by Paula Morris
Lisette gave an enigmatic smile, her teeth white as the moonlight. She reached out one hand to Rebecca.
"Keep still and say nothing," she said in a low voice, taking Rebecca's hand. Her grasp was surprisingly cool for such a warm and sticky night. "Believe me. They won't see you if you're with me."
Rebecca opened her mouth to protest, but it was too late. Anton and the others were approaching, swarming up the steps and around the tomb like invading cockroaches. Toby was ineptly juggling two empty beer bottles, and Julie was laughing at his near misses. Anton was deep in conversation with another boy, stopping just a few feet from where Lisette and Rebecca stood. Nobody said a word to them.
Rebecca's heart was hammering, and she realized she was gripping Lisette's hand very hard. She swung around to look
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at her new friend, and Lisette smiled, shaking her head, as if to remind Rebecca to keep quiet. But this was ridiculous: It couldn't be long before someone noticed them lurking in the shadows. However still Rebecca tried to stand, her legs were trembling like trees in a rainstorm. These kids might be self-absorbed -- and some of them might even be drunk -- but they weren't that dense. Sooner or later, they'd be spotted; maybe Marianne would scream, or Toby would grab them.
Part of Rebecca just wanted to make a run for it, to sprint away into the darkness and hide herself in the thicket of tombs. But something about Lisette's calm insistence that they wouldn't be seen made her stay put. And they were in this together, after all. Both were outsiders, sure to be derided by this group: Lisette because she was black and poor, and Rebecca because she would never belong to their social set -- or to this city.
One of the boys staggered up to throw away his cigarette butt, leaning one hand against the tomb --just inches from her flinching face -- and it was only then that Rebecca realized why Lisette was so certain they were safe, why nobody was going to find them. All of a sudden, it was obvious.
Nobody could see her, and nobody could see Lisette. They were invisible -- as invisible as ghosts.
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***
CHAPTER TEN
***
Another ten minutes passed before Marianne, Julie, and the St. Simeon boys meandered off into the night. When the voices had receded, Lisette let go of her hand, and Rebecca slumped on the steps of the tomb, wondering if this whole adventure was just some strange nightmare. She was shaking so hard, she could barely speak.
"Why couldn't they see us?" she managed to croak, at last.
"We were invisible to them," Lisette said, sitting down next to Rebecca on the steps, stroking her dusty skirt as though it were a mermaid's tail.
"But how?" Rebecca asked. "I mean, I've never been invisible before."
"You should hold my hand more often." There was just enough moonlight for Rebecca to see the small smile creeping onto Lisette's face. "I'm invisible all the time. It's not so bad."
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So that was why Aurelia couldn't see Lisette the other day: Nobody could see Lisette! But wait: Rebecca could see her perfectly well. This was just too weird.
"What do you mean you're invisible?" Rebecca asked. It wasn't that cold, but her teeth were chattering so much she could barely form a coherent sentence. "I can see you. And people aren't just invisible. It's not possible."
Lisette gave a soft sigh.
"People aren't invisible," she said, picking at a congealed spot on her skirt. "Living people, that is. Ghosts are invisible."
Rebecca shook her head hard, as though she was trying to clear water out of her ears: Something was clogging her brain, because she couldn't follow what Lisette was saying.
"So you're trying to tell me that you're a ghost and that's why you're invisible."
Lisette nodded. Rebecca slapped a hand against the stone step.
"But I don't believe in ghosts!" she protested. "At least -- I've never really thought about it before. Ghosts are just something from ... I don't know, horror stories. Creepy films. Ghosts are something you dress up as at Halloween. And you're not invisible -- I can see you!"
"Other ghosts can see us."
Rebecca couldn't believe her ears.
"Oh my god," she said slowly, her heart thumping. "Can ... can I be a ghost without knowing it? Have I died without realizing it? Is New Orleans hell or something?"
Lisette laughed.
"It's not heaven, that's for sure," she said. "But don't worry.
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Sometimes other people can see us as well. You're not a ghost. By now I can tell the difference." "Really?"
"It took a while, but I learned, Ghosts can be seen by other ghosts, but we can make our presence known to the living as well. There has to be a reason. Say, when some long-dead queen appears in a castle tower and someone sees her, it means she's trying to send him a message."
"What kind of a message?" Rebecca asked, hugging her knees, willing herself to calm down. Ghosts didn't exist in her world: They were just made-up things, like gremlins and elves and unicorns. Lisette might be a crazy person, telling her this ridiculous story. But then, those kids tonight in the cemetery were right there, just feet away, and they'd looked right through Rebecca and Lisette. What was going on?
"It could be a warning or a way of asking for help. And, you know, ghosts can only haunt particular places associated with their lives. With their deaths, especially. Otherwise, all the ghosts would head down to Grand Isle to sit by the sea."
"Or to Paris to sit in a café, I guess," said Rebecca. She'd never really thought about ghosts before or about ghosts being stuck somewhere they didn't want to be. This was all too much to take in.
"If we could go wherever we wanted, the entire netherworld would be crowded together in a couple of places," Lisette said drily. "And believe me -- you don't want to see that! There are too many ghosts in New Orleans as it is. You should see them all in the Quarter, arguing over their territory. Sometimes it's comical. Sometimes it's scary."
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"So, are you sending me a warning?" Rebecca asked, a little wary now. She wasn't sure how she felt about being singled out by a so-called ghost. In fact, she didn't know what was worse: being singled out by a ghost, or by a crazy person who thought she was a ghost. "Or do ... do you need my help?"
"I don't know," said Lisette. She wriggled her toes -- her bare feet were surprisingly clean. "People have seen me before, and I've always understood why. But I don't know about you. That's the reason I was so surprised last week, when you fell over on the pathway. I said something to you, but I talk to people all the time -- they never hear me. But you could hear me, and then I realized you could see me as well."
"I can see a ghost," Rebecca muttered. "Really -- you're a ghost?"
"Since August l853-"
"Are you serious? That's, like, a hundred and fifty years ago!"
"One hundred fifty-five and three months. It was during the great yellow fever epidemic. They couldn't bury us fast enough in this cemetery."
"You've been in this cemetery for a hundred and fifty-five years?" Rebecca whispered.
"Well, once a year, I walk to my house in Tremé. At the end of November, the anniversary of my mother's death. Walk there, then walk back."
"Why?"
"I don't know." Lisette shrugged, flashing her pretty smile. "Something in me makes me do it -- I don't really understand why. I haven't been there since last November.
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The house was still a mess. It's been that way ever since the big storm, the one they call Katrina. Since then, nobody lives there. Half the roof is gone. My mother would be sad to see it."
"Your mother's not a ghost as well?" Lisette shook her head.
"The only way I'll see her again is, you know, in heaven. When I don't have to go a-haunting anymore."
"That's when I'll see my mother, too," Rebecca said, feeling an unbearable wave of sadness, though she wasn't sure if it was for herself or for Lisette. If Lisette was telling the truth ... were there really all these u
nseen ghosts wandering the world? How many were there, Rebecca wondered -- all those ghosts she couldn't see? Maybe her own mother was one of them.
"In the meantime," said Lisette, and her voice sagged with sadness, "the only other places I can go are this cemetery and the Bowman mansion."
Rebecca was about to ask why the Bowman mansion, of all places, when the silence of the night was broken by a distant -- but distinct -- cry.
"Rebecca! Rebecca!"
It was her aunt's voice, plaintive and breaking, calling for her from beyond the cemetery walls.
"Oh, no!" Rebecca leaped to her feet. "That's my aunt, looking for me. Oh god! She must have checked my room!"
"It's this way to the gate," said Lisette, getting up and walking down the steps. "Follow me."
Rebecca gathered up her flashlight, so flustered she dropped it again immediately.
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"She'll call the police if she can't find me," she told Lisette. "And she'll go completely crazy if she finds out I've been in here."
"I could walk out with you, holding your hand. You'll be invisible, remember? She'll never know you were in here. I can't walk down Sixth Street with you, though."
"Why not?"
"I can only haunt certain places, remember? I don't know why -- that's just the way it is."
Rebecca stumbled after Lisette's darting form, her mind reeling. Ghosts. Invisibility. Yellow fever. Hurricane Katrina. One hundred fifty-five years ...
But when they arrived at the gate, and Lisette reached for Rebecca's hand, Rebecca came to her senses. She'd forgotten one important thing. Holding on to Lisette might make her temporarily invisible, but -- unlike Lisette -- she was a real-life, flesh-and-blood person, not a ghost. She couldn't walk through walls or doors or locked gates. With all the excitement and strangeness of the evening, Rebecca hadn't stopped to think that this week was no different from last. When the gang of "Them" left the cemetery, Anton had secured the gate behind them. Rebecca was locked in the cemetery.
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***
CHAPTER ELEVEN
***
Aunt claudia was not amused. she glowered at Rebecca through the grille of the gate, her mouth set in a severe line.
"What are you doing in there?" she demanded, pulling one of her many voluminous patterned kimonos close around her. Her cat eyes looked worried rather than angry, but this only made Rebecca feel worse. "It's the middle of the night!"
"I'm so sorry," Rebecca said, and she really was sorry -- sorry for getting stuck in the cemetery, sorry to drag Aunt Claudia out here onto the street in the middle of the night, and sorry to be caught. As soon as Rebecca dropped Lisette's hand, the ghost -- if that's what she really was -- had drifted away. "I was ... I was looking for the cat, and the gate was open, and ... I guess I got locked in."
"The cat!" Aunt Claudia raised one of her skimpy gray eyebrows. "The cat can look after itself. You, on the other hand ..."
She rattled the tall gate ineffectually, frowning at its rust-dabbed lock.
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"I'm sorry," Rebecca said again.
"How on earth am I going to get you out of there?"
"Maybe I could climb over the railings here," Rebecca suggested. She clicked on her flashlight. "Or maybe one of the other gates is open."
"Stay right where you are! This is a very dangerous place," her aunt scolded. "I'll have to call the police or the fire department. They won't be happy at all about this."
Rebecca wasn't too thrilled by that idea, either: The railings looked too spiky to scale, but she was sure there had to be some other way out, some tomb she could climb to get onto a lower section of wall. She'd rather Aunt Claudia invoke a voodoo charm than call the police, but now -- her aunt ranting on about gates that should be locked and places girls should never go -- didn't seem to be the time.
A gaslight flickered in the gated, cobbled parking area in front of the house near the corner. Only the gray slate roof of the house itself was visible from the street, the rest of its two stories protected from view by this front court -- home to an Audi and a BMW -- and, just beyond it, a high hedge. The gate squeaked open and someone stepped through, headed in their direction.
"The neighbors," Rebecca sighed under her breath. This was just what she needed: some outraged stuffed shirt come to add his or her voice to the chorus of disapproval. But as the figure got closer, she realized it wasn't some captain of industry, annoyed about being woken up so late at night. It was Anton Grey, loping toward them with his hands in his pockets.
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"I'm real sorry, Miss Claudia," he said, not looking at Rebecca. He pulled out the key. "This is all my fault."
"Well, I'm sure it isn't, Anton." Aunt Claudia seemed flustered. Rebecca hadn't realized they knew each other: It made sense, she supposed, given the proximity of their houses. "And I'm sorry we've woken you up."
"No, no -- I just got back. I was walking a friend home, and I heard ... well, anyway. I can unlock the gate."
Anton's tone of voice was polite and apologetic, not cocky, but this didn't make the situation any easier. Rebecca felt intensely embarrassed. After spying on him earlier tonight, it felt strange to be this close to him, her eyes fixed on his long fingers sliding the key into place.
"We hang out here sometimes -- a whole group of us," he was saying, still talking to Aunt Claudia. "I didn't know ..."
"My niece." Aunt Claudia shot Rebecca a hard look, and Rebecca felt her cheeks burning. Anton's hair curled a little; she could see that now they were standing so close, separated only by the solid black bars of the gate.
"Your niece, right. Sorry, ma'am. If I'd known she was in the cemetery, I wouldn't have locked up." Anton caught Rebecca's gaze. He raised an eyebrow, the slightest glimmer of a smile in his dark eyes, and Rebecca glanced away, waiting for the gate to click open. This was totally mortifying: He must think she was spying on him and his friends! Why else would Rebecca be wandering around the cemetery so late?
"I didn't know she was in the cemetery, either," Aunt Claudia said. Anton jiggled the lock, and pushed; finally the
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gate creaked toward Rebecca. She wriggled through the slight gap, brushing against Anton on her way out.
"Thanks," she murmured, staring somewhere in the region of his collarbone while he relocked the gate. In New York, Rebecca hardly ever got nervous around boys: They were just there, in all her classes, being all smelly and sweaty and ridiculous. Occasionally, one was better-looking than the rest, but the only guys she'd ever had an actual crush on were movie stars. So why did the sight of Anton up close make her feel so tongue-tied and embarrassed?
It was this stupid situation, she told herself. He must be thinking she was a sneak and an idiot -- stuck in the cemetery, getting berated by her aunt.
"I'm Anton, by the way," he said, pocketing the key. He stuck out a hand.
"Rebecca," she replied, but before she could shake his hand, Aunt Claudia had grabbed her by the arm and was hustling her away.
"Thank you," her aunt called over her shoulder to Anton. Rebecca was too ashamed to look back, to see if he was still standing at the gate or was wandering back along the street to his own house.
Aunt Claudia did not remove her vicelike grip on Rebecca's arm until they were both in the kitchen, the door closed so Aurelia wouldn't be disturbed. Rebecca sat in silence while her aunt boiled water for tea, setting two mismatched mugs on the table and, as usual, concocting her own strange blend from loose leaves stashed in a cluster of Oriental-looking tins in the cupboard that never closed properly.
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Her aunt seemed preoccupied, as though she was thinking very carefully about what to say, and there was nothing Rebecca could do but wait for the inevitable lecture. It was sure to involve murderers, rapists, muggers, and the cemetery after dark, sprinkled with statements like "I'm so disappointed in you" and "Your father has entrusted you to my care." It was a speech, Rebecca decided, she could probably write herself
.
The battered tin kettle on the stove began to sing, and Aunt Claudia snatched it off the heat at once, glugging boiling water into a teapot. She had quite a collection of teapots, but most seemed to be damaged in some way: This one was brown china, with a chipped spout. Rebecca had already decided to get her aunt a new, flawless teapot for Christmas, but maybe she should buy it sooner, as an offering of peace.
Her aunt set the teapot on the table, and rummaged in the dish rack for the plastic-rimmed sieve -- used mainly to wash rice, which they ate with practically every meal, but summoned into double duty whenever they couldn't find the tea strainer.
