Rising Tides (13 page)

Ben settled near a window, where the drone of insects just beyond his screens competed with the soft splash of rain falling against the roof. He snapped on a lamp and found his place in the journal.

Grand Isle, 1928

H
ugh lay in bed and listened to his parents quarrel. He could hear only some of what his mother said, but every word his father spoke was clear. Henry’s voice was nasal and high-pitched, like the keening of the wind during one of the island’s thunderstorms.

“I don’t know why you came to Grand Isle anyway, Henry,” he heard Aurore say. “Wasn’t anybody left in New Orleans to intimidate?”

“Did you think I’d leave you alone with my sons for the whole summer?”

“I thought you’d spend the summer rubbing noses in Governor Long’s election.”

“I backed a winner, Rory. Did you want me to lose?”

“No. I wanted you to back somebody because you believed in what he stood for, not because of what you could get.”

“Politics is like a horse race! I went for the long shot, and now the payoff’s fifty to one.”

“Spare me your gloating.”

“I’d forgotten. You’re too busy living in the past to hear anything about the present.”

They moved off the gallery and back into their room, and their voices were no longer audible. Hugh understood some of what his parents had said. His father’s life had been consumed by the recent campaign for governor. Henry was ambitious, and he had never been satisfied with his treatment by the political power structure in New Orleans known as the Ring. He had always remained just on the edges of power, placated but never brought into the inner sanctum.

Hugh knew that Gulf Coast Shipping, the company that consumed his mother’s waking hours, gave both his parents a certain prestige in the city. He had been raised with every social and financial advantage. He was welcomed into the most prestigious circles of his peers, invited to the best parties and introduced to the girls from the finest families. But Hugh would have traded every thing he had for his father’s respect.

As a child growing up, he had tried his best to please Henry. He had excelled in school, and despite the fact that he had little inclination to compete in sports, he had often excelled there, too. He was captain of the debate team, and next year he would be president of his class. But nothing he had ever done had truly pleased his father. No one in the family seemed to please Henry, except Ferris Lee, who was five years younger than Hugh. Ferris was as close to Henry as Hugh was to Aurore. The split in the family was as wide as the pass they crossed every summer on their way to Grand Isle.

Luckily, Henry had seldom been at home during Hugh’s boyhood to torment him. As the years passed and his interest in politics deepened, he had turned over much of the Gulf Coast business to his wife. To every one’s surprise, he had latched on to Huey Long as his last opportunity to become a true political
force. Henry had invested heavily in Long’s campaign, and he had openly supported Long when others of his class called him a radical and a communist. Nothing Long said about improving the lives of the little people appealed to his father, but Long himself, a man of great persuasive powers and political moxie, appealed enormously. Henry was sure that Long would reward loyalty. And Henry could be stridently loyal, as long as it suited him.

Hugh rose and went to the window. He strained to hear the rest of his parents’ conversation, but only the comforting trills and croaks of the island’s wildlife re warded his efforts. He could never seem to shut out their quarrels. Once, as a child, he had run to their room to protect his mother from his father’s fury. His father had struck him twice, the second time hard enough to send him reeling across the room. Afterward his mother had made him promise he would never interfere again. He had understood that her humiliation was greater than her fear, and he had silently vowed to put a pillow over his head rather than listen again. But it was a vow he often broke.

He broke most of his vows. He was nothing more than a creature of instinct and impulse. Sometimes his voice cracked, despite all his efforts. Sometimes at night, his body betrayed him as he dreamed. When he knelt at mass and tried to think of the Lord and his trials, his eyes wandered instead to the breasts and hips of young women. He wanted to be a priest. More than anything, he wanted to be different from his father. But he was afraid he was no different at all.

He stayed at the window and stared at a full, opalescent moon. The night was a steaming black cauldron. A faint breeze carried the tang of salt, a whiff of jasmine. The soft glow of light spilling from his parents’ room was extinguished. Turning away, he tried not to think about what would happen now. He
knew what a man did to a woman, and he was sure his father did it as often as possible. How could his mother bear to be touched that way by Henry, even if the church said it was her duty?

Back in bed, he tried to think of something else. He had already said his prayers, but he repeated them softly as he stared at the ceiling. His concentration was so great that the sound of pebbles bouncing against his screen didn’t register for a moment. When it did, he leaped out of bed, a prayer half said, and raced to the window again.

A soft voice from below greeted him. “Hey, Hap.
Viensici.
”

He stood very still, waiting for his parents’ light. But the night remained dark. He knew who was outside. Like nearly everyone except his mother, Val Guilbeau, Ti’ Boo’s youngest son, always called Hugh Hap. Hugh had been such a seemingly happy child that the pet name had settled in to stay before anyone even questioned it. Nicknames were such a part of the culture in New Orleans that now all Hugh’s attempts to rid himself of it were met with derision.

Hugh risked a response. “Val?”

“Who else, you stupi’ chunk o’ butter? Git down here!”

“Just be quiet.”

Hugh pulled on his trousers and a shirt. Halfway back to the window, he thought about the nocturnal or chestra performing in the swamps beyond. He returned to his bed and knelt to fish out a pair of shoes.

He had mastered the drainpipe during his first week on Grand Isle. Now he took out the screen, slid and swung until he was standing beside Val. His friend was already fifteen, nearly a man, but he was a head shorter than Hugh. Hugh seemed to grow inches after every meal. Trousers he had
worn just last summer were now as short as knickers. But Val was stocky and muscular, and Hugh was all bones and tightly stretched skin. When he and Val were together, it was Val the island girls watched, Val they waylaid. Val, with his flashing dark eyes and contrasting indolent smile.

“You come down that pipe jus’ like
une jeune fille.
”

“It’s almost midnight. What are you doing here?”

“So? Who cares what time it’s?” Val drew Hugh farther from the house. He kept his hand on Hugh’s arm. “How much git-up-and-go you got tonight, Hap?
Un peu? Un tas?
”

Hugh’s eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. “Enough. I’ve got enough.”

“Then you and me, we’re going for a sail.”

“Are you nuts? This time of night?”

“If you’re afrai’…”

Hugh had been enticed into trouble on other occasions by those words. He knew better than to let Val taunt him. He absolutely knew better. “I didn’t say I was afraid.” Hugh gave his friend a warning shove. He knew Val could stomp him into sand if the mood took him, but it seldom did. They had been friends as long as Hugh could remember, since well before his Grand Isle summers began.

“Well, if you’re not, then come with me,” Val said.

“Where?”

“Chénière Caminada.”

“You really are nuts.”

Val shrugged. It was an extravagantly eloquent gesture; no one could say more with his shoulders than Val. He turned away.

Hugh couldn’t let him leave. “Why there, of all places?”

“You’ll see when we git there.”

Hugh weighed the virtues of prayer and sleep over the
forbidden pleasures of a midnight sail to a place haunted by ghosts. He was weak. “We have to be back before first light. My father’ll spit nails if he finds out I’ve gone off somewhere.”

“We’ll be back in time.”

“Just tell me why.”

“And then you’ll go?”

“Maybe.”

Val glanced at Hugh over his shoulder. “To see some thin’ you never seen before.”

“What?”

“If I tell you, why you wanna go?” Val started toward the path to the beach. “Come or no. But I’m leaving now.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll come.” Hugh started after his friend.

“Hap, where’re you going?”

Hugh and Val stopped at the same time and turned. A boy appeared in the shadows of the house and started toward them. Hugh groaned. “See? I told you. You talk too loud, Val.”

“Quick. Run!”

Hugh grabbed his arm. “Don’t be stupid! We run, he’ll yell. My father’ll be down here in two seconds flat.”

Val relaxed under his grip, just as Hugh had expected. Val wasn’t afraid of Hugh’s father; he wasn’t afraid of anyone. But he always preferred sunshine to storm.

Ferris skidded to a stop in front of them. “Git outa here, Ferris,” Val said. “You’re jus’
un bébé.
Go back to bed.”

“I’m not a baby! And you’re just a stupid Cajun!”

“Me, I’m a stupi’
’Cadien,
but I’m lucky. Every where I look on this island, I see more stupi’
’Cadiens
jus’ like me. And stupi’
’Cadiens
take up for each other. You understan’?”

Ferris drew himself up to his full height. At nine, he was large for his age, big-boned and sturdy. His hair was a darker brown than Hugh’s, and like their father’s, his eyes were the clear green of Gulf waters. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You’re not, you shou’ be,” Val warned, but his tone was good-natured.

“Ferris, it’s not safe out here at night,” Hugh said.

Ferris spat on the ground.

“Go back to bed.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not till you tell me where
you’re
going.”

“Just down to the beach. And you can’t come.”

“You got girls down there?” Ferris made a face.

Val laughed. “
Mais
yeah. We got girls. Hundreds. Now hurry to bed before we bring ‘em up here and make you kiss ‘em.”

“You’re lying. You’re going somewhere fun. I know you are. And I’m coming, too.”

“We’re just going for a walk,” Hugh said. He told himself it wasn’t really a lie. They had to walk to Val’s boat.

“Then I’ll walk with you.”

“No!”

“I’ll tell Pop.”

Hugh knew this was no idle threat. Henry encouraged Ferris to spy on everyone, and Ferris never got in trouble. Henry rarely got angry at him for anything.

“Let him come,” Val said. “Maybe this’ll teach him not to follow us again. Maybe we can jus’ feed him to the sharks when we’re out on the water.”

“The water?” Ferris’s eyes shone in the moonlight. “We’re going in your skiff?”

“We don’t have win’, I’m a make sure you row all the way.”

“I’m strong! I can row all the way to Grand Terre, if I have to!”

“
Eh bien.
You just might.” Val stepped forward and playfully ruffled Ferris’s hair. He had no reason to like Ferris. The younger boy was the worst kind of pest. But Val liked everyone.

They walked single file along the path to the water. To Ferris’s credit, he walked as quietly and quickly as they did. At the water’s edge they found Val’s skiff, ancient but watertight and rigged to sail. There was hardly room for three.

The older boys rolled up their pant legs and pushed the skiff, with Ferris inside, into deep waters. Then they scrambled aboard, and Val set the sail. There was just enough breeze to nudge them gently along the island’s edge. Hugh could see the occasional light from the houses dotting the waterfront. He slapped at mosquitoes until the boat was far enough from the shore that they had to give up.

“What would your mother say if she knew you were out here?” Hugh asked Val.

“She don’ know. She sleeps like the dead at night, she’s so tire’.”

Hugh felt vaguely guilty. For as long as he could re member, Val’s mother, Ti’ Boo, had taken care of the Gerritsen house and family. Hugh’s mother had known Ti’ Boo since the two of them were children themselves. The twelve-year-old Ti’ Boo had been Aurore’s companion one summer right here on Grand Isle, and the two had waited out a killer hurricane in the very house that was now the Gerritsens’ summer cottage. The two women had stayed close friends throughout the years, despite the differences in their backgrounds.

Hugh knew that Val’s father had died years ago in a flu epidemic, and that after a period of mourning, Aurore had offered Ti’ Boo the chance to come work for her. Ti’ Boo worked
hard, harder than she needed to. Even Hugh’s father could find no fault with Ti’ Boo’s standards.

Val and his brothers and sister stayed part of the year on Bayou Lafourche with Ti’ Boo’s sister Minette and her large brood. Aurore had wanted them to live full-time in New Orleans, but Ti’ Boo had insisted they grow up as she had, with strong religious values and a French-speaking culture she couldn’t duplicate in the city. She saw them frequently when they were away and lavished them with love when they joined her.

Hugh thought that one of the reasons his mother had bought the house on Grand Isle was so that Ti’ Boo and her children could be together for the summers. They stayed in a cottage near the house, and life was more interesting when they were in residence. This summer only Val had come. His brothers and his sister Pelichere were all married now.

Val rolled and lit a cigarette. The smoke mingled pleasantly with the salt breeze. Hugh wished he could smoke, but the few times he tried, he had coughed more than he inhaled. Val had taken to it immediately.

“We git there,” Val said, “we gotta be quiet. You got something important to say, Ferris,
à fait pas rien.
Nothin’ you can say that matters, heh?”

Hugh knew it would take more than a few words to keep his brother quiet. At nine, he seemed to have few of the feelings that drove Hugh. He was never afraid, never uncertain. He was devoted to his father’s opinions. If he ever wondered whether the world might be a different place from what their father insisted it was, he was loyal enough to Henry not to risk finding out.