"I know, dear. And he will as long as you remember what you promised."
"Mommy . ."
"I'll come by your room at eleven-thirty and knock softly. Be ready," she said.
I stared at her a moment. What was I going to do? Then I looked down at the book in her hands.
She was holding it upside down, just using it to stare at her own maddening thoughts.
"Mommy, it's too dangerous to go to the cemeteries at night. Daddy would be very, very angry at both of us, but especially at me. Please," I begged.
She gazed at me. "Okay, Pearl," she said. "If you don't want to do it, it's all right."
"But you're not going either, Mommy, right? Right?" I insisted.
"I won't go," she finally said, but I didn't believe her.
I pledged to stay awake and listen for her footsteps just in case.
7
Beyond the Grave
.
Despite my urgent and great desire to do so, I
had trouble keeping myself awake. I tried reading, but my eyes were drifting off the page and my head was nodding more and more. I told myself it would be easier to just-lie quietly in the dark, but almost immediately after I put out the lights and lowered my head to the pillow, my eyelids closed. The next thing I knew, I woke with a start and when I glanced at the clock, I saw it was nearly a quarter to midnight. If Mommy had come to my door to knock or if she had walked by, I hadn't heard her. I couldn't imagine her going out at night to a cemetery by herself. Confident I would find her still in her bed, I rose, put on my slippers and robe and tiptoed across the hallway to my parents' room.
The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it gently and peered in. The amber light of a half moon outlined the silhouettes of the dresser, lamps, chairs, and vanity table. I could see Daddy's head on the pillow, but when I looked closer, I did not see Mommy's. For a long moment panic nailed my feet to the floor. She must be in the bathroom, I told myself. I waited and listened, but there was no sign or any sound of her. I knocked gently on the door and waited for Daddy to lift his head. He didn't move.
I entered their bedroom and whispered loudly, "Daddy."
A heavy, resonant snore was his only response. I went to his side and touched his shoulder. I didn't want to wake him abruptly and frighten him. He might think the hospital had called about Pierre. But he wasn't responding.
"Daddy." I shook him. He moaned and turned over, still not opening his eyes.
The strong odor of bourbon reached me, and I saw the nearly empty tumbler on the nightstand. When I shook him again, more roughly, my father groaned and his eyelids fluttered but barely opened.
"Whaa," he said.
"Daddy, wake up. Where's Mommy?"
"Whaa." He closed his eyes and turned on his side. Frustrated but frantic about Mommy, I retreated from the bedroom and hurried down the stairway. I searched the rooms, all of which were dark, and then I peeked in the kitchen, hoping she had gone there to make herself some warm milk. But I found only the night-lights on and no one anywhere.
I thought for a moment and then hurried down to her studio. Even though it was dark, I could imagine her sitting there, so I flipped on the lights. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath. She wasn't there, but her recent picture caught my attention. I drew closer to it and saw that she had added more detail.
It was a sketch of Jean's face on a ghostlike body floating out of the swamp, but vaguely suggested in the water below was the figure of a man, his eyes wide.
I studied the picture and then stepped back and gasped. This was the face I saw so often in my own nightmare; it was the face of Paul Tate, who was thought to have drowned himself out of grief when ,Mommy went to live with Daddy. It was a face that obviously haunted her as well.
I turned off the lights and hurried through the house to look in the garage, where my worst fear was confirmed. Mommy's car was gone; she had driven off to meet the voodoo mama in the cemetery in which Nina Jackson had been buried. Upstairs, Daddy was in a drunken stupor. What was I to do?
I dressed quickly and drove Daddy's car to the cemetery. In the glow of the moonlight the burial vaults took on a pale flaxen glow, and the shadows around them deepened, creating long corridors of darkness that wrapped themselves tightly around most of the ovens and permitted only the very tops of monuments to be seen. The darkness resembled a sea of ink.
I hesitated and then drove slowly around the cemetery. At first I saw nothing and hoped Mommy had gone someplace less ominous; but when I made a final turn, I saw her car near an entrance, and she wasn't in it.
My heart began to thump. I pulled up behind her car and reached into the glove compartment for the flashlight. Then I turned off the engine and the lights, allowing that sea of ink to rush in around me, too. A wave of anxiety washed over me and sent my throbbing heartbeat into my bones. My fingers trembled when I reached for the door handle and stepped out. For a moment it felt as if the ground beneath my feet had softened into quicksand. Every step toward the cemetery took great effort.
I turned on the flashlight and directed the beam down the corridor ahead of me, not daring to look back or to my left or right. With my attention glued to the ray of light, I walked on, listening, hoping to find Mommy quickly and get her out of here and home.
Suddenly the screech of a cat sent sharp shivers through my chest and made my stomach do flip-flops. Blood drained down into my feet. I stopped and waved my flashlight over the ovens, cutting across the stone figures, the engraved words, and the embossed faces of the dead. A second screech was followed by a snarl, and then all went silent.
"Mommy!" I cried into the night and waited for her response, but I heard nothing except the drumming of my own heart in my ears. "Mommy, where are you?"
A shrill laugh pierced the silence. It didn't sound like Mommy, so it sent me retreating a few steps. I spun around when I heard loud whispering on my right.
"Mommy, it's me! Where are you?"
The whispering stopped. I waited and then turned down another corridor. A few moments later the voodoo mama whom Daddy and I had seen leaving our house the other day crossed in front of me. She had a black cat in her arms. She didn't look my way. She walked into the darkness as if she had flashlights for eyes, and just as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared. A moment later Mommy stepped out of the darkness, cupping a white candle in her palms, walking as slowly as a somnambulist, the glow of the candle turning her eyes into pools of gray light and making her cheeks glitter.
"Mommy!" I cried and ran to her.
"Pearl. It's all right," she said softly, but she didn't look directly at me and she didn't pause. Her eyes were fixed on what she remembered rather than what she saw, and she kept walking. It was as if she thought I too was an apparition. I seized her hand, and she turned to me, her eyes still full of the candlelight. "Nina has spoken to me," she said. "I know what I must do."
"Mommy, stop this. You're scaring me." I shook her hard, and the candle fell from her hands and was snuffed out as soon as it hit the ground.
"Oh, no!" she said, looking back into the darkness. "Quickly. We have to leave the cemetery. Quickly, Pearl." She grasped my hand desperately and pulled me forward. We ran down the dark corridors to the street. There she paused to catch her breath.
"Why did you do this, Mommy? Why did you come here by yourself?"
"I had to, Pearl. I had to. Let's go home now. It's all right. You didn't have to come looking for me."
"You told me you weren't going to do this. I fell asleep, and when I went to look for you, I saw you were gone and had taken your car. I tried to wake Daddy, but he's sound asleep," I said, eager to keep myself talking and hear the sound of my own voice. A thin wisp of a cloud had moved across the moon and weakened the little light there was around us. The silence in this dark cemetery was terrifying.
"It's all right," Mommy said. "It's going to be all right."
"Can you drive yourself home, Mommy?"
"Of course
. Let's go. And, Pearl, there's no need to tell Daddy where we were."
"Let's just get home, Mommy. Quickly."
She got into her car, and I got into mine. She drove slowly but carefully, and we pulled into the driveway together. We put the cars in the garage and then went into the house and upstairs.
"What did you do there with that woman, Mommy?" I asked her outside my bedroom.
"I did what I had to do to speak with Nina."
"You spoke to her?" I was astonished that she could believe in such a thing.
"Yes, and then she spoke to me through the cat. I know what I must do."
"What, Mommy? What did she tell you to do?"
"It's not for me to tell anyone else, darling Pearl. Only know this: I love you and your father and your brother more than I love my own life."
"Mommy, what are you going to do? I'm frightened."
"There's nothing to be frightened of, not anymore," she said with a smile. Then she hugged me. "My sweet, darling Pearl," she said wiping strands of hair from my forehead. "You deserve better than to be born under so many dark clouds. But soon, soon, we'll have sunshine again. I promise."
"Mommy, you must tell me what you think you should do. Please. I won't tell Daddy."
"It will be all right. You have to have faith, Pearl. I know you have a scientific mind, but you must have faith in things that are beyond microscopes, beyond the laws of nature, too. You must believe in things you cannot see, for there is something behind the darkness, waiting, watching. Believe and do not be afraid," she said. Then she closed her eyes.
"Mommy . ."
"I'm tired. Let's talk tomorrow. Okay? Now let me slip into bed without waking Daddy. Get some rest, honey. Go on," she prodded.
I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from asking more questions as I watched her cross to her bedroom. She seemed to float through the doorway and was gone.
My heart was beating fast, and it was difficult for me to breathe and not be drowned by everything that was happening so fast. I hated the thought of betraying Mommy, but I was convinced that I had to tell Daddy about this night and the things she had said. He had to take more interest in what she was thinking and doing and stop being so angry about it.
I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, waking and falling back into a deep sleep like drifting. Although I was exhausted, I welcomed the soft kiss of sunlight on my face and rose quickly to wash and dress so I could hear happy voices, and smell the scent of morning blossoms. The memories of last night felt so vague that I thought perhaps I had dreamed all of it; but when I looked at my sneakers, I saw the dirt from the cemetery and a chilling shiver ran down my spine.
To my surprise I discovered that Daddy had risen early and had already left the house to go to his office. Mommy hadn't come downstairs. I waited for her and finally went back upstairs to see how she was doing. I saw she was still fast asleep. Poor thing, I thought, tormenting herself so. I closed the door softly and returned to...the dining room to eat my breakfast. Mommy still had her eyes closed when I looked in on her again, but I entered the bedroom and stood by her side, watching her chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm. As I turned to leave, she groaned, opened her eyes, and sat up.
"Good morning, Mommy," I said.
She raked the room with her eyes as if she had forgotten where she was. Before she responded, she rubbed her forehead vigorously as if to erase her lingering dreams. Then she took a deep breath and brushed back her hair. "Good morning, honey. What time is it? Oh, dear," she said, gazing at the clock on her nightstand. "I hope your father isn't waiting for me before he has his breakfast."
"No, he rose early and has already gone to work."
"Work?" She thought a moment and nodded.
"Good. That's what he needs to do . . . keep himself busy. You too, honey. I want you to go back to work at the hospital."
"Not yet, Mommy. I want to devote as much time as possible to Pierre."
"Don't worry about Pierre. He's going to be fine," she said with confidence and that strange half smile she had been wearing ever since Jean's funeral.
I returned to her bedside. "What did you mean last night when you told me you knew what had to be done now, Mommy? What exactly are you planning on doing? What did that voodoo lady tell you?"
"Oh, it's just some harmless chants and rituals, Pearl. You need not worry. Let me indulge myself in my old beliefs. It doesn't do anyone any harm and who knows . . . As I always told you, you shouldn't discount any one else's faith." She dropped her half smile and grew concerned. "You didn't tell your father about last night, did you, Pearl?"
"No, Mommy. He was already gone by the time I went downstairs this morning."
"Good. Please don't say anything, darling. He's so emotionally fragile as it is. One more thing could push him over the edge. You don't want that, do you?"
"But, Mommy, going to cemeteries at night . ."
"I promise I won't go there again. Okay? Come here, honey," she said and reached out for me. I stepped closer, and she took my hand. "You and I have always had a deep bond between us, haven't we? We have always trusted each other entirely." "Yes, Mommy."
"Trust me, then, Pearl. Please," she pleaded, her eyes soft and loving.
"All right, Mommy. As long as you don't go back there."
"I won't." She looked around. "Well, I guess I'll get up and have breakfast. I am hungry this morning."
"Will you go to the hospital with me today, Mommy?"
"I will," she said. "I have just a few things to do first. Why don't you go ahead and I'll join you later?"
"When?" I demanded.
"After lunch. Okay?"
"Maybe I should wait for you and we should go together," I said, not believing her.
"Now, Pearl, what did I just ask from you? I asked for a little trust between us, right? I'll be fine. Besides," she said, "by the time I arrive, Pierre will have begun a real recuperation. You'll see," she said. She rose and went into the bathroom. I lingered awhile, wondering if I shouldn't just call Daddy and tell him to rush right home.
But then I realized that Mommy was right. Daddy was fragile, too. If he was beginning to put himself together, I should let him do that unhampered. It had fallen to me to be the pillar of strength in our house, whether I wanted it or not. It was getting late anyway, and I didn't want Pierre to see so much of the day go by without any of us there.
When I arrived, however, I learned that Daddy had already visited with him. He had brought him his favorite comic books and some of his favorite pralines, but everything remained on the table where he had left it. Pierre was propped up comfortably in his bed, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes fixed on the wall, the lids blinking reflexively. His lips quivered slightly when I kissed his cheek and sat beside him, taking his left hand into mine.
"Mommy's coming to see you today, Pierre. Won't you try to speak just for her. She desperately needs to hear your voice."
His blinking continued in the same rhythm, and his eyes didn't shift. I looked down at his hand in mine. His fingers were curled inward and his palm was cool.
"We're all blaming ourselves, but it was no one's fault, Pierre, no one's," I murmured. Slowly his fingers began to straighten. I looked up and saw his eyes and then his face turn toward me. His lips began to stretch with his effort to open his mouth and then I saw his tongue lifting against his teeth. His eyes widened with the tremendous struggle to animate his face and produce an intelligible sound. I waited, holding my breath.
And then his lips moved up and down, followed by a clicking sound. I rose and stroked his forehead and his hair.
"Easy, Pierre. Easy. What do you want to say? I'm right here."
I kissed his cheek again. His lips moved faster, and a sound started in his throat. It formed itself into his first word since Jean's tragedy: "I . . ."
"Yes, Pierre," I said, my tears building. "Yes, honey."
"I . . . tha . . . tho . . . thought."
I brought my ear closer
to his lips.
"Thought it was a branch," he said and closed his eyes.
"Oh, Pierre." I hugged him. "We know. We know, honey. No one blames you. No one," I said rocking back and forth with him in my arms. When I released him and sat back, however, he was staring at the wall again, his lips frozen, his eyelids blinking in that same rhythm.
"How are we doing?" I heard someone say. I turned to greet Dr. LeFevre.
"He spoke to me!" I said. "In a whisper, but he said a sentence."
"That's wonderful. His recovery has really begun. I am going to recommend that you and your family take him home. He'll need some nursing care, but he's off the I.V. and taking in food and water. The rest is just a matter of time and tender loving care. Afterward we'll see what sort of therapy is required."
"Oh, Pierre, do you hear that? You're going home. Isn't that wonderful?"
He didn't react, didn't change his expression, didn't move his lips.
Dr. Lefevre checked his blood pressure, then spoke to him. "Your family wants you home, Pierre. They need you to get well and be yourself again. But they can't do everything for you. You've got to want to help yourself. You've got to do what we talked about, okay?" she said, patting his hand. He didn't seem to hear her or see her. She smiled and winked at me. "It's going to take time," she said. "Time and patience."
"I'll call my father and tell him what you want us to do."
"Fine. I can recommend some nurses. Have him call my office in an hour or so," she added. Then she paused and led me away from the bed. "How is your mother doing? I've seen your father here, but not her."
"Up until now she hasn't been doing well. She blames herself too," I said.
"Of course. But she's made an improvement?"
"I think so."
"Taking care of Pierre will occupy her mind and end her self-condemnation. She won't have time for it," Dr. Lefevre assured me. "And you should come back to work, too," she added. "They miss you around here."
I smiled and thanked her, and then I hurried out into the corridor to call Daddy.
He was very excited. "Did you call your mother yet?"