to make him stop. He held her hand with both of his and kissed it.
“You love me, don’t you? Don’t you?”
She was afraid to say it.
“Don’t you?”
She was afraid to say it now.
“Come with me, Catherine,” he said. “Come with me. You want to go, don’t you? You want to go, don’t you?”
Yes, yes, yes, was in her heart. But she would not say it now. She could not say it. What about the others? But he saw it in her face.
“Come, Catherine. Come.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, angrily.
“Come,” he said. He had grasped her arm now, and he was pulling her away from the church. “Come.”
“No,” she said desperately. She was trying to hold onto the church now. “No.”
“Come,” he said, pulling on her.
“Please,” she said. She was not angry now, she was frightened. “Please, please,” she said.
But he would not stop pulling her.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Raoul stood on the porch and watched the two men come up the street. He had been standing out there about ten minutes, trying to decide where to go. He did not know where to go, but he was tired of sitting inside. He watched the two men cross the street just as they were coming up to the yard. He thought he saw one of them looking toward the house, but he must have been imagining this. What would they want here? Who could they be coming here to see? The men came up even with the car and stopped, then one of them came up to the gate. The other man followed only a moment later.
“Raoul?” the first one called to him.
He did not move; he did not answer. He recognized the two men now—they were from Grover; but what could they possibly want with him? He had not spoken to them, neither had they spoken to him, a dozen times since he had been living there.
“See you?” the man said.
He hesitated again. What did they want? Borrow money? That was impossible. Maybe something had happened at the dance. Maybe something had happened to Catherine. He went down the steps. He could see the two men standing close together as though they needed each other for courage.
“Henry,” he said. He looked at the other man, but he did not speak to him.
“Just thought you might want to know something,” Henry said.
Raoul looked at him, waiting. He did not know whether he would believe him, whatever he had to say.
“Catherine fooling around up there,” Henry said.
Raoul stared at him, not showing belief or disbelief. He knew these people hated him. He knew they would do anything to hurt him. But he would not let them see how he felt.
“Just thought I would tell you,” Henry said. “She up there right now behind that church. With Charlotte boy.”
Raoul stared at the man on the other side of the gate. Suddenly his face became very hot, burning him. He tried not to show anything, but the men could tell that he was angry.
“Just thought I would let you know,” Henry said. He nodded, and he and the other man walked away.
The two Negroes had been approached only a couple of days ago by two of the Cajuns who farmed the plantation. The Cajuns had promised the Negroes twenty dollars each if they would let Raoul know that Catherine and Jackson were seeing each other. The Cajuns had given the Negroes ten dollars apiece then, and had promised to give them the rest of the money after Raoul caught Jackson and Catherine together.
The two men had seen Catherine and Jackson come out of the dance hall and go to the back of the church. They stood under a tall cottonwood tree between the church and the dance hall looking at them. They had stood there a long time smoking, and trying to make up their minds whether they should tell Raoul or not. They did not want to tell Raoul, but now that they had taken the Cajuns’s money, they were afraid what might happen to them if they did not.
“That’s where he at?” one asked.
“Course,” the other said. “Where else he go’n go? One sister or the other.”
They had seen Margaret Toussaint come to the dance with the girls, so they knew Raoul must be at Elvira’s house. They had said very little to each other all the way up to the house, and now as they went back, they did not say anything to each other at all. They separated the first chance they got.
Raoul stood at the gate unable to move. He knew they hated him. He knew they would do anything to hurt him. Maybe they were saying that only to make him do something foolish. Charlotte’s boy? Charlotte’s boy? She did not have a boy, did she? No, her niece had a boy. They had gone to California long ago. Was that the boy he saw at the store the other day? He thought he looked strange. Was that him? And now that he thought about it, he felt at the moment that the boy was looking at him differently from the way the others were. But was he only imagining this now? He might have been. The boy might not have been at the store at all.
He wondered if they were telling him the truth. Maybe they were doing it only to make him angry. Why did they come to tell him? Why didn’t they just laugh at him behind his back? They did not tell him about the other one. (He thought about the other one. It was like a haunting song that stays in one’s mind. It had been in his mind twenty years. Even after the death of the boy ten years ago, it would not leave. It seemed to grow stronger. Time seemed to feed it.)
Raoul looked up the street. The dance hall was at least a half mile from where he was standing, but he looked in that direction anyhow.
Why were they doing this to him? Why? What was in it for them? He continued to look up there. He did not believe them. Catherine would never … he knew she was lonely. Of course she was lonely. A girl at that age … He had been noticing something different about her the last few days. She had been going around the house as though she were drugged—half of the time not hearing, half of the time not seeing.… No, no, no, he was wrong. He was imagining this, because those niggers had told him that about her. He did not believe them. They were doing this to hurt him. The Cajuns were probably behind it all. Th
ey wanted his land. He knew it. They would do anything to hurt him, to make him pack up and leave. They would … he wondered if she would do this to him.
“Raoul?” Elvira called from the door. He did not answer. He had not heard her. “Raoul,” Elvira said, “who was that?”
He heard her, but he did not answer her this time either. He opened the gate and went toward the car.
“Raoul?”
He was in the car now. He pressed the silver button on the dashdrawer, and the door popped open. He worked his hand around in the drawer until he found the revolver, then he took it out and stuck it under his belt.
“Raoul?” Elvira said, running toward the car. “Raoul?”
He pulled away just before she got there. He went up the street, turned the corner, and headed back.
He drove along slowly. He was not trying to think. He was not trying not to think. Things simply ran through his mind. She will be there. She will be dancing. She will be dancing with someone her own color.… She will be standing by Margaret. Margaret will be sitting in a chair fanning.… She will be outside. He will have his black arms around her waist. He will have his black mouth on her red lips.… I will raise the gun. I will—he started thinking about the other boy. It was like a song that you could not get out of your mind. It was like your skin that you must live inside of forever. (Contrary to what the others believed, he loved the boy. Ten thousand times he had wanted to pull the boy to him, to hold him against his chest, to cry, to whisper, “I love you, I love you”; but something always kept him from doing so. How could he explain what it was? He did not know what it was. It was there with him all the time. “Hate him,” the thing was saying to him. “Look what she’s done. Hate him. Look what she’s done. Hate him. Hate him.” And all the time he wanted to love the boy. He wanted to pass his hand over his skin, over his hair. He wanted to feel the small bones in his hands and arms.)
A car horn blew in front of Raoul. The damned fool was coming straight toward him. No, he was headed toward the other car. He pulled to the side, almost running into the ditch. He was there. Already he was there. He must have driven a little faster than he thought. He did not know what had happened between the time he got into the car and now. He could not remember stopping at any corner, seeing anything or anyone.
He parked the car and started walking. All of this seemed strange to him. A magnet seemed to be drawing him, and he was not moving by his own power. He could have been walking on foreign soil; he could have been around people who spoke a different language. If he were in his field now, if he were a million miles away from here now …
He started to go inside the dance hall, but stopped. He went across the yard. The people moved out of his way. He was not walking faster than anyone else; his face did not show anything. But the people felt his desperation and moved out of the way.
He went around the church, but he did not see anything. He almost stopped and looked under the church—but would he lower himself to believe such a thing? Did he think she would lower herself? He would kill those two men if they had lied about her. He would kill both of them with his bare hands.
He went back across the yard. The man at the door told him he would have to buy a ticket if he wanted to come in. He did not say anything. He only stared at the man. The man tried to stare back at him, but saw it was no use.
“Be sure to come right out,” the man said. The man wanted him to know he was letting him go in out of the kindness of his heart.
He did not say anything to the man—not even a nod. He went inside. It was like walking into hell for him. Noise and motion everywhere he turned. He began looking for her, but did not recognize anyone. He moved against the wall, looking. Nothing but motion and noise.
A girl with a very red mouth and wearing a very tight dress stood in front of him. He did not say anything to the girl; he had not even seen her. She moved in front of him again. He still did not notice her. She turned to him and smiled, but she must have seen in his face what the people outside had felt meeting him, and she turned and moved away. He continued looking for Catherine.
“Well, I’ll be—” Jeanette said. “What—what are you doing here? The next dance mine?”
Jeanette looked as though she had been drinking. She was giggling uncontrollably.
“Where is she?”
“Who? A special one—Uncle, no?”
He looked at her, and he could not control how he felt. His face showed everything now.
“Where’s your mon?”
Jeanette grinned. “Over there. The world must be coming to an end.”
He looked at her and turned away. He found Margaret and Lillian sitting on chairs against the wall. When they saw him, both of them looked as though they had seen a ghost.
“Where is she?”
Margaret could not say anything for a while. She stared at Raoul with her mouth open.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Who?”
He did not say any more. He looked at Lillian. Lillian looked back at him fully for several seconds, then she turned away. She tried to hold back what she felt, but it was as plain on her face as his feeling was on his. As she turned her head, he thought he saw a little smile come on her mouth.
“I see,” he said to Margaret. “I see.”
“Out there dancing,” Margaret said. “Where else?”
He nodded. “I see.”
Then something snapped in him. They had gone. She had left him. He whirled.
“Raoul?” he heard Margaret calling. “Raoul?”
He ran out of the place—out of noise, motion, odors—into the fresh air. Margaret was behind him, and he ran harder. “Raoul? Raoul?” Something else snapped in him. She would have to go home first. She would have to get her things—the child.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
She had no control over anything any more—neither her mind, nor her heart. Ideas came into her mind, but went out just as fast. She caught glimpses of trees, houses, lights from an automobile, the river, but the next moment all of it had slipped by. She sat there as though she were paralyzed—not being able to think properly, nor being able to move. I will not see Bayonne again, I will not see the trees again, I will not see the river again, I will not see him, my father, again, I will not see Lillian again, I will not see Jeanette again, I will not see the church again, I will see none of what I’m seeing now again.… I will be happy. I will not be happy. I will love him, I will love my child, I will make a decent home for him and my child.… No, I will not be happy. To be happy, one must work and believe. He does not believe. No, he won’t be happy, and I won’t be happy either. You must work, work, work; that is the only thing. That is the only way to be happy. Our life does not belong to us. Our life belong to them. No, our life belong to us. To live and to love, that is life. I love them. No, I love him. I love them, yes, I love them. Before he came I loved them. No, I’ve always loved him, and I always will.… What will he think if I tell him it is not right to go—that they will have nothing? Can he understand they are not like other people? Lily knows that they are not like other people, that’s why Lily must go. That’s why I must stay. I must stay, Jackson. I must stay. Darling, don’t—I love you so much, darling. I … the trees go by, the houses go by, the cars, the fences, the river, Louisiana—my life.
“What are you thinking?”
Silence.
“Catherine?”
“Nothing.”
“Please tell me.”
“Nothing.”
He looked at her a long moment—inquiringly; then he looked out at the road again.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I swear I will. I will love you. I will love you with all my heart. It will be just us. It will be just us always.”
Us? us? us? and nobody else but us? Is that what you want? Oh, Jackson, that is not life. Oh, Jackson, darling, can’t you see? Us? How long can it be like that? How long? Can’t you see that’s what happened between them? Can’t you see t
here must be others—something else in our lives, can’t you see?
“I’ll take you home. Then I’ll go back and get my suitcase. Then I’ll come back and get you.”
She was silent.
“Catherine?”
“Yes.”
He began slowing up the car to turn off the highway. Will she ever see this again? The Grovers’ big house? the store? the cypress trees? the riverbank? the river? Will she ever see it black and lonely like this again? They were in the quarters now—the black, old deserted quarters. How could she love—she was not trying to think about this; it slipped into her mind just as everything else did.
“I’ll see you in about ten minutes,” he said. He had stopped the car before the door. She did not move. “Catherine?”
She turned to him, looking at him as though he were someone she had never seen before.
“Ten minutes,” he said.
She did not answer, she did not even nod her head, she got out of the car and went into the yard. There was a light on in the front room. Of course Della would be up waiting for them to come back. Any other time she probably would have been in bed long ago. Della unlatched the door as she came up on the porch.
“Where’s Raoul and Lillian?” Della asked.
She went past Della into the room. Della jerked her around.
“What happened?”
“I’m leaving.”
It did not sound right. It did not sound right at all. If she had said she was going into her room to hang herself, it would have sounded much more natural.
“You doing what?”
“I’m going with him.”
“You out your mind? You know what you saying? With who? Jackson?”
“I’m leaving with him.”
She was not looking at Della, she was looking over her. She talked as one might talk in his sleep.
“You ain’t leaving this house,” Della said, taking her by the arm.
“Get him ready for me. I have to pack.”
“Did you hear me?” Della said.
She pulled her arm free, and went down the hall to her bedroom.
Catherine Carmier Page 17
