Of Love and Dust (19 page)

Aunt Margaret started to holler at Tite, but she remembered Tite’s bad heart. She was scared, too, if she hollered and Tite jerked her hand back too quickly, the dog might bite her. So she broke away from the end of the gallery and ran toward the steps, but after going halfway down, she ran back up again.

“Master,” she said. “Master.”

She broke inside and started beating on the door with her fist.

“Come out of there, boy,” she said, beating. “I mean, come out of there, come out of there.”

She heard something slam against the wall—it sounded like a piece of furniture.

“What was that?” she called. “What hit there?”

Nobody answered. Then she heard the same noise again.
It might have been a chair one of them was throwing against the wall.

Aunt Margaret moved back to hit the door with her shoulders. She said she knew that that little frail latch would fly off even if Tite had hit that door hard enough. She hit it. But like she had hit one of those oak trees out in the yard, she went falling back on the floor. “What in the—” She got up and hit it again. Again, it was like hitting one of those oak trees.

“So that’s it, that’s what she was doing,” Aunt Margaret said. “Propping things back there.”

“Come out of there, boy,” Aunt Margaret hollered through the door. “You hear me?”

She said one of them slammed that chair against the wall again. She said she tried to vision what chair it was, but she didn’t have time for visioning. She started to hit the door with her shoulder, but she thought about Tite and ran out on the gallery. Tite was still at the fence, letting the dog lick her hand. “Master,” Aunt Margaret said, and ran back inside. Just about then that chair or something else heavy slammed against the wall. Then it got quiet—too quiet.

“What y’all doing?” Aunt Margaret said softly, holding her ear against the door. “Miss Louise, what y’all doing in there?”

Then she heard another loud, booming noise, like somebody had jumped from one end of the room to the other. Marcus said:

“I got you now, I got you now, you pretty little hot pretty thing. I got you now, hanh? Hanh? Give me my two little pears here. Give ’em here. Give me my two little sweet pears.”

Aunt Margaret said she hit that door with all her might, but again it was like hitting that oak tree. She fell and got
up and hit it again: this time it was like hitting that oak tree with another tree behind it.

She heard a slap.

“What was that?” she called, and listened. “What was that? You slapped that white woman, boy?”

She said she heard, “Why you pretty little hot—you taking it off or I’m go’n tear it off?”

“She ain’t go’n do nothing and you neither,” Aunt Margaret said through the door. “Not long as I can draw breath.”

She hit the door with her shoulder. She fell, got up, and ran out on the gallery to see what Tite was doing. Tite was letting the dog lick her hand, so Aunt Margaret ran back into the room.

Marcus was saying, “Lord, look how pretty you is. Lord, I didn’t know you was this pretty. How can a man leave all this pretty goodness and go—Oh, Lord, look at all this. And look at my two little pears hanging here, just look at ’em.”

Aunt Margaret hit the door and hit it again.

She heard Marcus saying, “Now see me, see how pretty I’m is. See that? See?”

“Boy, you naked in there?” Aunt Margaret called through the door. “You naked in there, boy?”

“Let me kiss you,” he said. “Oooooo, you sweet. Good Lord—Lord, have mercy. He know you this sweet? Let me kiss this little pear here … now this one. Two of the sweetiest little pears I ever tasted. ’Specially this one here … Go on touch it. That’s right, touch it. Won’t hurt you. See? See?”

Aunt Margaret hit the door again. She hit it again, again, again. Then she heard him laughing. She figured he was carrying Louise to the bed, because the next sound she heard was the spring when they laid down. She pushed against the door again—not with her shoulder—with both hands. But
she knew it was no use. And even if she had got into the room, it would have been too late now. She could tell by the deep moan that Louise made.

She turned now and went outside to pull Tite away from the fence. While she led Tite across the yard, Tite raised her other hand and showed her a nickel. Aunt Margaret didn’t say anything, she couldn’t say anything; she started crying when Tite wasn’t looking. She sat down against one of the big oak trees and pulled Tite in her lap.

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Aunt Margaret didn’t know how long she sat there. She was facing the house and crying. Tite had gone to sleep in her lap. She passed her hand over Tite’s head. Tite’s hair was white like cotton and it felt like rabbit fur. It wasn’t much longer than rabbit fur, either.

Aunt Margaret looked at the house again. The house was quiet—too quiet. The yard was too quiet; the whole plantation was too quiet.

“It won’t end good,” Aunt Margaret thought. “It’s all right for the others, the ones in Baton Rouge—yes, it’s all right for them. They have the right to do what they doing. Everybody expect them to do it. It was done from the start and it will always be done. But this won’t end good. Even if she don’t tell him, it won’t end good. He go’n pay, she go’n pay, both of them go’n pay for this day.”

When Louise first came off the bayou from around Lake Charles, she didn’t know anything. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know who she was, she hardly knew why she was here. She was fifteen then—that was ten years ago—but she acted like somebody eight or nine. She acted like a week-old calf that was led to a new pasture. Aunt Margaret
was brought up to the house to help her with the housework. But most of the time it was like talking to a crazy person; she wasn’t listening to anything, Aunt Margaret said.

Louise tried to run away. But each time she left, Bonbon brought her back. One time her papa and two brothers brought her back. Aunt Margaret said the papa had a red face and big ears and a big nose. His teeth were yellow from chewing tobacco. Both of his sons were just like him; both short, powerfully built fellows. Both chewed tobacco, and one had a half quart of wine in his back pocket. He wore overalls and a jumper and clodhopper shoes just like his papa and his other brother did. He took out the bottle and handed it to his papa, and his papa unscrewed the cap and took a swallow and passed it to the other son, the oldest one. The oldest son took a drink and wiped his mouth and passed it back. The younger son, before drinking, handed the bottle toward Bonbon. Bonbon shook his head, and the young son drank and capped the bottle and stuck it back in his pocket.

“Next time she try that you beat hell out her,” the papa said to Bonbon. “You hear me up there, Louise?”

Aunt Margaret said the papa and brothers and Bonbon were standing in the yard, and she and Louise were standing on the gallery. Louise went inside the house and Aunt Margaret followed her.

“I beat hell out her, she try that again,” Aunt Margaret heard the papa saying. “That bottle, Jules.”

Louise didn’t try to run away any more. She stayed to herself and hardly spoke to Aunt Margaret or Bonbon. Bonbon didn’t mind because by then he was spending most of his time in Pauline’s bed, anyhow. Seven years after Louise was there she had a little girl. The baby had come too early and she weighed only four pounds. Aunt Margaret said from the moment Louise saw Tite, she couldn’t think of anything
else but revenge. Bonbon would have to pay. Pay for the suffering she had gone through while he slept in Pauline’s bed; pay for the suffering she had gone through on that bayou with her brothers and papa.

But Louise didn’t know how to get revenge. She didn’t have any idea what she was going to do, Aunt Margaret said. She was twenty-two now, had given birth to a child, but she was still a child herself. She hadn’t learned anything about being a woman from her papa and brothers (nobody knew for sure if her mama was alive or dead) and Bonbon hadn’t taught her anything, either. So she didn’t know how a woman got revenge. She knew that men shot each other, beat each other, knifed each other, but what could a woman do.

She watched Pauline. She liked Pauline, she hated Pauline. She liked Pauline’s clothes, she liked Pauline’s hats, she liked the way Pauline walked. She looked at Pauline the way a young girl looks at a grown woman she admires. Sometimes she even tried to walk the way Pauline did.

But she hated Pauline, too. Not because she wanted Pauline to give her back her husband; she didn’t want her husband. She wanted to be free of her husband. But she knew she never would be free of him. If Pauline was white, then everything would be different. Bonbon would marry Pauline and she would be able to leave. But Pauline was not white, and there couldn’t be any marriage. Since there couldn’t be any marriage and since she couldn’t run away without them bringing her back, then she had to find another way to be free.

So she watched Pauline, and she watched the twins that went by the gate. There was no mistaking about the children, they were Bonbon’s. They were her daughter’s brothers, but nothing like her daughter. They had all the life, Tite had none. But by watching them and by watching Pauline,
Louise knew how she would get her revenge. Only she didn’t know if she could go through with it. She would have to practice awhile, she would have to build up her courage. Not that she was afraid of Bonbon. Bonbon couldn’t hurt her any more than her papa and her brothers had already hurt her on the bayou. Physical hurt didn’t matter any more. No, what she needed courage for was to put herself in a man’s way to make him look at her. Because, Aunt Margaret said, she didn’t know if she had anything worth looking at. Since Bonbon never looked at her, she wasn’t too sure anybody else would look at her, either. So she had to build her courage, she had to practice awhile. She probably stood before the looking glass hours on hours, looking at herself; probably twisting one way, then the other, looking at herself from different sides, wondering if anybody would come. She probably put on her clothes, laid across the bed to rest a while, then got back up, took off her clothes, and looked at herself in the glass again.

Then she put it to the test. She started sitting on the gallery watching. If she got the right look she was going to make her move. She didn’t care if he could or he couldn’t, she just wanted him to touch her. She wanted a mark on her flesh. She had to have proof, she had to have a mark. You had white women who had just said it and had had a nigger lynched; you had some who had dreamed it and had had a nigger lynched; others had done it themselves and had had a nigger lynched; but Louise needed the mark. Because she wasn’t sure she had anything worthwhile, and she was afraid if she hollered rape everybody might laugh at her. But with a mark, Bonbon would definitely have to kill the nigger. Marshall Hebert would definitely get rid of Bonbon for the stealing that he had been doing—and she would be free to leave.

Aunt Margaret sat back against the tree with Tite in her arms. Tite was still asleep; Aunt Margaret could feel her breathing.

Aunt Margaret looked at the house again. The house was quiet. The yard was quiet. Not a bird was singing in any of the trees; not a dog was barking anywhere in the quarter.

“But now it ain’t rape,” Aunt Margaret was thinking. “Because I was there and I know ’bout the dresser behind the door. But even if it ain’t rape, if she say he touched her, won’t they still kill him? Ain’t he just as dead now as he go’n ever be, even if they don’t kill him till next week or next year? It’s when she get ready for it to happen, it go’n happen.”

Aunt Margaret saw Louise come out on the gallery and go around the house. She called the dog and held him by the collar. Marcus climbed out the window and the dog growled and tried to break away from Louise. When Marcus crossed the fence, Louise turned the dog loose and went back inside. Tite had woke up, and when she saw Marcus coming across the yard, she jumped out of Aunt Margaret’s lap and ran toward him. Marcus took her by the hand and led her back to the pile of leaves. Aunt Margaret was there now. She didn’t say anything to Marcus, she just stood there a while, looking at him. He picked up his rake and watched her from over his shoulder. Tite picked up her branch.

“Coo-dee,” she said to Aunt Margaret. “Coo-dee. You in the way.”

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