Child of the Storm (34 page)

“
Is she a big storm?
”
Celeste asked.

“
She
’
s getting to be
again. Florida took her down a good bit, but they expect her to rebuild what
she lost. How are you doing?
”
Gabrielle asked.

“
I
’
m out of soup. Had
the last this morning and that
’
s no proper
breakfast. I think if I don
’
t die of this and
Katrina doesn
’
t blow me back to wherever I came from,
I mean never to eat another spoonful of chicken soup the rest of my life.
”

“
Has it helped?
”

“
Maybe it has,
”
Celeste admitted grudgingly.
“
Doesn
’
t mean I have to like
my medicine.
”

“
Well I brought more.
”

Celeste hung her head to rub her aching
neck.
“
I
’
ll have some for
lunch,
”
she muttered.

“
Were you able to sleep last night?
”

“
I slept. But not a proper sleep.
”

“
You sound better.
”

Celeste nodded. She was tired and she
was angry and she was sad
;
all of it together.

“
I
’
ll check back in this
evening if that
’
s okay. Maybe we
’
ll know more by then.
”

“
Please do,
”
Celeste said and managed the flicker
of a smile.
“
I
’
ll be here.
”

With little else to do, and little
energy for anything anyway, Celeste dozed through the day, took a call from
George and received another visit from the myst
è
re. Most folks of a
Voodoo persuasion and of Celeste
’
s age might have been
more concerned about repeated visits from someone of Gh
é
d
é
Nebo
’
s reputation and field of specialty,
but to her, he was no more ominous now than any other friend-of-a-friend. They
had Aurore in common, and she missed her old friend terribly, especially now.
Besides, despite what others might say of his raucous behavior, insatiable
appetites and bouts of foul language, she found him to be quite the gentleman,
even if it was a tilted sort of gentlemanliness.

“
So you
’
ve heard the news, I
guess.
”
Gh
é
d
é
Nebo sat at the foot of the bed with
his long fingers laced together just above his belly like a preacher.

“
Katrina could be a killer storm,
”
she said glumly.
“
Maybe heading this way.
A big storm too; not like Camille.
Big and broad so she
doesn
’
t have to hit us square on to take us
down. When they get that big, it
’
s best to catch them
far out in the Gulf. That
’
s if you could. But I
couldn
’
t.
”
She rubbed her
fingers together.
“
Can
’
t even get a good
sense for her, except that she
’
s big and pressing on
everything, high and low as she makes her way here.
”

“
You think she
’
s aiming at New Orleans?
”

“
I think she is.
”

“
Doesn
’
t sound good,
”
he admitted.
“
This sounds like a lot of cleaning up
and guiding on to the other side for me. Don
’
t get me wrong, I do
like my job, but sometimes, when I
’
m in a reflective
frame of mind, it does seem like more of this happens than should, if you know
what I mean. It
’
s the carelessness.
The
I-could-care-less, and what
’
s-in-it-for-me
about things these
days.
When you
know
better, then you ought to
do
better,
if you follow. Feet of clay.
”
He winked at her
with that one eye of his that he used to watch her world.

“
I do follow. I have reason to.
”
She slapped the mattress weakly.
“
If I can
’
t stop her, then I
might as well sit right here and let her take me off.
”

“
That
’
s just the weariness
talking.
Weariness, and more likely a bit of frustration.
Never known you to be one for idleness, Miss Celeste. If you ask me, what you
need is some activity.
”

“
Too weak for dancing about,
”
she scolded.

“
Oh, we can dance later if you like.
Dance when there
’
s something to dance about. I know you
’
ve danced up a storm in your day,
pardon the expression. No, I was thinking of something more in line with your
current level of vitality.
”

“
Let
’
s hear it,
”
Celeste said with some reluctance.

“
Just doesn
’
t seem like you to coop yourself up
this way. Cooped up in a box
–
and no, that
ain
’
t
what
I
’
m alluding to at all. The situation may
be grave, but not
that
kind of grave.
”

“
So you think I need to get myself up
and outside. Is that it? Well, maybe you
’
re right. Better to
do something than nothing. Better to go down trying, than just lay about
feeling sorry for myself.
”

“
You need a hand?
”

“
Thank you, no. I can manage, and it
’
s questionable enough you even being
here in my room without a chaperone.
”
She chuckled as she
slipped her legs over the side of the bed.

“
That
’
s more like it, Miss
Celeste.
A little humor to take the edge off.
Well, if
I can
’
t lend a hand, I
’
ll be on my way.
”

She was surprised and a little dismayed
to find it was already night outside, and she hadn
’
t sensed it; not until she went into
the outer room and found it was dark.
“
Least Mr. Nebo could
have done was leave a light on as he left.
”
She chuckled as she
shuffled across to the front door, familiar enough with the room to walk it in
total darkness.
“
Need to be out in the free air.
”
She stood behind the screen door
before stepping outside, embarrassed she might be seen by anyone passing by,
but the darkness gave her the privacy she would need, and she slipped out to
her rocking chair.

Katrina was reaching out from the Gulf,
filling the air around Celeste,
crowding
out every
other voice but her own. She was strong, even after stumbling over Florida, but
she wasn
’
t satisfied. The waters were feeding
her, and the ocean of air she swam through was making an easy way for her to
reach the coast. Celeste listened in on those words between Katrina and the
oceans above and below. The tone was clear if the particulars were muddled.
With the lingering sickness, she felt like she was hearing it through thick
batting. The deeper, slower voice of flowing heat and dropping pressure was
more difficult to pick out, big as they were, but the bright voices of the
lightning cut through cleanly
—
the
voice of intent. Katrina was building and her eye was growing sharp and wide.

From midnight through till almost dawn
she sat on the porch and listened as best she could.
“
You
’
ve found your true
path,
”
Celeste said aloud to the storm as
morning approached.
“
I guess no words of mine can set you on
another.
”

Something brushed her leg, and she was
startled out of listening to the boastful song Katrina was singing to her. A
cat had wandered up onto the porch, maybe hoping to ingratiate itself and get
an invitation inside. But it so startled Celeste that she kicked the cat away without
meaning to, and the animal darted off in search of a better welcome.

“
I
’
ve got to get this
down before I lose it,
”
Celeste said, and went back inside
again to gather her paints and brushes.

“
Guess they
’
ll find this painting floating on the
water after it
’
s all done and Katrina
’
s had her way with us.
”
She set aside her brush and looked
over the work.
“
Too strong and too close.
”
Only then did the weariness settle
back into her, and she pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders, in spite
of the heat. She closed her eyes to rest them, just for a moment, but then
found them reluctant to open again.
“
Can
’
t blame you for that,
”
she whispered.
“
Nothing to see but that frightful
picture of what
’
s coming in to scoop us up. Plenty
better things to look at than her.
”

Something brushed against her and her
mind went at once to the cat, wondering how it might have gotten in, but when
she turned her head to check, she was looking down into the eyes of the bear.
“
You remember me?
”
asked the bear.

“
I never forgot, but couldn
’
t find my way. Take us on through to
the other side,
”
Celeste replied.
“
I won
’
t dare look away
until we
’
re there.
”

On
the Outside everything was quiet but the colors flowed like wind and water,
swirling like the painting on her table, but now a living thing with bands high
and low reaching into the distance, under their feet and above their heads.
This was the vital counterpart to her watercolor impression of the storm
’
s essence as Celeste had gathered it,
and built it up from all her senses.

“
It
’
s not like any of the others,
”
said the bear.

“
She
’
s just so horribly strong,
”
Celeste said weakly.
“
If only I could have handled her even a
day ago. There
’
s a time for everything, and this just
feels too late.
”
She
scanned the flows of cool and warm colors, the pools of light and wells of
darkness, and all of this meant something to her. She needed time to understand
Katrina, but there simply wasn
’
t a luxury of time
there for her to use.

Celeste
sat at her kitchen table, wrapped in her picturous quilt. Her eyes moved busily
behind her closed eyelids but her brush was clean and set off to the side of
the angry painting. Her breathing was steady one moment and fast the next.
Occasionally a word or two passed her lips
—
soft,
almost unrecognizable words. She sat so through the day. If her stomach rumbled
with hunger, she paid it no mind. When the phone rang, she didn
’
t answer.
 
She was occupied, sensing the changes in
the air, and passing the knowledge through to the other side.

“
I can
’
t move her,
”
Celeste said as she focused on one
relationship between the storm and the sky.
One thread of
connection between the two.
Her eyes drifted along a different thread
between the storm and the water below. So many threads that, together, told the
short but unique story of the storm.

“
What do you see?
”
asked the bear.

“
Something like
memories, if a storm could have memories
—
as
far back along her path as I
’
m able to read. Born
out of a joining of two waves of flow. One wave that was passing away and
another coming up to take its place, taking up that hope of growing into
something more. And grow it did, until it was given a name by those who watched
it grow and worried what it might be up to
—
reading
the signs and its futures. Fearing it, though it intended no fear. A storm only
does what it
’
s born to do. Only goes where it
’
s directed by the powers that give rise
to it.
”

“
She came to land,
stepping onto Florida, blind that it was even there, but taking the hurt that
comes of a hurricane deprived of heat from the waters. She stumbled about,
doing harm without meaning any, until she found her way clear to the warm
waters of the Gulf where she could heal herself. Not just healed, but given
strength like she hadn
’
t known before, and a path that would
bring her here, or nearly so. She
’
ll pass us to the
east, which is the kindest passing we could hope for apart from passing farther
away than she will.
”

“
Too late to suggest
that more distant path,
”
said the bear.

“
Too late for that.
”

“
And no chance she
might calm herself?
”

“
It
’
s beyond me now to ask so much of the
waters of the Gulf. To ask for those waters to send their warmth another way,
or to bend the great winds above. All the shouting I might manage couldn
’
t be heard with the path so near its
end.
”

“
Didn
’
t know paths ever end,
”
said the bear.
“
Like the paths of your Mama or Papa.
Or that of your mother
’
s sister.
Paths that just seem
to carry on with yours
that
’
s
already so long and has no end
I can see, or want to see. Stories and memories don
’
t end, and I know how those stories can
bring on
a calmness
in you.
Same for
me.
Why not offer them up to this storm and see what happens.
”

“
You think my memories
would be of interest to this storm? You
’
re giving it credit I
’
m not sure it warrants.
”

“
You
’
ll know better than me,
”
said the bear.
“
Just thought a bit of sharing might not
hurt, since learning of its story seemed to have a calming effect on you.
”

Celeste
thought that her dear companion had mistaken resignation for calmness. Still,
what would be lost by offering up her memories to the storm, on the faint
chance they might reach something in it that was hidden to her and all those
others that studied her so intently. She reached as far back as she could into
her childhood for those best memories that could show the storm something of
where she had come from and those who had helped her get this far. She offered
up every good memory like some picturous quilt, stitching together all those
pieces, significant and momentary, from her parents and Augustin, Odette and
Aurore and Beatrice. She included those still present, her family as such
;
George and Annie, Gabrielle and Jonathon. The ghost, she
held back, but of the bear, she did tell, and all of it was about wonders, and
love and a need to keep it
all whole
. She offered up
all that was most precious.

“
I feel a change,
”
said the bear.
“
Have you offered up a challenge or a
gift?
”

“
A gift, whether it
can know it or not.
”

The Outside might have been filled out
to its farthest edges by Katrina
.
The great storm
’
s memory and path were there because
Celeste had brought them there; invited the essence of it to a common ground.
Seen, as in the simple painting on paper that lay before Celeste on the
tangible side of her life, this Katrina of the other side now found a whole new
wealth of heat in a fortunate flow of the Gulf.
Fortunate for
the storm but not for New Orleans, or Celeste.
Katrina drank in that
heat like a thing dying of thirst, and flung her cloudy self ever higher, and
her arms wide. A furious light filled her heart as lightning burned like
glory.
 
Her eye grew wide and clear.
One last heave and surge before the last
—
before
the land she couldn
’
t see would claim her even as she would
stumble, fall on it and surely die.

“
I
’
d meant to send this hurricane off
along a new path,
”
Celeste said.
“
But maybe its here to send me off.
 
I can feel her hold on me. I can already
feel my memories leaving and following hers. Memories I offered up but not in
hopes of loosing them. Maybe the ghost was right and this storm will take me up
in its winds and blow me far and far away to Evermore.
”

“
If it takes you away,
I will find you,
”
said the bear.
“
Wherever it may be, I
’
ll find you if you
’
re lost.
”

Many
had left the city, and many more would leave before it was too late. Others
would not leave in time, or at all. Many hadn
’
t the means to go.
When Gabrielle arrived at Celeste
’
s house, she knocked
lightly for courtesy sake and then let herself in using the spare key Celeste
had never wanted back. The house was quiet and Celeste was seated at the
kitchen table, wrapped in her quilt, her eyes closed. For an awful moment,
Gabrielle thought Celeste had died, but as she drew near, first leaning over
her, then drawing up a chair to be near, she could see that she was either in a
deep sleep or some stupor brought on by her illness. She placed her palm on
Celeste
’
s forehead and it was cool. Had it been
anyone else, she might have woken her just to check, but there was something
about this sleep that stopped her. Celeste
’
s eyes moved furtively
behind her closed lids.

On
the table was a painting, still taped down to the board, and it was unlike
anything Gabrielle had ever seen Celeste produce. It was an unsettling work and
she turned away from it.
“
Celeste?
”
she said, softly, not wanting to
startle her.

As
Celeste woke, it was the feel of the quilt wrapped snug around her that she
noticed first.
The feeling of warmth and security.
Then her hearing returned and with it the voice of the outer waves of the
storm.
The threatening world.
Finally, she opened her
eyes to see Gabrielle seated beside her at the table.

“
I was afraid to wake
you.
”

Celeste
tried to reply and only then realized just how weak she was. Her mouth wouldn
’
t form the words. She couldn
’
t shake her head. She stared at
Gabrielle, thinking she recognized her, but it was only a vague sense without
specifics.

“
Katrina will be here
by morning,
”
Gabrielle explained.
“
I need to get you away from here.
”
Even as she said it, she wondered if
Celeste could travel in time to get away.

Celeste
found her voice, and just enough strength to use it.
“
No,
”
she whispered.
“
I can
’
t leave.
”

“
But it may not be
safe here.
”

Celeste
looked up at the ceiling and spoke as if confiding a secret.
“
I
’
ll be safe up there.
The attic.
”

Gabrielle
could see how it was. Celeste wasn
’
t strong enough to
leave just yet and there wouldn
’
t be time later. She
needed to move quickly.

“
Can I at least pack
up your artwork and anything else you want to keep safe? I can take it to the
gallery. It would be safer there on the upper floor.
”

Celeste
nodded.
“
This.
”
She tugged on the
edge of the quilt, and began to shift so it could be taken from around her and
folded up.
“
Trunk in the spare room too.
”

It
took little time to get it packed away in the car. Gabrielle was reluctant to
leave, but there was no time for delay. She left Celeste with some bread in
case she was hungry. There was no more soup.

The
bread wasn
’
t stale, but it wasn
’
t fresh either. It also wasn
’
t chicken soup, which was a relief. The
butter helped and the water was better than anything else she could imagine
drinking. So tired. She closed her eyes and rolled the bread around in her
mouth, and the taste should have brought back a long and free flowing stream of
memories, but it didn
’
t, because they weren
’
t there for her. Katrina had them.

“
You
’
ve stirred the pot again,
”
said that
always
joyful
voice. Gh
é
d
é
Nebo, back for the last act, she
reckoned. At least
he
was still there. Strange, that of all things, he
seemed most clear in her memory.

“
I tried,
”
she confessed.

“
Guilty as charged and
unrepentant as ever,
”
he laughed.
“
Always liked that about you, Miss
Celeste. Still, looks like she means to pay us a little visit just the same.
Maybe not as persuasive as you used to be.
”
 
The myst
è
re took a seat
opposite her and propped his long legs onto the edge of the table.