The Levee: A Novel of Baton Rouge

by Malcolm Shuman

  There was just one answer: I would go where we always went to get away, to where you could lie by the river and smell the mud and hear the wash of the waves and turn your face up to the sky and pretend you were one of the hawks circling overhead on the currents of air. I knew that if I just went to the levee I would find him. Then I’d sit beside him and let him talk it all out, not saying anything, just listening, the way a friend should, and when he was finished and it had all spilled free, then we’d get up and I’d take him home, or maybe I’d take him to my place, if he felt more comfortable there, because I knew my father wouldn’t object.

  That’s why, when the class was over, I walked from the basement of Himes Hall, where we met, and past the new library to Allen Hall, which housed the English Department. I climbed the steps to the second floor, and found my father in his office. His door was half-closed and through it I heard him talking to someone in a low voice.

  “… really like to see you,” he was saying and I realized he was on the phone. I strained to hear who he was talking to, but all I heard was the word, “Good,” and the phone being replaced in its cradle. I waited a few seconds, took a deep breath, and knocked on the frosted glass of the door.

  “Yes?” he called in a slightly bored voice and then started when he saw me.

  “Colin. Finished already?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, if you can hang around the library for an hour I’ll take you to get a hamburger at Louie’s and then run you home.”

  I nodded. I was already formulating a plan.

  “So did you learn some things?” he asked just over an hour later as we sat on stools in Louie’s cramped little box of a café on Chimes Street, just across from the campus.

  “Some,” I said.

  “I know it’s boring at first, but, believe me, you’ll be glad later.”

  “Yes, sir.” I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Long ago he’d told me how he and my mother used to eat here, because the hamburgers and fries were the best in the world, and whenever we came here together, which was infrequently, I always had the sense that his mind was on those days.

  “Dad,” I said finally, as he picked up one of the last fries. His head came around slowly to look at me.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry about the other night.”

  He nodded slowly. “I’m glad to hear it. It was a dumb thing to do, but everybody does dumb things sometimes. The trick is not to make it a habit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He popped the fry into his mouth and I waited while he chewed it.

  “I’ve been thinking about Stan,” I said, “trying to figure all the places he might be.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have some ideas.”

  “You want to tell me what they are?”

  “I’d like to go look on the levee. I mean, that’s where we always went. That’s where I’d go.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Is that what this apology is about, then? You were working up to try to get back your driving privileges?” He shook his head sadly. “I’d hate to think that.”

  “Dad, I know I did something stupid. But wouldn’t you want somebody to come after me if I was missing?”

  He nodded. “I guess I would. But I can drive you out there if that’s what you want to do.”

  “Dad, if he’s really run away, if he sees you or somebody else …” I played with what was left of my meal. “Besides, by then it’ll be late, after four.”

  “I don’t know what that’s got to do with it. It stays light until nearly eight.”

  “But what if he decides to go somewhere else in the meantime?”

  “Son, you’re bound and determined to pry that car loose, aren’t you?”

  “I was just thinking about Stan.”

  He fished out his wallet and pulled out a dollar and some change.

  “Thanks, Louie.” He slid off the stool, exchanged pleasantries with a couple of university acquaintances a few stools down. We walked out into the heat and he hitched his trousers.

  “Can you think of one single reason I ought to trust you?” he asked.

  “No, sir. Except it isn’t for me.”

  We walked across the street and back onto the campus.

  “You’ve got a hell of a nerve,” he said. “But I can’t say I like the idea of Stanley being out there, either.” He jerked his head in my direction: “You haven’t talked to Toby Hobbs about this, have you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You just want to drive down to where you camp and look for him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  We walked a few more steps while he mulled it.

  “The water’s high now,” he said suddenly, with ill-concealed satisfaction. “He couldn’t get across the borrow pit without his canoe.”

  “There are logs, fallen trees.”

  “Are there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow now, but I figured it was because we were walking in the midday sun.

  He stopped suddenly.

  “I may be crazy as hell, but here.” He dug the car keys out of his pocket and dangled them in front of me.

  “I want it absolutely understood you won’t go anywhere near that cemetery.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Or near that man Sikes. And that when you go there, you’ll walk over there, check your camping site, and not loiter around, just come right back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I stopped at Bergeron’s to ask if he’d seen Stan, because if Stan was hungry the store was the nearest place for him to get food, but the storekeeper wasn’t in evidence. Instead, to my surprise, the counter was being tended by Michelle.

  “Where’re your friends today?” she asked.

  I shrugged. She’d never spoken to me directly, because I’d always hung back and let Stan or Toby do the talking. Now, with her sultry eyes on me, I felt my belly quivering.

  “So when did you start driving?” she asked.

  “Couple of days ago,” I mumbled.

  “And you’re just out driving around?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My dad won’t let me get my license,” she said. “Ain’t that crappy?”

  “I guess so.” I got a Dr. Pepper out of the cooler and hunted in my pants for a nickel but she shook her head.

  “It’s okay. He ain’t here.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to imagine her with Toby but the image wouldn’t jell.

  “So why’d you really come here?” she asked, leaning over the counter. It was warm in the building and a faint muskiness seemed to mingle with the odors of dust and stale bread.

  “I was looking for one of my friends.”

  “And you expect to find him here?”

  “No,” I said, indicating the levee with my head. “Over there. I thought maybe you’d seen him.”

  She considered and then smiled.

  “May have,” she said.

  “When?” I asked.

  “Not now. Come back later. Two-thirty. I’ll show you then.”

  “You know where he is?”

  “My dad’ll be back in a minute, so you better go before he finds out I gave you a drink. Meet me on the other side of the levee, down where you camp, at two-thirty.”

  “You’ll take me to him?”

  “Sure.”

  Maybe, I thought, I should pick up Blaize, but when I went to his apartment his mother told me he had piano lessons and she knew he’d be sorry he’d missed me. I couldn’t tell whether or not she’d heard that Stan was missing. I spent the rest of the time driving aimlessly around. The idea of meeting Michelle Bergeron on the other side of the levee sent tingles down my spine and I thought about what Toby had said, about how he’d been with her when the murder had happened. I hadn’t believed him at the time and I didn’t believe him now but something about the way she smiled at me made me wonder.

  At two fifteen I rolled
by Bergeron’s store, noting that his pickup was outside now. I passed Windsong and the cemetery and drove up onto the levee at our usual place.

  Maybe, I thought, Michelle had been bringing Stan food. That was all that made sense.

  I stopped at the top, shut off the engine, and got out. I walked down to the edge of the borrow pit. The pit was a tangle of vines and tree limbs with just the single path we used for dragging the canoe to the water’s edge. I looked around on the grass, to see if there was any sign of recent activity, but other than some cow manure and a used oil filter there was nothing.

  I ventured down the path, brushing the limbs out of my face. Maybe she’d gone ahead of me. Then I heard movement behind me and froze.

  When I turned around she was standing there, back to the levee, smiling. She wore cut-off jeans and a t-shirt against which her breasts pushed like twin basketballs and I gulped.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  “I guess so.”

  Before I could say anything else she slipped past me, heading toward the murky pit.

  “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Across.”

  So she knew about the fallen tree.

  I watched her pick her way along the log, arms held out on either side for balance.

  “You’re going to fall in,” I said.

  She laughed and grabbed a limb on the other side, pulling herself to the opposite bank.

  She turned to face me from the other side of the water.

  “Come on,” she said.

  “Is this where he is?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “My friend. You said you were taking me to him.”

  “Oh, yeah. Come on.”

  I made my way along the log, took a deep breath, and hurried along the last three steps that left me without support. But then my hand, too, touched the limb on the other side and I guided myself onto the firm ground.

  “Up here,” she said, vanishing like a sylph into the weeds. I went after her, catching up in the clearing.

  “I don’t see him,” I said.

  Her face screwed up in displeasure. “What’s so important about him? He’s just a red-headed frog.”

  “You thought I was talking about Toby?”

  “Toby, schmobie. I don’t know his name.”

  “You don’t know his name?”

  “Why should I? I’ve never talked to you guys except when you come to the store.”

  “And you didn’t go out with him the night of..?”

  “Go out with him?” She laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “No,” I said and poked my shoe at the remains of our old campfire. I stooped and touched one of the burned logs. It was warm to the touch, but, then, it was a hot day and maybe the extra heat was just my imagination.

  “I wonder if somebody else was here after us?” I asked.

  She shrugged, “Tramps, maybe. All kinds of people come down here. That’s why I had to sneak out. My old man is scared to death about me coming here since that happened.”

  I nodded. “I don’t guess you saw or heard anything that night,” I said.

  “No. I was asleep. You were the ones who were out here, you and fatso and the other boy, the short one.”

  “Stan.”

  “Is that his name?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shrugged.

  “You haven’t seen him?”

  “Not since that night when he was with you. Look, why all the questions?”

  “He disappeared.”

  Her eyes widened. “No shit. You think something happened to him?”

  “I thought maybe he came down here.”

  “I haven’t seen him. Look, he’ll be okay.”

  “I guess.”

  “He will. I promise. Now tell me something …”

  “What?”

  She stepped toward me, brown eyes on my own. “No lies, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She reached out then and put both hands on my shoulders.

  “You ever kissed a girl? I mean really kissed a girl?”

  My stomach started to vibrate. “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?” She was smiling now, and I couldn’t will myself to move away.

  “I …”

  “Come here.”

  I stepped forward and she took my right hand in her own and guided it under her t-shirt until I was touching her breast. She turned my palm upward until I was cupping it and, rising on her tiptoes, pressed her mouth against mine. Her tongue sought my own, exploring my mouth, and I tentatively responded with my own tongue. She thrust her breast against my hand and I felt her nipple pressing my palm like a little helmet.

  She reached for my other hand then, and, unsnapping her cut-offs, pushed my hand down between her legs until I found the soft nest of hair at the base of her belly.

  She spread her legs slightly, insinuating my finger into her cleft and moaned.

  A second later I felt her hand on the front of my jeans, kneading what had become a hard bulge in spite of myself.

  She drew back slightly.

  “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

  “Well …”

  “That’s okay. I’ll show you. I’ll put my shirt on the ground. I don’t want to get grass all over my butt.”

  She pulled the t-shirt over her head, until her breasts bobbed free. I stared at them, paralyzed: They were huge, disproportionately so, and I wondered for a moment if she was malformed.

  Then I caught something in the corner of my eye, a movement of white through the trees. I turned toward the levee, half-hidden by the jungle of trees.

  “What is it?” she asked from behind me.

  “I saw something.”

  “It’s just your imagination. Come on.”

  But I had seen it, something that didn’t belong. I walked down the slope to the edge of the borrow pit and parted the foliage.

  I stared out over the brown, fetid water, at the green levee. I could just make out my car at the top and there, to my surprise, was a man on horseback, staring at the vehicle, like a matador confronting a bull. He had a beard and was maybe thirty, but that was all I could see.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  “What is it?” Michelle called.

  “A man …” I said.

  “What?”

  Even as I watched he dismounted, went over to the car, peered in the window.

  “What’s he doing?” she asked.

  “Looking at my car.” Almost as if he’d heard me, the man turned his head in my direction. I froze.

  “I think he sees me.” Even as I spoke he started down the levee, reins in hand, toward the edge of the borrow pit.

  I heard her footsteps behind me and felt her nipples against my back.

  “Let me see. Shit!” Her breath drew in.

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said, heading up the incline toward the camp spot.

  “Maybe he’ll go away,” I said.

  I let the foliage drop back into place. She was already pulling the t-shirt back over her head.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered, motioning for me to follow. “We’ll have to go out the hard way.”

  Before I could answer she was already plunging into the thicket, headed north along the batture on a little footpath that was little more than a game trail. I followed, wilted in more ways than one.

  “Uhh, there’s a spot here,” I said, pointing to a little clearing.

  “Forget it. There’s probably spiders and red-bugs. Besides, he may find a way to get across.”

  Half an hour later we picked our way through the last batch of briars, emerging at the rim of the borrow pit. She found a mud bridge and I dutifully followed her across, watching her slip twice and streak her legs with mud. When we came out on the toe of the levee, she turned to me on one leg, reaching down to pick a sticker out of her ankle.

  “The store’s right on th
e other side. I’ve got to sneak back before my old man sees all this mud and asks where I’ve been. Last time he took after me with his strap.”

  “But Michelle …”

  “Hey, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Now do me a favor and don’t walk up on top. I don’t want him to see us up there together.”

  “Sure. But I can come back.”

  “Yeah, right, do that.”

  I watched the dream shatter as she started up the slope and away from me forever.

  “Michelle …”

  “What?” She didn’t even stop.

  “The man on the horse. Who was he?”

  “Drood, you dummy. Darwin Drood.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I stare at the falling shack that was once Bergeron’s. Through the streaked glass of the car window it has the quality of a movie, and I wonder if I am really here or whether reality is what I have been remembering, when I watched Michelle Bergeron disappear over the levee after letting me get so close. Then I wonder if perhaps what I remember hasn’t been manufactured out of my writer’s imagination. Maybe I didn’t meet her that day. Maybe it was just something I wished had happened, because it has the surreal quality of which adolescent fantasies are made. And if I can deny it, then I can also deny what happened that day two months ago, when I sat behind another glass and watched a man die.

  When I met my father at his office he asked if I’d found Stan and I told him no. He seemed thoughtful.

  “No trace?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” I didn’t tell him that I’d hardly spent my time examining the ground for traces, because a girl three years older than I had tried to get me to have sex with her.

  “Odd. I thought you might have had something there. It does seem like a logical place to go.”

  I didn’t say anything. On the way home he picked up the subject again:

  “See anybody at all out there?”

  “A man on a horse,” I said. “They told me at Bergeron’s it was Mr. Drood, from Windsong.”

  “Drood’s showing himself, is he?” There was a note I didn’t recognize in my father’s voice. “Was he on Windsong?”

  “No, down by the camping place.” I described what I’d seen, leaving out the fact that I hadn’t been alone.

  My father shook his head. “Well, best you stay away from him.”