Child of the Storm (35 page)

She
looked at his one rolled up pants leg.
“
Expecting a flood?
”

“
There
’
s a hefty wall of Gulf water being
delivered this way Miss Celeste, so maybe I am. Could be, very likely. Mr.
Go
standing there with open arms.
”
He eyed her tall glass.
“
What
’
s that you
’
re drinking?
”

“
Water.
”

“
Maybe a bit of that
wine you keep in the cabinet would pick you up a little bit,
”
he suggested.
“
I
’
d join you in a glass
too, even though it
’
s not my first choice, but it isn
’
t healthy drinking alone. Given how
weak you are, I
’
d be happy to fetch it.
”

Celeste
rose from her chair with some effort. Guests don
’
t serve. She
remembered that from somewhere.
 
She
poured herself a little, but about two fingers more for him. He watched her sip
hers down before draining his own. Not very proper, she thought, but she wouldn
’
t dare say so. He departed soon after.
Drink and run, but she knew he might be busy soon. So she sat there for a time,
alone with her drifting thoughts as the rising and falling winds brushed the
sides of the house like full and swirling skirts at a big dance. Her mind
wandered from her old and weary frame.

The
door opened and her mother entered, looking tired and a little wild about the
eyes. Fear maybe, given the approaching storm. Her mother looked at the two
empty wine glasses.
“
Someone
’
s been here?
”

Celeste
knew she shouldn
’
t have been into the wine, but if it
was just part of socializing with a guest, maybe it would be
alright
.
“
Mr. Nebo dropped by.
”

Her
mother glanced around, expecting to see someone still there.

“
He
’
s gone,
”
Celeste explained.

“
Are you feeling
better?
”

“
Feeling better?
”
The question didn
’
t make sense. It had been a busy
morning and she was just sort of getting ready for something else though what
it was, she couldn
’
t recall.

Her
mother wasn
’
t there. Gabrielle sat behind Gh
é
d
é
Nebo
’
s empty glass and sagged onto the tabletop
with elbows wide, exhausted and fearful, wondering what state Celeste was in.

“
I thought you left,
”
Celeste said.

“
I took your things
back to the gallery. Put them up safe with everything else on the upper floor.
Should be okay there till after the storm.
”

“
Thought you would be
too.
Hurricane
’
s coming in.
Won
’
t be safe to be out much longer.
”

“
I
’
m not going back. I
’
m riding it out here with you and I
’
ve brought along a friend. There
’
s water and other things I need to
bring in from his truck.
”

Celeste
was shaking her head.

“
You had that attic
hatch put in for escape from a flood,
”
Gabrielle said.
“
So I figure we
’
re as safe here as back at my place.
And we can look after each other through the worst of it. Help each other keep
our spirits up.
”

Celeste
’
s eyes closed, and she drifted off
somewhere. Not the other side. Seems she
’
d forgotten how to
get there. Off into some boxed in limbo
—
some
unknown anteroom.

A
young man, Gabrielle
’
s friend, waited outside beside his
truck, waiting for Gabrielle to return with the old woman she hoped might still
leave, but he could tell that wasn
’
t going to happen.
Knowing that, and knowing he wouldn
’
t leave without
Gabrielle leaving too, he
’
d brought a few
things of his own along.
Precious little, since he was what
they called a starving artist.
Just his truck, his
boat and his dog.
Like some blues song.
No
extra clothes. If things got bad, it wouldn
’
t matter much whether
his underwear was clean tomorrow or not. He smiled at that thought
—
a whole bunch of
“
accidents
”
might be in store
for a whole lot of folks who didn
’
t leave. But he
stopped smiling when a man driving a pick-up, empty in the back end, slowed on
passing. Slowed and stopped to have a word.

“
Nice boat,
”
the man said, eyeing the aluminum
fishing boat resting in the back of the young man
’
s own truck. Eyeing
the boat, but also the big black dog in the front seat. There was something
just a little too eager in how the man checked out the boat. Not admiration,
but coveting.

“
Thanks.
”

When
the other man drove away slowly, eyes on his rear view mirror, the young man
fished a padlock and chain out from under his seat and leashed his boat to the
truck bed and the front
porch which
he
’
d back up to for ease of transfer. His
father had given him that boat and he wasn
’
t planning to lose it
to someone with quick hands and a truck.

Gabrielle
came out empty handed and saw her friend testing the chain.

“
You really don
’
t have to stay here, Virgil. I can
manage her. She can
’
t be moved.
”

“
Unless there
’
s a problem with me staying, I
’
d rather stay. Now, if she has a
problem with having me sleep over, I can stay in the truck. It
’
s passing us on the east so how bad
could it be?
”
He smiled and grabbed some of the
bottled water out of the truck.
“
But I hope she doesn
’
t make me do that. Maybe she
’
ll let Samantha stay inside.
”
He glanced at the dog, still waiting
patiently in the front seat.

“
In her state, she won
’
t mind either one of you.
”
Gabrielle dragged out another box from
the truck.
“
Let
’
s get all this inside
before the rain starts up again.
”

While
there was still light, while there was still anything left of that last day,
Gabrielle and Virgil busied themselves with an inventory of provisions and
placing all of it where they could find it in the dark, and up where it would
be above the flood. Plywood was over the windows.

Celeste
was comfortable enough seated at the table; surprisingly stable there in the
straight back chair with no arms to prop against, especially as weak as she
was. She had accepted another blanket as a stand-in for her quilt, since her
weakness had left her cold.
 
The dog, Samantha, curled up before her on the floor.

Once
it was dark, Gabrielle checked on a dozing Celeste, then sat out on the front
porch with Virgil a while longer. Somewhere, a door was being slammed by the
wind; sucked open and slammed again, over and over without rhythm. Things
skittered across the yards or down the street, bits of trash, an aluminum can
or a plastic garbage bin. Lights still burned on the porches of some houses,
but the greater glow of the city off to the west, beyond the Industrial Canal
was still shining up on the underside of the pressing clouds. They went back
inside, taking the chairs with them. The wind pushed hard, impatient and rude,
snatching the knob from her hand and slamming the door against the wall. She
got it closed and looked across at Celeste who only stirred and whispered.
“
It
’
s safer here. Just
stay put.
”

She
opened her eyes and saw Gabrielle
’
s face; focused on it
and recognized her with difficulty. The wind pressed against the plywood
covering the window and Celeste cut her eyes that way.
“
She
’
s not here yet,
”
she said softly, and Gabrielle
strained to hear her over the wind.

“
No, not yet. Not
until morning.
”

“
Pushing the tide in,
”
Celeste said.
“
Over the low parts.
Over
the wetlands.
Passing us on the east. Not by much.
”
Celeste sat with her eyes closed as if
speaking from inner visions.

“
It looks that way.
Maybe we
’
ll only get wind and rain.
”

“
It was too late,
”
Celeste
whispered.

“
Could you eat if I
fix something? Might be good to have a hot meal now in case the power goes out.
”

Celeste
nodded. It wasn
’
t the Celeste she knew and Gabrielle
’
s heart sank. After they ate and she
cleaned up, she offered to help Celeste off to her bed.

“
You
’
ll be more comfortable there.
”

Celeste
shook her head.
“
Rather be in here to receive guests.
”

The
statement worried Gabrielle, since it sounded disconnected from reality. She
remembered how her own mother got that way near the end.
“
Who
are you expecting?
”
she asked reluctantly.

But
Celeste appeared to drift and did not answer. She was waiting, and Gabrielle
held her own watch.

Gabrielle
tried to distract herself with refinements of their emergency plans. Exhausting
herself mentally as she second guessed over and over, or took mental side trips
down this or that nightmare scenario, all of it complicated by Celeste
’
s condition. At one point, Celeste
emerged from her fog and appeared to anticipate Gabrielle
’
s anxiety, reminding her young
protector of what precautions Celeste had already put in place long ago.

“
The house is strong,
”
she said softly, but with perfect
clarity.
“
The storm
’
s knocked down a bit.
Not as strong as over water.
”

But
as another strong arm of the storm passed over them again, and the winds rose
wailing, shrieking and moaning, Celeste sank back into that middle world
without warning. They each had their place to be for a time.

Hateful
voices filled the air outside. Bodiless things, wind riding spirits, maybe
waiting to be born that very night for good or ill, and beside them rode the
bitter dead, led for sure by the ghost of the teacher as she spat her evil down
at Celeste.
Raw hatred without even the decency of words to
carry it.
Sheer glee at the prospect of mayhem.

“
Maybe they passed
away in storms,
”
she confided to Gh
é
d
é
Nebo.
“
Maybe my fault.
”

“
Maybe so,
”
he said.
“
I get most souls directed on to a
proper After Life, but there are always those who feel they have unfinished
business. Some do and some don
’
t.
”
He looked at her and then to the
ceiling.
“
Guess I could always go see if there
were any new takers ready to give up the ghost as they say.
”
He left her.

Marie
sat in his emptied chair, sewing. Bernard was seated at her side, very close
but careful not to crowd her work. It looked familiar somehow, but not enough
to hold onto and reach deeper.

“
You were born out of
the gentler side of the storm, remember?
”
Marie said.

“
I try to.
”

“
It
’
s true, because I was there. Never a
more peaceful child born into this world that I ever knew. Came to make the
world more peaceful just by being here, like even a drop of honey can make a
bitter brew of coffee just that little bit less bitter. You melted away a good
measure of my Sadness, many a time. Not all of it, but a good measure. You,
Bernard, Augustin, all together couldn
’
t have taken it all
way because there was another measure that had to stay. It was part of me,
twined in with love and the rest.
”

Bernard
rested his broad hand on her shoulder as he always used to do when she
’
d start talking this way.
An acknowledgement, or reassurance maybe.
There were never
words that went with the touch. He looked at Celeste with those eyes that had
seen so much.

“
Things begin and
things end and there
’
s a time for both,
”
he said.
“
Part of being wise is feeling when it
’
s time for the one or the other. Feels
to me like it
’
s about time for both.
Time for ending and a beginning.
How does it feel to you
Celeste?
”

“
Feels that way to me
too.
”

Gabrielle
heard these words pass Celeste
’
s lips, but like a
dreamer speaks. Whatever it might mean, wherever she might be, there was no
cause for waking her. The house was standing whole and sound and true against
the increasing wind. Debris rattled against the walls like fists, but she was
up to that. When the power failed, Virgil was ready with the kerosene lamp and
Gabrielle lit the candles.

In
the shifting, dancing light of the little flames, Celeste, wrapped in her
cloak-like blanket and motionless, looked ancient. For a time she seemed to
notice her surroundings, looking at the table, the bright lamp and the bear,
lying on the floor before her. She looked at the bear and it looked at her,
waiting for her to speak.

Like
it was story time.

“
I was brought by a
storm with no name. That
’
s what I was always
told.
”

She
spoke and the others listened.
 
The
bear listened too.

“
Always liked bears
—
since I was a little girl. That much I
remember.
”
Her eyes drifted to the light of the
lamp.
“
Bears are great dreamers. Someone told
me that once, but not sure who.
”
She looked again to
the bear.
“
So what sort of dreams
do
you
have? Maybe I was never told that part.
”

“
I dream of you,
”
said the bear.

Such
a nice thing to
say,
but was it just a bear
’
s politeness or was their recognition?

“
I
’
m Celeste. Do you remember me?
”

“
Always,
”
the bear assured her.