Black Cat

by V. C. Andrews

  "Right, Sarah. It was your great-great-aunt Mabel," he would joke.

  "I had no Aunt Mabel and you know very- well I didn't," she would say. Mama had no sense of humor when it came to her spiritual family.

  Daddy would shake his head. If I was standing nearby and heard the conversation, he would wink at me and point to his ear. He once told me that when Mama talked about her spirits, you had to listen with half an ear.

  Sometimes when she finished playing, she looked exhausted, drained, and sometimes she looked revived, even younger. This night she played with an intensity I had rarely heard. Her hair fell about her face and her face became flushed, her eyes bright. Even Baby Celeste stopped doing what she was doing and stared up at her in awe.

  When she was finished, she lowered her head to the piano for a long moment, then sat up and smiled at us.

  "It will all be well. Noble. I am confidant now. I have seen Baby Celeste."

  "You have seen her?" I looked at her and then at Mama. "What do you mean? She's been here beside me all the while."

  "I have seen her older, much older, and she is everything I dreamed she would be.

  "Tomorrow." Mama declared, rising, "tomorrow it will all begin again,"

  She lifted Baby Celeste into her arms and carried her off toward the stairway.

  With wonder I looked at the piano and then I followed her. We put Baby Celeste to bed and then we both went to bed ourselves.

  Hours after I had fallen asleep, I woke just as I often had as a young girl, and I heard the music below. It was the same music Mama had played earlier. I rose, confused, wondering why she had gotten up and returned to the piano. However, when I went out to the hallway, the music stopped and I could see through Mama's open door that she was in bed. But I had heard the music. I had. To the day I died. I would swear to it. I wished Daddy would appear so I could confirm it_ but he didn't.

  I returned to my room and called for him in the darkness, but he didn't come.

  Something's wrong, I thought. There's a reason he's not coming to me anymore. There's a reason he fled into the woods and he stays in the dark places.

  Surely it had to do with these dramatic changes in Mama. I thought. How I need him now,

  I fell asleep again, hoping at least to find him in my dreams. But I found nothing but deep darkness.

  4

  Never Be Resurrected

  .

  Right after breakfast the following morning.

  Mama told me to take Baby Celeste up to the turret room. "I'll come for you when the drapery man leaves," she said. "He'll be here soon."

  This first time we weren't locked away that long. He was only coming to measure the windows, but two days later. Mama had the carpet people scheduled and they would be at the house most of the day because they were doing three rooms. She had decided to have my room done as well as hers and the living room, and she had picked out the carpet, a rich almond color.

  Baby Celeste had always been good for the short stays, but this first seemingly unending one was far more difficult for both of us. For one thing. Mama and I had forgotten we would be locked away for too long without going to the bathroom. The turret room had no bathroom, so we would have to go down a flight and the carpet people might be working on my room or Mama's. I began to panic as soon as I realized our oversight,

  Baby Celeste had been toilet trained before she was quite two. She was truly advanced in every which way. Just before lunch, she asked to go potty. I opened the door and waited at the top of the short stairway in anticipation of Mama coming up with lunch. As soon as she saw me, her eyes flared with anger.

  "What are you doing? Where do you think you're going? I told you to stay inside until I came for you. They are all still here," she cried in a loud whisper.

  "Baby Celeste has to go potty, Mama. We forgot about that.Ill have to sneak her down."

  I could see from the expression on Mama's face that she had truly forgotten herself. She thought a moment, then shook her head.

  "No, you'll use one of the old chamber pots," she decided. "I'll get it.."

  "Chamber pots?"

  She handed me the tray of food, entered the room. and went directly to a large trunk.

  "Take it. Noble." she insisted when she found the pot. "Our ancestors did it this way before there was indoor plumbing. You and Baby Celeste certainly can."

  "What about toilet paper, Mama?"

  "Use the napkins I gave you on the tray."

  I shook my head and looked back at Baby Celeste, who was standing anxiously, expecting to be carried down to the bathroom.

  "She won't understand," I said.

  "Then make her understand and keep it quiet, ea on," Mama said. "Just do it and don't contradict. And keep from looking out the windows. The carpet men are having their lunch outside and we don't want them to see you pee/sing out and asking me all sorts of questions."

  She practically pushed me back into the turret room. This time, she made sure the door was locked, too.

  I turned to Baby Celeste.

  "Potty," she said.

  "I know." I set the chamber pot down. You go potty in there," I said, pointing.

  To my utter surprise she turned, lowered her panties and piddled in the pot. She did it like someone who had done nothing else all her short life.

  Later. I had no choice but to do the same.

  I had never seen a chamber pot before, and that piqued my curiosity about the rest of what had been brought up here and stored away over the years. I was always afraid of disturbing anything, but with all this time on our hands, I sought new ways to keep us both distracted.

  Beside the minors and old dressers and tables, cartons of clothing were packed in mothballs. I found baby clothes, too, baby clothes I knew hadn't been mine or Noble's. Baby Celeste stood looking at the garments, touching whatever I touched. There were even old shoes and boots, and in one carton we found all sorts of hats. I amused myself and Baby Celeste by putting on some of the boots and hats. She wanted to wear them as well, and we had a good time with them along with gloves and belts bedecked in costume jewelry.

  Suddenly. Baby Celeste turned as if she had heard something. Her eyes grew small the way Mama's did when she was concentrating. I watched her work her way in between an old dresser and some cartons. She stopped when she found something that caught her interest and called to me. I followed and leaned over the dresser to see what she was up to. and I saw she had found a small ebony wood box with gold trim. She held it up so I could see it better. It had been hidden behind everything else so long that a layer of dust covered it. I took it gently from her.

  "What have you found, Celeste?"

  I turned it around and saw that it had a key to turn on the back of it. "Its a music box," I explained.

  Her eyes brightened. We had one downstairs on a table in the living room. Atop it was a ballerina who danced to the music. Baby Celeste was so taken with it. Mama thought she would wear out the mechanism.

  I blew some of the dust off the little wooden box, then squatted beside her to open it.

  Amazingly, despite how long it had been up here, it began to play a piece of a Mozart piano

  sonata that Mama often played. Even Baby Celeste recognized it and said. "Mama. Piano."

  "Yes,'" I told her, then I realized it might have been heard below. I held my breath and listened hard. Baby Celeste saw the look of apprehension on my face and froze as well. Their work made too much noise, I thought confidently, and released my lungs. Then I smiled at her and looked into the box.

  All it held was a small lock of golden blond hair tied with a thin piece of faded pink ribbon. It was certainly not Mama's hair, nor was it Noble's, mine, or Baby Celeste's. It couldn't be my daddy's either. His was raven black. Whose was it? Why had it been left up here, hidden away in a dusty corner? This was something people usually did with their baby's hair, but pressed into family albums.

  The music box stopped playing. I studied it further, turning it o
ver and every which way to look for some clue, but I found nothing else. Baby Celeste wanted to hear the music again, so I turned the key and let it play. We brought it back to the center of the room and spent the remainder of our time occupyingourselves with other things: her picture books and coloring books mainly. She fell asleep on my lap and I dozed off myself. In fact, we were both asleep and didn't hear Mama come up the stairs and open the door at the end of the day. Her gasp woke me.

  She was standing over us, her eyes wide, her hands pressed over her breasts. I stirred and Baby Celeste woke up, sat up, and rubbed her eyes.

  "Where did you find that?" Mama asked, nodding at the small ebony wood box beside me.

  "Baby Celeste found it," I said. "Something made her want to go exploring behind the old dresser. It was as if she knew it was there."

  That seemed to disturb Mama more. Her right hand fluttered up to the base of her throat like a struggling baby bird. She took another deep breath. "When did she find it?"

  "I don't know. About two hours ago. I guess. It was back there." I pointed to the rear of the room. "What is it? Whose hair is that in it? Why is it up here? Why couldn't it be downstairs in the living room?"

  I lifted the box and Mama backed away as if she expected it would explode.

  "It's very pretty, and it plays that Mozart piece you play. See," I said, and started to open it so it would play.

  "No!" Mama screamed. "Leave it be. Don't open it. Put it back where it was. Go on."

  "You mean back on the floor behind the dresser'?"

  "Yes, just put it back there," she ordered.

  "But whose hair is in it?"

  Mama looked at Baby Celeste, who sat there gazing up at her as if she expected to hear the answer, too.

  "It doesn't matter. Just put it back."

  "How come you want it left up here?" I rose to do what she wanted.

  "I just do. I just do. Stop asking me and do what I tell you." she said angrily.

  I had never seen Mama so visibly shaken. Her body trembled and she was pale. I hurried to put the box behind the dresser in the corner.

  "You opened it." Mama said more to herself than to me. She looked about the room fearfully, then scooped Baby Celeste into her arms. Had the little music box called to some spirit she feared?

  "Everyone's gone." Mama said. "You can come downstairs now Bring the chamber pot to empty, too. Quickly!"

  She turned and fled the turret room. I glanced back at the small box and then got the chamber pot and followed. My heart was thumping from Mama's reaction. Why couldn't we touch it, open it? Nothing in this house frightened her. If anything bothered her, she got rid of it or washed it in candle smoke.

  I heard her descending the stairway quickly, more like someone fleeing. She was already down to the main stairway when I reached the second-floor landing. I went into the bathroom. emptied the pot in the toilet, then placed it on the floor. After that I paused to look into my room to admire the new rug. It did make the room brighter, and the rug in Mama's room gave it a new, fresh look as well, as did the new carpet in the living room. It made it look warmer. "All the rugs are very nice. Mama." I said.

  She had put Baby Celeste down and was standing by the window gazing out. She acted as if she hadn't heard me. Baby Celeste plopped on the rug and smiled up at me, pleased with the feel and the color.

  "With the new curtains you're getting and the other things we're doing, the house is Going to look so much better. Mama. You were right about that," I told her, hoping to get her to stop behaving so strangely.

  "What?" she finally said. turning.

  "The rugs are very nice. I was just saving how warm and wonderful the house is going to be when you're finished with your redecorating."

  "No." She shook her head. "It's not warm and wonderful. -We're in some danger."

  "Danger? In our house?" How could we be in danger in the house? The house was our sanctuary."

  She hurried past me and out of the room. I heard her rummaging about in the kitchen. then I heard her start for the stairway.

  "Mama?" I said, stepping into the hallway. "What are you doing?"

  She paused and turned to me. For a moment she just stared at me, her eyes blinking rapidly.

  "Take the baby out for a while." she said. "Out? Take her out?"

  "It's dark enough. Take her over toward the shed, away from the front of the house. Go on. Do it. Noble. Her little sweater is on the sofa.Ill call you when I want you to come back inside with her."

  "Okay," I said, and watched her charge up the stairway.

  Baby Celeste couldn't be happier. She clapped her hands with joy when I carried her out of the house. I walked toward the shed and the gardens just as Mama had commanded, and then I set Baby Celeste down, folded my arms over my strappeddown bosom, and looked back at the house.

  Twilight draped a dark gray veil around us. To me this time of day always looked sad. It was as if the sun were caught in indecision. Should it go? Should it stay? Reluctantly, it would soon blink and sink below the mountains. Did it drown every day and was it resurrected every morning?

  Baby Celeste tugged on my hand. She realized we had a limited time in the softened light and she was hungry for everything she could see. I walked about with her, talking and showing her plants we were growing, wildflowers, and even milkweeds. Her curiosity was limitless. She was so taken pith insects that she almost grabbed a bumblebee.

  Periodically. I paused and looked back at the house. All of the rooms were still in

  darkness. What could Mama be doing? More and more stars appeared in the night sky. It was getting cooler and cooler. The wind came in from the north. I could hear it threading its way through the forest, rushing toward us. When would Mama call to us? I was trembling now from both the cooler air and her strange behavior.

  Suddenly. I saw a glow building in the living room. It grew brighter and brighter, but not as it would if Mama had turned on the lamps. This was different. The light flickered, too.

  Candles! I thought. She has lit candles. But so many in one room? Why?

  I lifted Baby Celeste into my arms and slowly walked back to the house. Just as I reached the porch steps. Mama came out, closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it. Although we were standing right before her, her gaze went past us or even through us. Actually, she looked like a blind woman.

  "Mama? What are you doing? Shouldn't we go in for dinner? It's getting late for the baby. Mama?" I said in a raised voice when she didn't respond.

  She blinked rapidly and looked at us. When she shifted a little to the right, the illumination was enough for me to see how flushed her face had become. She continued to stare without speaking.

  "Mama?"

  "Take her inside but don't go into the living room until I tell you. Now," she said. stamping. I felt myself jump inside as if I had another whole body under the one people saw,

  She stepped aside and I opened the door and carried Baby Celeste in' . I hesitated just enough at the living room doorway to look in. I had never seen Mama do something like this as extensively. Set up all over the living room were pictures of all the ancestors we had, at least two dozen pictures. Before each picture, she had placed a black candle. I realized she had formed a circle with the pictures, but what surprised and even shocked me more was seeing the small ebony wood box in the center of the floor.

  "Go into the kitchen," Mama ordered. and I moved quickly, not saying a word. Her voice sounded on the verge of hysteria. Even Baby Celeste looked speechless.

  Mama said nothing about what she had done in the living room and I was afraid to ask her about it. Seeing the small candle illuminating the photograph of each family member gave me an eerie feeling. I knew she had performed some ritual meant to draw out their spiritual power to overcome something terrible released by opening the small black wooden box. Since I had done it. I was afraid I'd be blamed for whatever she believed had happened and could happen.

  Mama worked on dinner in that
deep silence she could reach. a silence that seemed to take her away. She came up out of it occasionally to give me an order to do this or that with the bread, the vegetables, or to set the table.

  Dinner was almost as quiet. Although I did get her talking about some of the other changes she was making in the house. I avoided any reference to the living room or the wooden box. I saw the way her eyes drifted toward the living room from time to time. Apparently she was waiting for something, some signal, herself. Just before we finished eating, that signal obviously came and her expression brightened. Her whole body, stiff and tense for the last hour or so. relaxed.

  "I have to put things away. Noble," she told me. "Clear off the table and carefully stack the dishes. Keep the baby occupied, too."

  She rose and went to the living room.

  One of the truly wondrous things about Baby Celeste was the way she could tune into the mood of the moment and become a part of it, When Mama and I were light and happy, she was. If Mama was melancholy and quiet, she was. If something had made Mama angry, Baby Celeste avoided doing anything that could bring chastisement.

  Throughout dinner, she was as quiet and as patient as a panther. She was even careful about how much noise she made clinking her silverware and dishes, and when she was finished, she didn't plead to get down from her chair, but instead sat and waited like an adult.

  Before I finished getting things in order in the kitchen, Mama returned. She had been going- around the house, upstairs as well, to put those pictures back where they were. She looked pleased with everything and cheerfully told me we could go into the living room now.

  Everything was gone. The scent of the burning candles lingered, but she had opened windows as well to rid the room of that as quickly as possible. I sat on the sofa and opened one of Baby Celeste's books for her. She leaned against me and watched as I turned the pages and permitted her to identify everything on them.

  Mama came in and went to the piano as usual. She played two Mozart sonatas for solo piano, but avoided the sonata captured in the wooden music box. It wasn't something she played every night, but more than not, she would end with it.