Ruby

18

A Curse

Gisselle and I didn't speak to each other very much the next day. I finished breakfast before she came down, and soon after she did, she went off with Martin and two of her girlfriends. Daddy left, saying he had to catch up on some work in his office, and I saw Daphne only for a moment before she hurried out to meet some friends for shopping and lunch. I spent the remainder of the morning in my studio, painting. I was still uncomfortable living in such a big house. Despite the many beautiful antiques and works of art, the expensive French furniture and elaborate tapestries and carpets, for me the house remained as empty and as cold as a museum. It was easy to be lonely here, I thought as I wandered back through the long corridors afterward to have my lunch alone.

And so I was glad when Beau arrived in the early afternoon and we went into my art studio to practice our play lines. First, he looked at the pictures I had drawn and painted under Professor Ashbury's tutelage.

"Well?" I said when he went from one to the other without comment.

"How about doing a picture of me?" he suggested, looking up from a watercolor of a bowl of fruit.

"Of you?" The idea startled me. A slow grin appeared on his handsome face.

"Sure. I hope it would be a lot more interesting than something like this." His grin quickly evaporated. Suddenly, those smiling sapphire eyes looked at me as I had never been looked at before. They darkened so with pure desire. "I'd even pose nude, if you like," he said.

I know my cheeks turned crimson.

"Nude! Beau!"

"It's only for the sake of art, right?" he followed quickly. "And an artist has to practice drawing and painting the human body, doesn't she? Even I know that much," he said. "I'm sure your teacher will be taking you to his studio soon and have you do nudes. I hear there are college guys and girls who do it for the money. Or have you already drawn and painted someone in the nude?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Of course not. I'm not ready for that sort of work yet, Beau," I said, my voice nearly failing. He took a few steps toward me.

"You don't think I'm good-looking enough? You think the college guys will look better?"

"No, I don't. It's not that. It's just . . ."

"Just what?"

"I'd be too embarrassed to draw you. Now stop. We came in here to memorize play lines," I said, opening my script. He continued to gaze at me with that look of pure longing on his face, his cerulean eyes darkening. I had to fix my eyes on the pages so he couldn't see the excitement he had stirred in my breast. My heart pitter-pattered when the image of him sprawled nude on a chaise flashed before me. I couldn't help but tremble. I hoped he didn't see the way my fingers fumbled with the pages of my script.

"Are you sure?" he questioned. "You never know about something until you try." I took a deep breath, put the script down, and looked up at him sharply.

"I'm sure, Beau. Besides, all I need is for Daphne to believe one more bad thing about me. She has Daddy nearly convinced that I'm some sort of wicked Cajun girl, thanks to Gisselle."

"What do you mean?" Beau asked, quickly sitting beside me. Breathlessly, I gushed forth, describing how I had been interrogated about Annie Gray.

"Gisselle told on you?" He shook his head. "I guess she's just jealous," he said. "Well, she has reason to be," he added, his eyes continuing to grow warmer. "I'm too fond of you now to turn back. She's going to have to get used to it and behave herself."

We stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Outside, the morning overcast had darkened into rain clouds and a hard downpour began, the drops tapping on the windows and streaking down like tears on someone's cheeks.

Gradually, Beau leaned toward me. I didn't move away and he kissed me softly on the lips. I felt my small wall of resistance start to crumble. Surprising myself, as well as him, I returned his kiss the moment his ended. Neither of us said anything, but we both knew the memorization session was destined to fail. Neither he nor I could concentrate on the play. As soon as I lifted my eyes from the words and met his, my mind stumbled and fumbled.

Finally, he took the play script from my hand and put it aside with his. Then he turned to me.

"Paint me, Ruby," he whispered in a voice as tempting as the serpent's must have been in Paradise. "Draw me and paint me. Let's lock the door and do it," he challenged.

"Beau, I couldn't . . . I just couldn't."

"Why not? You paint animals without clothes," he teased. "And naked fruit, don't you?"

"Stop, Beau."

"It's nothing," he said, growing serious again. "We'll keep it a secret between us," he added. "Why don't we do it right now? There's no one here to disturb us," he said, and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Beau . . ."

With his eyes fixed on me, he stripped off his shirt and then stood up to unfasten his pants.

"Go lock the door," he said, nodding.

"Beau, don't . . ."

"If you don't lock it and someone does walk in . . ."

"Beau Andreas!"

He stepped out of his pants and folded them neatly over the back of the lounge. He stood only in his briefs, his hands on his hips, waiting.

"How should I pose? Sitting? Knees up? On my stomach?"

"Beau, I said I can't . . ."

"The door," he replied, nodding toward it more emphatically. To move me faster, he tucked his thumbs into the elastic of his briefs and began lowering them over his hips. I jumped out of the chair and rushed to the door. The moment I heard the lock click, I knew I had let it go too far. Was it only because I didn't know how to stop him, or did I permit it to happen, want it to happen? I turned and saw him standing with his shorts in his hand, holding them in front of himself:

"How should I pose?" he asked.

"Put your clothes back on this instant, Beau Andreas," I ordered.

"It's done already. It's too late to turn back. Just start."

He sat down on the lounge, still keeping his briefs over his private parts. Then he nonchalantly brought up his feet and sprawled out, facing me. With a quick gesture, he raised his briefs and draped them over the back of the lounge. My mouth gaped.

"Should I lean on my hand like this? This is good, isn't it?"

I shook my head, turned away from him, and sat down quickly in the nearest chair because my pounding heart had turned my legs to marshmallow.

"Do it, Ruby. Draw me," he ordered. "This is a challenge to see if you can really be an artist and look at someone and see only an object to draw and paint, like a doctor separating himself from his patient so he could do what has to be done."

"I can't, Beau. Please. I'm not a doctor and you're not my patient," I insisted, still without looking at him.

"Our secret, Ruby," he whispered. "It will be our secret," he chanted. "Go on. Look at me. You can do it. Look at me," he commanded.

Slowly, like one hypnotized by his words, I turned my head and gazed at him, at his sleek, muscular torso, at the way the lines of his body turned into each other. Could I do what he asked? Could I look at him and detach myself enough to see him only as something to draw?

The artist in me demanded to know, wanted to know. I rose and went to my easel and flipped over the page to work on a blank one. Then I took the drawing pencil in hand and looked at him, drinking him in with long, visual gulps and then turning what I saw into something on the page. My fingers, trembling badly at first, became stronger, firmer as the lines took shape. I took the most time with his face, capturing him as I saw him in my own mind as well as how he looked to others. I drew him with a deep, strong look in his eyes. Satisfied, I moved to his body and soon I had the outline of his shoulders, his sides, his hips, and his legs. I concentrated on his chest and his neck, capturing the strong muscle structure and the smooth lines.

All the while he kept his eyes fixed so firmly on me; it was as if he were a mannequin. I think he was testing himself as much as he was testing me.

"This is hard work," he finally said.

"You want to stop?"

"No. I can go a while longer. I can go as long as you can," he added.

My fingers began to tremble again as I moved down the drawing to the small of his stomach. Now, with every turn of the pencil, I felt I was actually running the tips of my fingers over his body, slowly working my way down until I had to draw his manliness. He knew I had reached that point, for his lips tightened into a sensuous smile.

"If you have to come closer, don't be afraid," he said in a loud whisper.

I dropped my eyes back to the easel and drew quickly, sketching so fast I must have looked like someone in a frenzy. I didn't have to look up at him again. The image of his body lingered on my eyes. I know I was flushed. My heart was pounding so hard, I don't know how I continued, but I did. And when I finally stepped back from the paper, I had drawn a rather detailed picture of him.

"Is it good?" he asked.

"I think so," I said, surprised at how really good it was. I couldn't remember drawing a single line. It was as though I had been possessed.

Suddenly, he rose and stepped up beside me to look at the drawing.

"It is good," he said.

"You can put on your clothes now, Beau," I said, without turning away from the drawing.

"Don't be so nervous," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Beau . . ."

"You've already seen all there is to see. No reason to be shy anymore," he whispered. When he put his arm around me, I tried to move away; I willed my feet to carry me off, but my command died somewhere on the way and I remained beside him, as pliable as soft clay, permitting him to turn me around so that I faced him and enabled him to kiss me. I felt his nakedness against me, his manliness harden.

"Beau, please . . ."

"Shh," he said, wiping my face softly with his palm. He kissed me tenderly on the lips and then he lifted me into his arms and carried me back to the lounge. As he lowered me onto it, he went to his knees and leaned over to kiss me again. His fingers moved quickly over my clothing, unbuttoning my blouse, unzipping my skirt. He undid my bra and peeled it away. My breasts shuddered, uncovered, but I didn't resist. I kept my eyes closed and only moaned as he kissed me on the neck, the shoulders, and then nibbled gently under and over my breasts. He lifted me gently and slipped my skirt down over my hips, quickly burying his face in the small of my stomach. His kisses were like fire now. Everywhere his lips touched me, I felt the heat build.

"You're wonderful, Ruby, wonderful. You're as pretty as Gisselle on the outside and far more beautiful and lovely on the inside," he said. "I can't help but love you. I can't think of anything else but you. I'm mad for you," he swore.

Wonder filled me. Did he truly love me with such passion? In a moment of exquisite silence, I heard the gentle tapping of the rain and felt a warm shudder pass through my body. His fingers continued to explore me, stir me. I seized his head in my hands, intending to stop him, but instead I kissed his forehead, his hair. I held him against my bosom tightly.

"Your heart's pounding and so is mine," he said. He looked into my eyes. I closed them and then, as in a dream, I felt his soft lips move over my cheek, in my hair, then lightly over my eyelids and finally my lips again. This time, as he kissed me, he slipped his fingers under the waist of my panties and drew them down.

I started to protest, but he quieted me with another kiss.

"It will be wonderful, Ruby," he whispered. "I promise. Besides, you should know what it's like. An artist should know," he said.

"Beau, I'm afraid. Please . . . don't . . ."

"It's all right." He smiled down at me. I was naked below him and his nakedness was against me. I felt him throbbing. It took my breath away, made it harder and harder to talk, to plead. "I want to be your first. I should be your first," he said. "Because I love you."

"Do you, Beau? Do you really?"

"Yes," he swore. Then he returned his lips to mine, slipping himself in between my legs at the same time. I tried to resist, keeping my legs tight, but as he prodded, he continued to kiss me and whisper and nudge me in places I had shown no boy nor man before. I felt like I was trying to hold back a deluge. Wave after wave of excitement washed over me until I was drowning in my own thundering flood of passion. I lost my final desire to resist and felt my thighs and my back relax as he moved with determination to enter me. I cried. I felt my head spin and a delightful dizziness send me reeling back into the echo of my own soft moans. The explosions within me, surprised, frightened, and then pleased me. Finally, his climax came fast, hot, and furious. I felt him shudder and then come to a peaceful stillness, his lips still pressed against my cheek, his breathing still heavy and hard.

"Oh, Ruby," he moaned, "Ruby, you're beautiful, wonderful."

The realization of what had happened, what I had permitted swept over me. I pushed on his shoulders.

"Let me up, Beau. Please," I cried. He sat back and I seized my garments and began putting them on quickly. "You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked.

"I'm mad at myself," I said.

"Why? Wasn't it wonderful for you, too?"

I buried my foam in my hands and began to cry. I couldn't help it. He tried to soothe me, comfort me.

"Ruby, it's all right. Really. Don't cry."

"It's not all right, Beau. It's not. I was hoping I was different," I said.

"Different? From what? From Gisselle?"

"No. From . . ." I couldn't say it. I couldn't tell him I was hoping I wasn't a Landry because he didn't know who my real mother was, but that's what I meant. The blood that ran through my veins was just as hot as the blood that had run through my mother's and had gotten her in trouble with Paul's father and later, with Daddy.

"I don't understand," Beau said. He started to put on his clothes.

"It doesn't matter," I said, regaining control of myself. I turned to him. "I'm not blaming you for anything, Beau. You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do myself in the end."

"I really care for you, Ruby," he said. "I think I care for you more than I've cared for any other girl."

"Do you, Beau? You didn't just say those things?"

"Of course not. I . . ."

We heard footsteps in the corridor outside my studio. I hurried to finish dressing and he stuffed his shirt into his pants just as someone tried the door. Instantly, there was a pounding. It was Daphne.

"Open this door immediately!" she cried.

I ran to it and unlocked it. She stood there, staring in at us, looking me over with so much disapproval, I couldn't help but tremble.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Why was this door locked?"

"We were just studying our play lines and didn't want to be disturbed," I said quickly. My heart was pounding. I was sure my hair was messed and my clothes looked hurriedly put on. She ran her eyes over me again as if I were a slave on an auction block in the antebellum South and then quickly shifted her gaze to Beau. His weak smile reinforced her suspicions.

"Where are your play scripts?" she demanded with a scowl.

"Right here," Beau said, and picked them up to show them to her.

"Hmm," she said, and then flicked her stony eyes at me. "I can't wait to see the result of all this dedicated rehearsal." She pulled herself up into an even straighter, firmer posture. "We're having some dinner guests tonight. Dress more formally," she ordered in a cold, commanding tone. "And fix your hair. Where's your sister?"

"I don't know," I said. "She left earlier and hasn't returned."

"Should she somehow get past me before dinner, inform her of my instructions," she said. She glanced at Beau again, her frown deepening, and then returned her gaze to me and fired her words like bullets. "I don't like locked doors in my house. When people lock doors, they usually have something to hide or they're doing something they don't want anyone else to know," she snapped, and then pivoted and left. It was as if a cold wind had just blown through the room. I let out a breath and so did Beau.

"You better be going, Beau," I said. He nodded.

"I'll pick you up for school tomorrow," he said. "Ruby . . ."

"I hope you really meant what you said, Beau. I hope you really do care for me."

"I do. I swear," he said, and kissed me. "I'll see you in the morning. Bye." He was eager to escape. Daphne's looks were like darts sticking into his facade of innocence.

After he left I sat down for a moment. The events of the last hour seemed more like a dream now. It wasn't until I got up and looked at the drawing I had done of him that I realized none of it was a dream. I covered the picture and hurried out, feeling so light, I thought I might just be carried out an open window by a passing breeze.

Gisselle didn't return home in time for dinner. She phoned to say she was eating with her friends. Daphne was very upset about it, but quickly hid her displeasure when our dinner guests, Monsieur Hamilton Davies and his wife, Beatrice, arrived. Monsieur Davies was a man in his late fifties or early sixties who owned a steamboat company that took tourists up and down the Mississippi River. Daphne had let me know that he was one of the wealthiest men in New Orleans, who they were trying to involve with some of my father's investments. She also let me know in no uncertain terms that it was very important I be on my best behavior and make a good impression.

"Don't speak unless spoken to and when someone does speak to you, answer promptly and briefly. They'll be watching the way you comport yourself so remember everything I taught you about dinner etiquette," she lectured.

"If you're worried about me embarrassing you, maybe I should eat earlier," I suggested.

"Nonsense," she said sharply. "The Davies are here because they want to see you. They're the first of our friends I've invited. They know it's an honor," she added in her most haughty, arrogant tone.

Was I some sort of trophy now, a curiosity she was using to enhance her own importance in the eyes of her friends? I wondered, but dared not ask. Instead, I dressed as she told me to dress and took my place at the table, concentrating on my posture and my manners.

The Davies were pleasant enough, but their interest in my story made me uncomfortable. Madame Davies, especially, asked many detailed questions about my life in the bayou with "those awful Cajuns," and I had to make up answers on the spot, glancing quickly at Daphne after each response to see if I had said the right things.

"Ruby's tolerance for these swamp people is understandable," she told the Davies when I didn't sound bitter enough. "For all of her life, she was led to believe she was one of them and they were her family."

"How tragic," Madame Davies said. "And yet, look at how nice she's turning out. You're doing a wonderful job with her, Daphne."

"Thank you," Daphne said, gloating.

"We oughta get her story into the newspapers, Pierre," Hamilton Davies suggested.

"That would only bring her notoriety, Hamilton dear," Daphne said quickly. "The truth is, we've shared these details solely with our dearest friends," she added. The way she smiled, batted her eyelashes, and turned her shoulders at him made his eyes twinkle with pleasure. "And we've asked everyone to be discreet. No sense in making life any more difficult for the poor child than it already has been," she added.

"Of course," Hamilton said. He smiled at me. "That would be the least desirable thing to do. As usual, Daphne, you're a lot wiser and clearer thinkin' than us Creole men."

Daphne lowered and then raised her eyes flirtatiously. Watching her in action, I felt confident I was watching an expert when it came to manipulating men. All the while my father sat back, a smile of admiration, a look of idolization in his eyes. Even so, I was happy when dinner ended and I was excused.

A few hours later, I heard Gisselle return home and go to her room. I waited to see if she would knock on our adjoining door or try it, but she went right to her telephone. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I heard her voice drone on well into the night. She seemed to have a slew of friends to call. Naturally, I was curious about what she gossiped, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of going to her. I was still very angry over the things she had done.

The next morning, she was all brightness and light, just bubbling over with pleasantness at the breakfast table. I was cordial to her in front of Daddy, but I was determined to see her apologize before I would be as friendly as I had been. To both Beau's and ray surprise, she had Martin pick her up for school. Just before she skipped down the steps to get into his car, she turned to me and offered the closest thing to an apology.

"Don't blame me for what happened. Someone else told them we had gone to Storyville and I had to tell them about your friend," she said. "See you at school, sister dear," she added with a smile.

Before I could reply, she was rushing off. A few moments later, I got into Beau's car and we followed. He was still worried about Daphne.

"Did she say or ask you anything else after I left?" he wanted to know.

"No. She was worried only about pleasing our dinner guests."

"Good," he said with visible relief. "My parents have been invited to dinner at your house next weekend. We'll just have to cool it a bit," he suggested.

But cooling things down was not to be my destiny. As soon as we entered the school, I sensed a different atmosphere about me. Beau thought I was imagining it, but it seemed to me that most of the students were looking my way and smiling. Some hid their smirks behind their hands when they whispered, but many didn't try to be discreet. It wasn't until the end of English class that I found out why.

As the class filed out, one of the boys came up beside me and bumped his shoulder against mine.

"Oh, sorry," he said.

"It's all right." I started away, but he seized my arm to pull me back beside him.

"Say, are you smiling in this?" he asked, holding out his hand and unclenching his fist to reveal a picture of me naked in his palm. It was one of the pictures that had been taken at Claudine's slumber party. In it, I had just turned back and wore a look of shock on my face, but most of my body was clearly exposed.

He laughed and hurried on to join a pack of students who had gathered to wait at the corner of the corridor. The collection of both girls and boys gazed over his shoulder to look at the photograph. A kind of paralyzing numbness gripped me. I felt as if my legs had been nailed to the floor. Suddenly, Gisselle joined the group.

"Make sure you tell everyone it's my sister and not me," she quipped, and everyone laughed. She smiled at me and continued on, arm and arm with Martin.

My tears clouded my vision. Everything looked out of focus or hazy. Even Beau coming down the corridor toward me, a look of concern on his face, seemed distant and distorted. I felt something within me crack and suddenly, a shrill scream flowed out of my mouth. Every single person in the corridor, including some teachers, froze and looked my way.

"Ruby!" Beau called.

I shook my head, denying the reality of what was taking place before me. Some students were laughing; some were smiling. Few looked worried or unhappy.

"You . . . animals!" I cried. "You mean, cruel . . . animals!"

I turned and threw my books down and just lunged at the nearest exit.

"RUBY!" Beau cried after me, but I shot through the door and ran down the steps. He came after me, but I was running as hard and as fast as I had ever run. I nearly got hit by a car when I sprinted across the street. The driver put on his brakes and brought it to a screeching stop, but I didn't pause. I ran on and on, not even looking where I was going. I ran until I felt a dozen needles in my side and then, with my lungs bursting, I finally slowed down and collapsed behind an old, large oak tree on someone's front lawn. There, I sobbed and sobbed until my well of tears ran dry and my chest ached with the heaving and crying.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself far away. I saw myself back in the bayou, floating in a pirogue through the canal on a warm, clear spring day.

The clouds above me now disappeared. The grayness of the New Orleans day was replaced by the sunshine in my memory. As my pirogue floated closer to the shore, I heard Grandmère Catherine singing behind the house. She was hanging up some clothes she had washed.

"Grandmère," I called. She leaned to the right and saw me. Her smile was so bright and alive. She looked so young and so beautiful to me.

"Grandmère;" I muttered with my eyes still shut tight. "I want to go home. I want to be back in the bayou, living with you. I don't care how poor we were or how hard things were for us. I was still happier. Grandmère, please, make it all right again. Don't be dead and gone. Perform one of your rituals and erase time. Make all this just a nightmare. Let me open my eyes and be beside you in the loom room, working. I'll count to three and it will be true. One . . . two . . ."

"Hey, there," I heard a man call. I opened my eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" An elderly man with wild snow white hair stood in the doorway of the house in front of which I had collapsed. He waved a black cane toward me. "What do you want here?"

"I was just resting, sir," I said.

"This isn't a park, you know," he said. He looked at me more closely. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir," I said and got up. "I'm sorry," I said, and walked off quickly. When I reached the corner, I gathered my bearings and hurried up the next street. Realizing how close I was, I headed for home. When I arrived, Daddy and Daphne were already gone.

"Mademoiselle Ruby?" Edgar said, opening the door and looking out at me. This time I couldn't hide my tear-streaked face or pretend to be all right. He tightened his face into an expression of concern and anger. "Come along," he ordered. I followed him through the corridor to the kitchen. "Nina," he said as soon as we entered. Nina turned around and took one look at me and then at him. She nodded.

"She'll be fine with me," she said, and Edgar, looking satisfied, left. Nina drew closer.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"Oh, Nina," I cried. "No matter what I do, she finds a way to hurt me."

Nina nodded.

"No more. You come with Nina now. This will be stopped. Wait here," she commanded, and left me in the kitchen. I heard her go down the corridor to the stairway. After a minute or so, she returned and took my hand. I thought she was going to take me back to her room again for one of her voodoo rituals. But she surprised me. She threw off her apron and led me to the back door.

"Where are we going, Nina?" I asked as she hurried me through the yard to the street.

"To see Mama Dede. You need very strong gris-gris. Only Mama Dede can do it. Just one thing, child," she said, stopping at the corner and drawing her face closer to mine, her black eyes wide with excitement. "Do not tell Monsieur and Madame Dumas where I'm taking you, okay? This will be our secret only, okay?"

"Who is . . . ?"

"Mama Dede, voodoo queen of all New Orleans now."

"What is Mama Dede going to do?"

"Get your sister to stop hurting you. Drive Papa La Bas out of her heart. Make her be good. You want that?"

"Yes, Nina. I want that," I said.

"Then swear to keep the secret. Swear."

"I swear, Nina."

"Good. Come," she said, and started us down the walk again. I was just angry enough to go anywhere and do anything she wanted.

We took the streetcar and then got off and took a bus to a rundown section of the city in which I had never been, nor even seen. The buildings looked no better than shacks. Black children, most too young to go to school, played on the scarred and bald front yards. Broken-down cars and some that looked like they were about to break down were parked along the streets. The sidewalks were dirty, the gutters full of cans, bottles, and paper. Here and there a lone sycamore or magnolia tree struggled to battle the abused surroundings. To me this looked like a place where the sun itself hated to shine. No matter how bright the day, everything still looked tarnished, rusted, faded.

Nina hurried us along the sidewalk until we reached a shack house no better or no worse than any of the others. The windows all had dark shades drawn and the sidewalk, steps, and even the front door were chipped and cracked. Above the front door hung a string of bones and feathers.

"The queen lives here?" I asked, astounded. I had been expecting another mansion.

"She sure do," Nina said. We went down the narrow walk to the front door and Nina turned the bell key. After a moment a very old black woman, toothless, her hair so thin, I could see the shape and color of her scalp, opened the door and peered out. She wore what looked like a potato sack to me. Stooped, her shoulders turned in sharply, she lifted her tired eyes to gaze at Nina and me. I didn't think she was any more than four feet tall. She wore a pair of men's sneakers, stained, without laces, and no socks.

"Must see Mama Dede," Nina said. The old lady nodded and stepped back so we could enter the small house. The walls were cracked and peeling. The floor looked like it had once been covered with carpet that had just recently been ripped up. Here and there pieces of it remained glued or tacked to the slats. The aroma of something very sweet flowed from the rear of the house. The old lady gestured toward a room on the left and Nina took my hand and we entered.

A half-dozen large candles provided the light. The room looked like a store. It was that full of charms and bones, dolls, and bunches of feathers, hair, and snakeskins. One wall was covered with shelves and shelves of jars of powders. And there were cartons of different color candles on the floor along the far wall.

In the midst of all this clutter were a small settee and two torn easy chairs, the springs popped out of the bottom of one. Between the chairs and the settee was a wooden box. Gold and silver shapes had been etched around it.

"Sit," the old lady commanded. Nina nodded at the easy chair on our left and I went to it. She went to the other.

"Nina . . ." I began.

"Shh," she said and closed her eyes. "Just wait." A moment later, from somewhere else in the house, I heard the sound of a drum. It was a low, steady beat. I couldn't help but become nervous and afraid. Why had I allowed myself to be brought here?

Suddenly, the blanket that hung in the doorway in front of us parted and a much younger looking black woman appeared. She had long, silky black hair gathered in thick ropelike strands around her head, over which she wore a red tignon with seven knots whose points all stuck straight up. She was tall and wore a black robe that flowed all the way down to her bare feet. I thought she had a pretty face, lean with high cheekbones and a nicely shaped mouth, but when she turned to me, I shuddered. Her eyes were as gray as granite.

She was blind.

"Mama Dede, I come for big help," Nina said. Mama Dede nodded and entered the room, moving as if she weren't blind, swiftly and gracefully sitting herself on the settee. She folded her hands in her lap and waited, those seemingly dead eyes turning toward me. I didn't move; hardly breathed.

"Speak of it, sister," she said.

"This little girl here, she's got a twin sister, jealous and cruel, who does bad things to her causing much pain and grief."

"Give me your hand," Mama Dede said to me, and held hers out. I looked at Nina who nodded. Slowly, I put mine into Mama Dede's. She closed her fingers firmly over mine. They felt hot.

"Your sister," Mama Dede said to me. "You don't know her long and she don't know you long?"

"Yes, that's right," I said amazed.

"And your mother, she can't help you none?"

"No."

"She be dead and gone to the other side," she said, nodding and then she released my hand and turned to Nina.

"Papa La Bas, he eating on her sister's heart," Nina said. "Making her hateful, somethin' terrible. Now we got to protect this baby, Mama. She believes. Her Grandmère was a Traiteur lady in the bayou."

Mama Dede nodded softly and then held out her hand again, this time—palm up. Nina dug into her pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. She put it in Mama Dede's hand. Mama Dede closed her palm and then turned to the doorway where the old lady stood watching. She came forward and took the silver coin and dropped it in a pocket in her sack dress.

"Burn two yellow candles," she prescribed. The old lady moved to the cartons and plucked out two yellow candles. She set them in holders and then lit their wicks. I thought that might be all there was to it, but suddenly, Mama Dede reached out and seized the top of the ornate box. She lifted it gently and put it beside her on the settee. Nina looked very happy. I waited as Mama Dede concentrated and then dipped her hands into the box. When she brought them up, I nearly fainted.

She was clutching a young python snake. It seemed asleep, barely moving, its eyes just two slits. I gulped to keep down a scream as Mama Dede brought the snake to her face.

Instantly, the snake's tongue jetted out and it licked her cheek. As soon as it had, Mama Dede returned it to the box and covered the box again.

"From the snake, Mama Dede gets the power and the vision," Nina whispered. "Old legend say, first man and first woman entered the world blind and were given sight by the snake."

"What's your sister's name, child?" Mama Dede asked. My tongue tightened. I was afraid to give it, afraid now that something terrible might occur.

"You must be the one to give the name," Nina instructed. "Give Mama Dede the name."

"Gisselle," I said. "But . . ."

"Eh! Eh bomba hen hen!" Mama Dede began to chant. As she chanted, she turned and twisted her body under the robe, writhing to the sound of the drum and the rhythm of her own voice.

"Canga bafie te. Danga moune de te. Canga do ki Gisselle!" she ended with a shout.

My heart was pounding so hard, I had to press the palm of my hand against my breast. Mama Dede turned toward Nina again. She reached into her pocket and produced what I recognized as one of Gisselle's hair ribbons. That was why she had first gone upstairs before we left. I wanted to reach out and stop her before she put it into Mama Dede's hand, but I was too late. The voodoo queen clutched it tightly.

"Wait," I cried, but Mama Dede opened the box and dropped the ribbon into it.

Then she writhed again and began a new chant.

"L'appe vini, Le Grand Zombi. L'appe vini, pou fe gris-gris."

"He is coming," Nina translated. "The Great Zombi, he is coming, to make gris-gris."

Mama Dede paused suddenly and screamed a piercing cry that made my heart stop for a moment. I thought it had risen into my throat. I couldn't swallow; I could barely breathe. She froze and then she fell back against the settee, dropping her head to the side, her eyes closed. For a moment no one moved, no one spoke. Then Nina tapped me on the knee and nodded toward the door. I rose quickly. The old lady moved ahead and opened the front door for us.

"Thank Mama, please, Grandmère," Nina said. The old lady nodded and we left.

My heart didn't stop racing until we reached home again. Nina was so confident everything would be all right now. I couldn't imagine what to expect. But when Gisselle returned from school, she wasn't a bit changed. In fact, she bawled me out for running away and blamed me for everything that happened as a result.

"Because you ran off like that, Beau got into a fight with Billy and they were both taken to the principal," she said, stopping in the doorway of my room. "Beau's parents have to come to school before he can return.

"Everyone thinks you're crazy now. It was all just a joke. But I got called into the principal's office, too, and he's going to call Daddy and Mommy, thanks to you. Now we'll both be in trouble."

I turned to her slowly, my heart so full of anger, I didn't think I would be able to speak without screaming. But I surprised myself and frightened her with the control in my voice.

"I'm sorry Beau got into a fight and into trouble. He was only trying to protect me. But I'm not sorry about you.

"It's true, I lived in a world that most would consider quite backward compared to the one you've lived in, Gisselle. And it's true the people are simpler and things happen that city people think are terrible, crude, and even immoral.

"But the cruel things you've done to me and permitted others to do to me make anything I've seen in the bayou look like child's play. I thought we could be sisters, real sisters who looked out for each other and cared for each other, but you're determined to hurt me any way you can and whenever you can," I said. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now, despite my effort not to cry in front of her.

"Sure," she replied, moans in her voice, too. "You're making me out to be the bad one now. But you're the one who just appeared on our doorstep and turned our world topsy-turvy. You're the one who got everyone to like you more than they like me. You stole Beau, didn't you?"

"I didn't steal him. You told me you didn't care about him anymore anyway," I said.

"Well . . . I don't, but I don't like someone stealing him away," she added. She stood there, fuming for a few moments. "You better not get me in trouble when the principal calls," she warned and marched off.

Dr. Storm did call. After breaking up the fight between Beau and Billy, a teacher had taken the photograph and brought it to the principal. Dr. Storm told Daphne about the picture and she called Gisselle and me into the study just before dinner. She was so full of anger and embarrassment, her face looked distorted: her eyes large and furious, her mouth stretched into a grimace and her nostrils wide.

"Which one of you allowed such a picture to be taken?" she demanded. Gisselle looked down quickly.

"Neither of us allowed it, Mother," I said. "Some boys snuck into Claudine's house without any of us knowing and while I was changing into a costume for a game we were playing, they snapped the picture of me."

"We're the laughingstock of the school community by now, I'm sure," she said. "And the Andreas have to see the principal. I just got off the phone with Edith Andreas. She's beside herself. This is the first time Beau has gotten into serious trouble. And all because of you," she accused.

"But . . ."

"Did you do these sorts of things in the swamp?"

"No. Of course not," I replied quickly.

"I don't know how you get yourself involved in one terrible thing after another so quickly, but you apparently do. Until further notice, you are not to go anywhere, no parties, no dates, no expensive dinners, nothing. Is that understood?"

I choked back my tears. Defending myself was useless. All she could see was how she had been disgraced.

"Yes, Mother."

"Your father doesn't know about this yet. I will tell him calmly when he returns. Go upstairs and remain in your room until it's time to come down for dinner."

I left and went upstairs, feeling strangely numb. It was as if I didn't care anymore. She could do whatever she wanted to do to me. It didn't matter.

Gisselle paused in my doorway on the way back to her room. She flashed a smile of self-satisfaction, but I didn't say a word to her. That night, we had the quietest dinner since I had arrived. My father was subdued by his disappointment and by what I was sure was Daphne's rage. I avoided his eyes and was happy when Gisselle and I were excused. She couldn't wait to get to her telephone to spread the news of what had occurred.

I went to sleep that night, thinking about Mama Dede, the snake, and the ribbon. How I wished there was something to it all. My desire for vengeance was that strong.

But two days later, I regretted it.