Under the Bayou Moon

by Valerie Fraser Luesse

  “C’est belle, non?” said a familiar deep voice. The sound of it made Ellie picture rich chocolate flowing over a silver spoon and into a cup of warm milk. She turned to see Raphe standing behind her.

  “Oui, c’est belle,” she said, “if belle means ‘beautiful’?”

  “Yes, beautiful,” he said.

  “It’s very beautiful. So is your music.”

  “Merci,” he said with a smile that struck Ellie as a little bit sad. “I haven’t played this much in a long time.”

  “Why not? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t mind.” Raphe bent down, picked up a rock from the sandy bank, and tossed it lightly into the water. “I used to play all the time. My whole family did. If we weren’t working, we were playing. But then after the storm . . .” He picked up another rock and gave it a toss.

  “You miss your family more when you play?”

  “Yes.”

  “And a prying woman only makes it worse?”

  “A prying woman is a thorn in a man’s side,” he said, but he was smiling. “Did you know, prying woman, that there’s a dance floor in the middle of the creek?”

  “A dance floor—in the water?” Ellie thought he was teasing her.

  “You don’t believe me?” he said, looking down at her.

  “You told me alligators can play cards. Your credibility is questionable.”

  “Then I will show you.” Raphe offered Ellie his hand as he had done before, when he’d helped her in and out of the boat or guided her up the darkened path to Doc’s cabin. But this was different somehow. With their fingers laced together, Ellie felt that he wasn’t so much guiding her as sharing something with her. There was both excitement and comfort in that.

  They walked together down the sandy, moonlit bank and followed it around a bend just beyond the dance hall, where Ellie could see a huge, flat limestone rock in the creek, maybe ten feet wide and almost as long. It filled the creek bed, leaving just enough room for water to flow around it.

  “The dance floor,” he said, gesturing toward the rock.

  “It really does look like one.” Ellie smiled up at Raphe, who was still holding her hand. Inside the dance hall, the musicians were playing again. She recognized the tune. “What’s that song? I heard someone singing it on the bayou my very first night here.”

  “It’s called ‘Parlez-Moi d’Amour’—‘Speak to Me of Love.’”

  “It’s pretty,” Ellie said, absently swaying slightly to the music. “But I can’t tell if it’s happy or sad.”

  “Maybe both,” Raphe said. “Would you dance with me to this sad, happy song?”

  “I would,” she said, “as long as you don’t let me drown.”

  He kept her hand in his as they stepped off the bank and onto the rock. Then he slipped his free arm around her waist. Dancing with Raphe wasn’t at all like dancing with Heywood—or anybody else. There was no distance between them. She could feel his strength and his warmth as they waltzed in the darkness over the water. Raphe made every turn with an easy grace. He rested his face against her hair, and she wrapped her arm tighter around his shoulder, letting her hand glide slowly up to touch his neck and his hair, which felt like silk under her fingers. She heard him whisper, “Juliet.”

  They stopped dancing. He let go of her hand but kept his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Ellie slowly lifted her face to look at him in the moonlight. He stared down at her as he traced the lines of her face with his fingertips. The creek gurgled and splashed around the limestone as night birds called across the bayou and voices from the dance hall drifted on the cool breeze. Above it all, somehow, Ellie heard the sound of Raphe’s breathing, feeling it on her face as he drew closer.

  “Ellie! Ellie, are you out here?” It was Doc.

  Without taking her eyes off Raphe, Ellie answered, “H-here, Doc. I’m—I’m right here.”

  Raphe smiled as he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then guided her to the creek bank, beyond their secluded dance floor cloaked in darkness, and into the invasive light.

  FIFTEEN

  “THERE YOU ARE!” Doc came hurrying toward her as she and Raphe climbed the creek bank and returned to the dance hall grounds.

  “What’s the matter, Doc?” Ellie said.

  “Florence twisted her ankle and needs to go home.”

  “Of course! Should I grab her dishes from the table?”

  “No, that’s alright. I already loaded them into the boat with her. I don’t want to ruin your evening, so I asked Heywood if he and Raphe could get you home. He said they’d be glad to.”

  “Are you sure?” Ellie asked. “If you and Florence need my help, I don’t mind coming with you at all.”

  “We’re fine!” Doc assured her. “You go on and have a good time. I’ll get her home and put some ice on it. She’ll be good to go in a day or two. We’ve been dealing with this trick ankle for years.”

  Ellie still wasn’t convinced she should let them leave alone. “Well . . . alright then—if you’re sure.”

  “I’m absolutely sure.”

  “Please tell her to call on me if I can help.”

  “I’ll do that,” Doc said before hurrying out to the landing.

  Ellie looked up at Raphe. “You know Heywood?”

  IT WAS NEARLY TEN O’CLOCK when Raphe and the other musicians stopped playing, the dancers began to disperse, and the women started gathering their dishes.

  “Mademoiselle, your transportation awaits.” She turned to see Heywood giving a deep bow. “May I escort you to your well-appointed river craft, which some refer to—most indelicately, in my estimation—as a bass boat?”

  “You may. Is the staff aware of my impending arrival?”

  “They have been so advised.”

  Ellie took Heywood’s arm. “So tell me,” she said, “how long have you known Raphe?”

  “Raphe?”

  “Yes, Raphe.”

  “Let me see if I can remember,” he said as they approached the landing. Ellie could see Raphe standing by the boat, laying his fiddle case on the floor of it. “Now that I think about it, me an’ Broussard go way back,” Heywood said with a grin. “I’m the one who dragged him to the dance tonight, wasn’t I, mon ami?”

  “He was,” Raphe said, stepping into the front of the boat and holding his hands out to Ellie. He helped her climb in and make her way to the rear seat with him.

  Heywood poled them away from the bank and then sat down facing them. “Perfect!” he said as Raphe started the motor and sent them cruising down the Teche. “Now I can see you both as we journey down this fine waterway.”

  Even in the dark, Raphe seemed to know every stump, every fallen tree, every possible snag in the bayou, skirting around them all with ease. For a time, they rode along in silence, all three enjoying their nighttime glide over water with no one else in sight.

  Heywood stretched his legs out, leaned back, and looked up at the full moon. “Hey, you know what, Raphe? I think it’s high time we showed Ellie the open water. If we stay in this bayou under a full moon, the Rougarou might get us. We’re almost to the lower Atchafalaya. Let’s pick up that little jaunt that connects it to the big daddy river.”

  Raphe hesitated and looked at Ellie. “Are you tired?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”

  Raphe looked up at the sky lit with silver. “Can’t see wastin’ a moon like that.” He rounded a bend and turned into a narrow canal that was only a few yards wider than the boat on either side. The canal snaked through the dense trees and swamp grass until it abruptly straightened into a long corridor of water before opening into the Atchafalaya River.

  “Need a minute to take it in?” Raphe said.

  Ellie turned to see him smiling at her. He had remembered what she said about the bayou.

  “I do.” She smiled back at him. He shut off the motor and let the boat drift.

  All around was water dotted with cypress trees, their
twisted trunks anchoring them to the river as craggy branches bearing thick tufts of green cast primeval silhouettes against the night sky. Spanish moss cascaded off the trees, swaying like a silk gown in the night breeze. Moonlight spilled over the water, its glimmer interrupted here and there by the dark shadows of lily pads scattered about like stepping-stones.

  Sitting silently with Raphe and Heywood, listening to the water lap against the boat, Ellie pictured herself hopping from one lily pad to the next, all the way down the river to the Gulf of Mexico. The eerie beauty of such a place in the moonlight made her shiver.

  “You cold, Ellie?” Heywood asked her.

  She shook her head.

  “Ah, Raphe,” Heywood said with a smile, “I do believe our Ellie is overcome by the wonders of the Atchafalaya.”

  “Anybody would be,” Ellie said.

  Heywood shook his head. “You’d be surprised.” He pulled a flask from his hip pocket and took a long draw from it before offering it to Raphe and Ellie. “Barrel-aged elixir, anyone?”

  Raphe shook his head. “Might steer us into a tree.”

  “I’d be asleep in two minutes,” Ellie said. “To think that anybody could see this and not be amazed—that’s just plain sad.”

  “Sad that they’re so stupid,” Heywood said, an edge to his voice. “Or so greedy.”

  Ellie frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Money and politics.” Heywood took another drink. “Both can cloud your vision, Ellie, especially when the cash in question is oil money and the politicians in question are crooked.”

  “But you work on an oil rig, don’t you?”

  “True—which gives me a bird’s-eye view.” Heywood was scanning the river like somebody trying to memorize it. “Louisiana has good stewards and bad ones. The good ones want to drill for oil and protect the waterways. The bad ones—the greedy ones—just want to get in and take what they can as fast as they can. They don’t care at all whether any of this is left when they’re done.” He dipped the river water with his hand and watched it slowly trickle out. “I wonder if any of it will still be here in twenty or thirty years. Glad I won’t be around to see it disappear.” Again he lifted the flask and took a long drink.

  “You don’t know that, mon ami.” Raphe reached for the flask, which Heywood surrendered, and slid it under the seat.

  “What are you talking about?” Ellie asked. “Heywood, are you sick?” She heard the tremor in her own voice.

  Heywood’s eyes met hers, and he smiled. “No, Miss Fields, I’m not sick. I’m just doomed. Longevity does not appear to have a place in my bloodline. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Are you out o’ your mind, Heywood?” Ellie stood up, precariously rocking the boat.

  Heywood grabbed onto his seat as Raphe reached up, put his hands around Ellie’s waist, and slowly pulled her back down beside him.

  “Sorry,” she said. “But seriously—are you out o’ your mind, Heywood, to think you can say something like that and then just move right along? I want to know what’s wrong.”

  “It runs in my family,” he said with a long, tired sigh. “As far back as anybody can remember, the oldest boy among the first cousins—every bloomin’ generation of us, every single one—has died before he turned thirty. Sometimes it’s sickness. Sometimes it’s an accident. One cousin got tired o’ wonderin’ when it was gonna happen and shot himself. But he always dies. And I’m that cousin. I’m the oldest male. So I reckon I’ll be the fifth—the fifth that we know of.”

  “Well, if some of them died in accidents, then it’s not an inherited disease,” Ellie insisted. “There’s nothing in your body that will make you die young, Heywood. Your family’s just had a string of coincidences—awful ones, I’ll grant you that—but it’s nothing more. And just because it happened to the others doesn’t mean it has to happen to you. The one who shot himself doesn’t really count, when you think about it. How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-nine—and then some. When I got drafted, I thought for sure that was it. Question answered. Date set. I’d die overseas. But then I didn’t, and now I can’t help wondering if that was a joke the universe played on me. ‘Guess I’m not gonna die after all,’ and then bam—when I least expect it.”

  “Heywood, the universe doesn’t decide when you die,” Ellie said. “God does, and He doesn’t play jokes. When’s your birthday?”

  “As luck—or lack thereof—would have it, I turn thirty on the thirtieth of April.”

  “Well, then we just have to keep an eye on you for a few more months,” she said. “I believe you’ll live to be a very old man. And I imagine when you’re a hundred and ten, I’ll still be asking you when I get to meet Claudette.”

  A smile broke across Heywood’s face. He began laughing, and the more he did, the funnier Ellie’s comment became until all three of them were laughing.

  “Oh, Miss Fields,” Heywood said when he finally caught his breath. “As my grandpa would say, you put the fodder where the calf can get it.”

  “I guess it’s the teacher in me,” she said. “We’re direct. But seriously, Heywood, you can’t spend your life expecting to die.”

  “Don’t worry, Ellie. I promise you I live very much in the here and now. I just have to carry this little dark cloud around in the back of my mind for a while longer.” He winked at her. “Perhaps my photography will be my legacy. I’ll be leaving the world that shot of you tossing your hat into a trash can on Bourbon Street.”

  “The minute you’re six feet under, I’m throwing that thing in the bayou,” Ellie said, which made Heywood laugh again.

  “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he said. “I really am okay, Ellie. Most o’ the time, I’m aces. I’m just havin’ a little trouble shakin’ it lately. Reckon I need something to take my mind off it.”

  Raphe spoke up. “I believe I can help.” He cranked the motor and sent them slicing through the water at a fast clip.

  Ellie’s hair blew away from her face, and now she really did shiver with the cool night air coming at them so fast.

  Raphe reached under the seat and grabbed a flannel shirt. “It’s clean. I keep it here for night trips when Remy stays with Kitty.” He offered it to Ellie, who buttoned it over her dress and rolled up the sleeves to her wrists.

  Heywood grinned and pointed at the shirt. “You know, most women would’ve put that around them like a shawl.”

  “Men’s clothes are more comfortable than women’s,” Ellie said. “I used to steal my brother’s hand-me-downs before Mama could give ’em away.”

  “No explanations necessary. You look lovely in flannel. Hey, where are we goin’, Broussard?”

  “You’ll see,” Raphe answered, the motor at full throttle. “We’re not too far.”

  Up ahead, the river narrowed, making a sharp bend. Raphe steered them into the curve of the water, aiming the boat between two cypress trees right by the bank. He throttled way back and let the boat idle as they approached. When it looked as if he were about to steer them right into the bank, Ellie could finally see that the grass grew not on land, as it appeared from a distance, but in the river itself.

  Once they cleared the grass, Raphe shut off the motor completely and tilted it up out of the water, then took up an oar, moved to the center of the boat, and paddled them into a canal that soon became a dark, watery tunnel. It narrowed more and more as the branches of tall trees lapped overhead, blocking out the moonlight.

  Heywood had moved to the front seat of the boat, turning his head this way and that—no doubt struggling to take in every inch of this eerie place, just as Ellie was. None of them spoke until Raphe broke the silence. “Until we get back out here, I need you to be very quiet,” he said barely above a whisper. “And I need you to promise you’ll never bring anybody here or tell anybody what you saw.”

  Heywood whirled around and looked up at him. “What is this place, Raphe—river or bayou?”

  “Neither—and both,” Raphe answered
. “It’s hard to say. But do I have your promise?”

  “Absolutely,” Heywood answered.

  Raphe turned to Ellie. “And yours?”

  “And mine,” she said.

  Raphe dipped the paddle into the water and began rowing. The farther they went, the more dense the tree canopy grew until Ellie couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. All she could do was listen—to occasional splashes of water, the calls of owls and other night birds, and creature sounds she’d never heard before. Had she been on a dark journey through any other wilderness with anyone else, she would’ve been terrified, but her fascination with the bayou far outweighed any fear of it, and she knew deep down where it counted—had always known, really—that she could trust both of these men with her life.

  On and on they glided, through trails of Spanish moss that made her wonder what snakes might be hiding above, around first one bend and then another, until finally Ellie could see streams of moonlight piercing the leafy rooftop high above and the tiny canal spilled into a slough that had no other outlet. It was brilliantly lit, its glassy waters aglow.

  Raphe guided the boat to a spot a few yards from the bank, where a fallen tupelo gum reached out into the water, and positioned them so that the boat was parallel to the tree. Apparently satisfied with the view, he silently laid down the oar and straddled the center seat of the boat. The three of them sat there like theater patrons waiting for the curtain to go up.

  Heywood, like Ellie, was scanning his surroundings, marveling at this hidden patch of moonlight deep in the swamp. But then Ellie noticed that Raphe wasn’t searching. His eyes were riveted on that fallen tree. She followed his gaze but saw nothing at first—just the remnant of a trunk, half in the water and half out.

  At last, in the deep quiet, she heard movement in the swamp grass, a distinctive swishing that sounded like it came from something gargantuan. And then she saw it, gleaming like alabaster bathed in silver. The white alligator.

  It climbed onto the tree and lay there like a sunbather. It had to be over twelve feet long and such a pure, brilliant white that you almost couldn’t look directly at it. Light from the moon made the alligator’s eyes gleam in the night. She could make out the texture of its snowy hide and a single ribbon of dark pigment twirled down its back. Its feet were enormous, like something prehistoric. Could it sense their presence? It seemed to be basking in its solitude, undisturbed by the light or the living.