Child of the Storm (36 page)

Gabrielle
woke. The power was out, but by the light of the kerosene lantern she could see
the dead clock on the wall. All of her preparation, and she had forgotten a battery
powered clock. She rose quietly. Celeste was still asleep, and she checked on
her first. Checked that she was still breathing. Walking softly, she went from
window to window until she found one that had a large enough gap between the
plywood to peek through. She had to open the window because the glass was
grimed and spattered.

What
she could see was little enough. It was morning. She was up early as a rule so
she could recognize an early morning, even a clouded one. She could see other
houses still standing
;
even a neighbor
’
s small outbuilding or garage. If these
smaller houses like Celeste
’
s had come through in
one piece, maybe the city had come through fine. Dodged a bullet.

Behind
her, Celeste sighed and muttered in her sleep.
“
Through the walls,
”
she said.

Gabrielle
returned to her side, waiting to see if she would wake.

It
was like a dream, only Celeste couldn
’
t see it was so. Like
hearing a song she recognized, but with no idea where she
’
d heard it. Sensing things from
everywhere, and all of it bad.
Gifts from a heartless ghost
or cruel childhood.

The
waters were herded toward the low shores by the hurricane, drowning the
wetlands and outer islands, sweeping up like silent assassins toward the
barriers, seawalls and levees, clambering up in the darkness and in
irresistible mass, while the frightened and weary city folk hunkered down
miserably in the stifling heat and darkness of their homes, listening to the
wind but thinking of the dark and silent water. It tested the strength of the
cities walls everywhere and in every way. It leapt to the top of those that
were too low, and searched for the bottoms of those that might run too shallow
—
mining for a way in, all the while
pressing against them like a horde. Moving fast. Shoved down the funnel toward every
weak spot.

“
What was that?
”
Gabrielle whispered to herself as she
peered through the joint between the plywood like a prisoner hoping for some glimpse
of life outside the cell.

Virgil
was at her elbow, also trying to see.
“
Thunder?
”
he asked.
“
Maybe a transformer blowing.
”

“
It
’
s come through,
”
Celeste confided, also whispering.
“
Mr. Go
’
s opened the back
door, just like for Betsy.
”

“
Mr. Go?
”
Gabrielle said. She turned back to
that little view out the window. There was movement. All of it was wrong.
 
She felt a sudden clutching in her gut
and a wash of cold down her back.

“
Quickly,
”
Celeste said.
“
The water
’
s coming. Washing
away
Jourdan
. Washing it all away.
”

But
Gabrielle froze.
“
Listen. What
is
that sound?
”
she asked.

A
discordant symphony was playing. Percussion, shrieks and scraping, like barrels
being bounced and wrenched by giants to get at what
’
s inside.

What was strange to Gabrielle was
not to Celeste. The storm, passing them on the east, was shaping something she
had lived through before. She felt it even as weak as she was. Even drained and
muddled as the lifting sickness had her, every sense was assaulted now, shaking
her. As Gabrielle and Virgil puzzled over the distant sounds, carried through
and over those of the storm, Celeste rose, unnoticed, and moved to the dark
bedroom. Her hand reached for the cord hanging from the ceiling and found it,
grasped the piece of wood attached to its free end, fashioned to fit her two
hands, and she pulled down, sinking to the floor, using her own small weight to
bring down the access stair to attic.
 
Had to be done now, or the house might bind it closed and no amount of
tugging would free it. Once what was coming arrived, nothing in the house would
be straight and true.

Betsy had been tame compare to
this. Old Mr. Douglas would be saying he told us so, had he still been around.
Feet of clay all over the city.

Flood waters scooped up and drove a
wall of wreckage outward from the breach; homes and lives swept up and away.
Spreading up and outward across the Ninth, eating it up. Dark water armed with
ruin.

Rising.

Virgil
breathed in the changed air.
“
Shit,
”
he hissed.
“
Salt water.
”
He grabbed Gabrielle by the arm, pulling
her away from the window.

The
dog barked.

Gabrielle was dropped to the floor as the first blow landed.
Virgil was pitched against the table, knocking the candle over, extinguishing
the one light they had. Almost at once the waters were in the house, spreading
up through the boards.

"Celeste!" Gabrielle screamed over the rising din,
into the darkness, struggling to get to her feet as the house heaved again
under a debris-wielded hammer-fall.

Answer came from the bedroom, weak but commanding. "We
need to go up."

Another
blow followed that came from her father
’
s room, cracking the
wall open and shattering glass. Something raked along the side of the house
outside Celeste
’
s own bedroom, clutching at the window
casing, pausing, then helped along by more inpouring flotsam it pealed away the
plywood over the window, shattering the glass in the lower sash. Light and air
streamed in. Something large drove against one of the back brick piers,
shearing it off, heaving the floor up before the house sagged and tipped.

The
dog found her first, water already to its chin.
 
Virgil and Gabrielle followed, moving toward
the pale light from the lost window. He extended the folded stairs while
Gabrielle helped Celeste to stand.

“
Can you climb?
”
Gabrielle asked.
“
If not I
’
ll carry you up.
”
Shivering urgency in her voice.

“
Up!
”
Virgil called to the dog, slapping the
treads as Gabrielle steadied Celeste. The dog climbed awkwardly, disappearing
into the attic.

“
I
’
ll ride on his back,
”
Celeste said. She laid a hand on Virgil
’
s shoulder, suggesting he stoop down.
“
Like I would ride my father
’
s back when I was little. Cheek to
cheek, like I was his coat.
”

She
fell in behind Virgil, hugging around his neck as she had done all those years
back. Just came naturally. As they edged up the ladder she could feel one of
Gabrielle
’
s hands gently pressing against the
small of her back. Supporting.

They
placed her on the thin mattress covering a pallet of boards, and the dog lay
down beside her. Celeste could hear the water rolling outside. Felt the
quivering it set off through the house.

Virgil
groped about for the flashlight they
’
d set aside earlier
at Celeste
’
s bidding. Then he watched the water
rising through the open hatch. The glow of the flashlight lit his face.

“
What if the water
gets up here?
”
he whispered to Gabrielle.

She
remembered Celeste showing her the hatch out onto the roof of the porch and
opened it. The hottest air rushed out.
“
We get out this way.
”

Celeste
spoke from where she lay unmoving. Her eyes shut tight.
“
Won
’
t get high enough
here to wash the transom over the door. But down around
Dorgenoise
it
’
ll be bad.
So bad down
there.
Sitting so low and ceilings low too. Can
’
t get out of the way. Not enough time
and nowhere to go.
”

Water
doesn
’
t lie about if it
’
s given somewhere to go. Somewhere, the
levee had opened up and the water did what water does. Quick work. No matter
what
’
s in the
way.

By
the time the fouled water stopped rising, it had claimed much of the door but
left the transom over it clear.
Maybe six feet of water in
the house.
Virgil joined Gabrielle at the hatch and looked out over the
flooded Lower Ninth. They could already hear people calling. People screaming.
The streets were gone. His truck was covered and the boat with it. But just
maybe, he could free the boat and get the water out.

The
house would stand, but not stand straight. Celeste could feel all that was
wrong, but feel too, how they were safe for now. But there would be ghosts.
Plenty of them.
At her back, the dog lay still and damp. It
’
s breath even. Calming.

She
could hear the sound of Virgil moving cautiously across the roof of the porch,
sizing things up as she had done after Betsy
’
s flood.
Gabrielle was seated by the hatch
. Very close and still
except for shivering.

“
Won
’
t be a storm that takes me,
”
Celeste said.

The
dog stirred. She could feel it turn its head toward her, listening.

“
Celeste?
”
Gabrielle said.

“
Won
’
t be a storm,
”
Celeste repeated.
“
I know that now.
”

They
were all alive, and that was something to be able to say. Life shouldn
’
t end hard, even if the life was full
of hardship. And with that thought, Celeste slept.

From
the heights of the Climbing Oak, Celeste could look down on the roofs of all
the houses surrounding it. They looked so small that they reminded her of those
little house-like vaults in the cemeteries of the city. There was no one to be
seen and at first she thought it was such a very quiet place. But then she
listened deeper and could hear sounds from inside those little houses. Just
people talking, she thought, except that it all sounded angry or maybe
frightened.
The sounds of people having nightmares, or maybe
a death in the family.
She thought she heard her name in all the cries.
Were they angry
at
her?

The
more she listened, the louder the voices grew until she had to cover her ears
to shut them out. But she kept her eyes open, because she knew in time someone
would come help her down from the tree, and she wanted to be ready.

She
stood at the end of the bridge she knew as the Colossus. Beside her stood
Augustin with everything he owned in a big sack slung over his shoulder, like
Santa. Her aunt Beatrice was there too, but packed just enough for traveling,
not for war. Celeste carried nothing.

The
ship approached, trailing a plume of smoke like a banner. Its deep voice
sounded and the Colossus awoke to raise itself out of the way. They bought
their tickets from the man standing on the boat, a Mister Nebo, whose job it
was to get folks onto the ship and to their chairs for the voyage from this
side to the other.

Many
were already on board and sitting in their rocking chairs. There were lots of
soldiers like Augustin, but there were others as well. Mostly they were older,
but she saw a few kids her age and some even younger. There was even one black
bear on board that watched her like a puppy watches someone when they want to
be held.

Even
with so many already there, Augustin was able to get them good seats where you
could see far out, and not just at the back of someone
’
s head. It would be awful, she thought,
to sit on a ship for hours and hours with only the back of someone
’
s head to look at. Better still, she
was right next to the edge of the ship, so she could reach out and swirl her
hand in the waves, because they always came way up high when you were out on
the ocean.

When
they reached the end of the Canal, the locks closed in behind them and water
came pumping in from the neighborhood next to it. The ship rose up higher and
higher as the water pumped in from the neighborhood until you could see houses
again. People came running outdoors to wave goodbye and do some shopping before
the ship left, since the water would need to flood back into the neighborhood
and fill it up. Everyone would have to be back safe indoors by then, she
guessed.

The
ship rose all the way up till it was of a height where it could steam out onto
the High Seas, and Celeste looked out across those waves as the sun came up,
and it was almost as dazzling as the sea itself.

She
looked at her brother.
“
I
’
m ready to see the other side.
”

“
And that
’
s how it works,
”
he said.

So
they sailed away from home, and the sea smelled strong and not as good as she
hoped it might. Sometimes the waves coming up to be touched glistened with
rainbow colors
;
tempting, but wrong too. She would
fold her hands together in her lap until the good water returned.
Water just stretching out forever.

Seemed
that no matter how many came on board the ship, there were always chairs enough
to accommodate. Mr. Nebo saw to that. Surprising to see how many people were
swimming about. Mr. Nebo helped all who wanted aboard to find a chair. Find a
way to the other side.

She
’
d been watching the waves and the
people swimming about, when she realized she was alone. The chairs for her
brother and aunt were empty. But the bear was standing near, watching her.

“
Where
’
d they go?
”
she asked the bear, since it seemed to
be paying attention.

“
Not far,
”
said the bear.

“
Rather not be alone,
”
Celeste confessed.
“
Think you could show me where they
went.
”

“
I
’
ll walk with you,
”
the bear replied.

Celeste
nodded at that. The deck ran straight back as far as she could see, lined all
the way with porch after generous porch, like viewing stands, each with a neat
roof, propped up with posts, sporting wave-like brackets or just hovering out
like a cap
’
s bill. Familiar smiles and waves
greeted her as she passed, and she waved and spoke kindly in return, whether
she could recall them or not.

Where
the sun was too hot, the Live Oaks reached their long arms clear across the
deck to shade the way, but careful not to block the breeze since the air was
thick and needed to move. The Gulf had been worked hard and was still panting
to catch its breath. The railing dripped.

“
The heat doesn
’
t bother me much,
”
she said to the bear.
“
But I suppose you
’
re mighty uncomfortable with all that
fur.
”

“
I
’
ll be fine,
”
said the bear.

They
walked on together, and the porches ended. The deck of the ship was now that of
a bridge that stretched out from day to night
;
long
and long across the water. Straight and flat like the distant horizon.

“
Boats are a lot like
bridges,
”
she observed for the bear
’
s benefit.
“
Same with trains and streetcars. There
’
s somewhere you are and somewhere you
need to be and they all get you there, like a bridge from here to there.
”

“
And maybe bring you
back again,
”
the bear offered.

“
Maybe.
”

The
bridge rose up so high that the water below was pale as mist.

“
Can
’
t say I like being up so high without a
branch to hold onto and leaves to keep me company.
”

The
climb was gentle but it still taxed her breathing. She slowed a bit and the
bear matched her pace. But at the very peak, she paused to let her breath catch
up while she admired the high, proud sun, shining flat down on the bright
bridge and a dark host of fleeing clouds that had crossed it before them.
High noon maybe.
And how far might she get before that proud
sun plunged itself into the water and let the night splash up and all over the
sky like a rich wash of ink or watercolor?

She
went far enough for the bridge to run down, and that downhill walk was just as
tough a go as the uphill side. Her knees ached and she worried she might pitch
forward and roll the rest of the way. She worried, but without complaint to the
bear. It was being thoughtful over something and she sensed it might be some
private concern, so she didn
’
t pry.

At
a crossing in the road, they found an old ghost barring the way forward, so without
a word, they took the way around her
;
the longer way
but one more fortunate. Mr. Nebo came rattling along in an old spindly sort of
truck and offered them a ride, just when she
’
d thought she might
be running out of steps forward on her own two aching feet.

He
carried them on to that crossroads where the old church steeple still lay
crumpled on the ground, but there was no old man around to pick up the canned
food strewn about, so Mr. Nebo helped her gather some of those up and go find
the Twins where they lived under the big Magnolia tree.
A
welcome rest after a long day of walking.
She sat beside the bear,
tracing the shape of its ear and listening to the Twins, and Augustin, and even
her Aunt Beatrice talk in soft tones about lovely things as the candles burned
and the air hung still, and the sun set among the felt-backed magnolia leaves.

But
the candles burned low and burned out. All the voices fell silent and another
road opened up before her. Only the bear was at her side, but there was
reluctance all about it
—
thicker
than its thick coat.

“
Thought I was done
with the road for a while,
”
Celeste said.
“
And none of my aches and pains have
gone away.
”
She rubbed her hands together.
“
Feels like they
’
re piling up all over. Still, there
’
s this road and it feels like its mine
to walk.
”

“
I believe that
’
s so,
”
said the bear.
“
But not a road I can share with you.
”

“
So I
’
ll have to walk it alone?
”

“
It seems so.
”

“
What if I lose my
way?
”

The
bear looked at her and not the road, and considered long before answering.

“
If you get lost, I
’
ll come looking for you, and I won
’
t stop looking till I find you.
”

“
That makes me feel
better,
”
Celeste said.
“
Not a lot, but some.
”

This
was a hard and dark road, though the path was as smooth and straight as could
be.
Nothing to trip over, but nothing joyful to look at
either.
Too little light to bring life to any color or
true shape to anything lining the way ahead.
Whatever sort of
neighborhood she was passing through, it was none she knew. No porches or tall
windows she could make out, but she suspected there were doors of a low, dark
and open sort. There was something familiar about these small houses, but
something wrong as well.

“
Cemetery,
”
she whispered low enough, she hoped,
not to wake anyone.
“
Cemetery with all the doors wide open,
”
she added, but only thinking it this
time.

She
’
d walked through a good many of those
grand, walled in cemeteries back home in her day.

In her day.
And when was that?

All
of her squinting couldn
’
t help pick out a
familiar set of tombs from any of the cemeteries she used to visit. St. Louis,
Lafayette off in the Garden District, even St.
Roch
where the old ghost had cursed her long ago.

How
long ago?

“
Back when you were
just a little girl,
”
said a voice from one of the dark but
open doors.
“
Long way back, but before I had my
dead-legs under me good and proper. Lord! If I had known then what I know now
…”

“
What might you have
done differently,
”
Celeste called to the ghost, expecting
some sort of contrition even at this late date.

“
Nothing of any benefit
to you, girl,
”
the ghost spat.
“
Just you mind who has seniority here
—
and always will have. One nice thing
about being dead is that you
’
re dead for good, so
the years just pile up to my credit.
”

Celeste
kept up her slow pace along the smooth path, hoping she might leave the ghost
behind, but the ghost
’
s voice called out from yet another
tomb a little ways farther along, maybe sensing Celeste
’
s discomfort with all those little open
doors.

“
On the Other Side,
they keep these all closed up tight like they mean to keep us in our place, but
on This Side there
’
s an open door policy. Just find you a
place and move on in, but not around here for the likes of you! Keep yourself
moving down the road. There
’
s a place for you and
mind you stick to it. Don
’
t be disturbing my
peace!
”

The
path through St. Open Door
’
s cemetery stretched
on endlessly, or looked like it might, but just as doubts about it entered her
head, another voice, familiar but more welcome than the ghost
’
s, spoke from just ahead. Gh
é
d
é
Nebo sat outside an
open tomb with his long legs stretched out clear to the path.

“
Don
’
t worry so about this path you
’
re on Miss Celeste,
”
he said.
“
I tend to it mighty carefully, even if
it
’
s not of my own making
—
and never mind who came up with it
either.
”