Child of the Storm (29 page)

George
was ever her source of information on newsworthy things because he had a radio
and
a television to help him keep on top of events, and the coming of any great
storm into the Gulf was the biggest of news to Celeste.

“
I
’
ve been paying attention to this one
especially,
”
he told her one heat-packed day in mid
August.
“
I
’
ve followed it as it
came across the Atlantic.
”

Born out of that desert like Betsy was
, Celeste thought.

“
She only became a
hurricane yesterday morning. Before that, she came sneaking in below Cuba and
the other islands, steering clear of them like she was saving her strength for
something else. Now she
’
s in the Gulf and
last I heard this morning, she
’
s turned north.
”

“
And what would that
mean?
”

“
Can
’
t say, but she
has
plenty of room to run. She
’
s taking her time and
building her strength for something.
”

“
As strong as Betsy?
”
She thought she already knew the
answer. She could feel it.

“
Stronger. But she
’
s kind of small and compact. It
’
s like she
’
d rather clobber someplace especially
hard than spread it around. They say she could wipe someone off the map.
”

“
Who?
”

“
They can
’
t tell for sure. But they
’
re guessing Fort Walton or Pensacola or
someplace like that on the panhandle.
”

“
They guess that?
”

“
That
’
s what they guess for now, but Mr.
Cooper said she could come this way.
”

“
I guess he
’
d know.
”

“
I sure would feel
better knowing my house would still be standing come next week. I
’
d feel a whole lot better if there was
someone who could do more than just guess.
”

“
And do what?
”

“
Like maybe send her
off another way if she set her sights on us.
”

“
Well that
would
be a useful something. Can anybody out there do that nowadays?
”

He
was silent,
then
he mumbled something that might have
been
“
Not sure.
”

“
You talking to
someone other than me?
”
she asked, prodding him.

“
No, ma
’
am.
”

“
Good. So when would
she reach land?
”

“
Tomorrow night, the
seventeenth. Maybe late night or early the next morning.
”

“
Thank you George. I
can always count on you. Looks like we may be closing a little early today. You
know how that goes. Anyone who can get out of the city until this passes should
do it and that includes you.
”

“
Yes ma
’
am, and the same should go for you too.
”

“
Well, we
’
ll see.
”

By
later that afternoon, Celeste sent Nathan on his way with thanks for his help
in boarding up her house. She ate nothing for fear it would interfere with her
thinking, and she sat for an hour or so on the front porch, just reading the
air before going inside.

“
If there
’
s something of this sort to do, it
’
s just as well to get on with it,
”
she said to herself. She went to her
room and looked down on her picturous quilt. She poured her attention over it,
square by square, touching every bit of fabric and sparing a thought for the
one it signified. Then she gathered it up and took it back to the kitchen
table. She sat before her tools and draped the quilt over her shoulders. It was
much too warm to be draped with a heavy quilt, but she needed it to be this
way, like a proper ritual, and the heat was less of a burden to her than to
most. She sat for a good long time, breathing in the charged air and
considering.

           
She
was like that man in the story.
An old man riding out to do
battle with giants.
Only they weren
’
t giants at all. They
were windmills for turning the
mill stone
and grinding
down the grain into flour. The thought of that struck her as grimly
appropriate. Camille was a windmill of sorts, and everyone in the city might be
the grain yet to be ground up between the base stone of the land and her own
awful runner stone.

“
I
’
ll need to catch her far, far out. See
if she
’
ll listen to what I have to say.
”

She
prepared the kitchen table for her work, laying out her colors, her brush, the
bowls of water and the broad square of textured paper taped to the board. She
set each item just so.
One water bowl to clean the brush
between washes, and the other for mixing with paint.
She held the brush
and eyed the blank paper, preparing herself for the next step, into that frame
of mind where she would prepare her painting of what her senses told her
Camille would need to do if that other, wider path was to be the one she could
see fit to choose. Each wash went down with care and respect. She built it in
her mind and on the paper;
cool
colors and warm colors
where needed. A saturation of pigments here and almost nothing but water there.
Suggestions of pressure, movement and heat.
She turned
in, having laid it all down on the paper and set it in her mind to show the
bear.

The
bear was waiting for her, seated on her right where she could just see, her
eyes cutting between Celeste and the emptiness prepared for her to work.
“
So you
’
re ready?
”
asked the bear.

“
Feels like it. I
’
ve done all the preparations. I need to
bind my intentions with that of Camille, and binding is best done with threes.
”

“
Threes,
”
repeated the bear, wistfully.
“
I seem to recall something of threes.
”

“
Three colors and you
can make any other your need.
Paint, water and paper.
Three again.
”

“
And what about you,
me and the storm
?
”
asked the bear.

“
You could say that
too, and also three in how I touch the storm
—
sight,
smell and feel.
”

Celeste
painted the emptiness with the power of Camille.
“
Like, but not like
Betsy,
”
Celeste explained.
“
Each one dances its own way, and where
Betsy
’
s was a big sprawling sort of dance,
this Camille is like one that
’
s studied hard and
means for every move to be right, like she
’
s on a stage. She
spins fast and tight. Sure of herself, I
’
d almost say.
”
She rendered the climbing clouds and
the agreement between Gulf and sky.
“
They
’
ve lined up just right to make her
something special. Like they
’
ve high hopes for her
and she means to do them proud.
”
The picture formed
before them, in accordance with all Celeste had come to understand of Camille,
until it was complete.

“
This is how she
’
s come to be and where she is now,
”
Celeste explained.
“
Looking from then to now, and judging
the shape of what will likely be, I suspect their wrong about where she
’
ll come to land. Left as they are, the
shape of things will bring her down on us, just as in the dream.
”

“
Maybe she was
whispering that intention to you even then,
”
suggested the bear.

“
Maybe so. Maybe my
web and hers have touched. She
’
s whispered a
frightening notion to me, and it
’
s for me to whisper
something else in return. Nothing boastful.
Nothing proud or
hateful.
Not warning but suggestion, and maybe just enough to help it
see a way around.
”

The
image of her watercolor study came to mind again.
A good
study.
A reasonable assumption, borne out once more
here in the company of the bear.
Both pictures suggested the same thing,
and Celeste took that small suggestion, and, reaching out along her web into
the path of Camille, she placed it among the flow and hoped it would be taken
up
—
and move the dance just that least
little bit.

She
woke late in the night and for a while the room seemed strange and the silence
threatening. She stretched out her fingers and there was the quilt. She turned
her head to catch the breeze from the window on her face. The room was hot, but
there was at least that small bit of air coming through the boards. At some
point she had left the kitchen table and turned in, though she couldn
’
t recall doing so. She felt very tired
but also calm, as if all was safe and as it should be. She rose but turned on
no lights, feeling her way across the dark rooms, until she reached the front
door and went outside to sit on the porch. It was late and the night was quiet.

Most
folks have turned in or left town, she thought.

She
felt strained and her senses would tell her little of the night. Except that it
was dark. Come morning, she might know if her work had done any good.
   

The
phone rang several times before the sound of it punched through to the depths
of sleep where Celeste floated deaf and blind to the passing morning. When she
finally woke and struggled out of bed to answer it, there was no one there.
They must have given up, she thought. It was especially hot in the house. Part
of that was because only two windows were open, but the light from the half
covered windows was so bright. She fumbled about the room, looking for a clock,
only to catch
herself
staring at the wall, uncertain
what it was she had been looking for, only to find she was looking right at it.
Noon. She couldn
’
t remember a time when she had slept so
long. She was still wearing what she had worn the day before, but she needed
fresh air to clear her head and didn
’
t much care who saw
her looking a bit rumpled. She opened the door to find George standing right
there on her front porch, knuckles in the air ready to knock.

“
Are you alright?
”
he said, tilting back on his heels as
she appeared.
“
I called earlier but got no answer.
”

“
I
’
m fine. Just moving
slow
.
I was up later than usual last night.
”

He
nodded a few times. Nice slow nods to say he understood completely.

“
You just came by to
say good morning, or do you have some news?
”
she asked, and
thought it came out a little short.
“
What have you heard
about Camille?
”

“
Well, she never did
take that big turn north like they predicted.
”

“
No?
”

“
No ma
’
am, but she
’
s taken a little one. Maybe enough to
still keep her out of here.
”

“
Well that would be
good news.
”
She took a seat in her rocking chair.
She felt weak and light headed.

“
Nothing
’
s certain,
”
he continued.
“
So I still plan to take the family
inland. We
’
ll make room for you if you don
’
t have other plans. Could let you have
our house at least. Someplace dry.
”

“
I
’
ll be fine here,
”
she said, though she didn
’
t feel fine at the moment.
“
You go ahead and get going before it
gets bad on the roads. That
’
s one place you don
’
t want to get stuck.
”

He
backed off the porch.
“
I
’
ll do that, but you
be careful too. I
’
ll check in as soon as we get back.
”
He went to his long blue station wagon
that was already looking full at the back end. He paused before getting in and
leaned on the roof.
“
Thank you, Celeste.
”

“
For what?
”

For
answer he just smiled. Then he was gone.

She
closed her eyes and did her best to feel what the wind might have to say.
Just
that little turn she needed to keep her out of here, she thought, and that
’
s what the wind said to her.
A near thing, but a near miss.
As long as the waters don
’
t get too rambunctious, we may be fine.

As
tired as she was, Celeste slept poorly that night, and her dreams rode her so
hard she could never get hold to settle them down. Wherever the bear was, she was
not there with her, or couldn
’
t wade through all
the mess of dreams Celeste had churned out; dreams of worry and images that
might be those of death and the departed. At midnight, she dreamt she was on
her front porch seated in her rocking chair. The light was dim and diffused;
neither dusk nor dawn, and there was so much silence, that it made the sound of
footsteps coming down the street all the more special and worthy of notice. She
leaned out to see who was coming her way, and a tall thin figure came striding
out of the fog-like air. A figure dressed all in black, from his shoes to his
tall hat.

“
Morning Miss Dubois,
”
said the walker.

“
Is it morning Gh
é
d
é
N
é
bo
?
”

“
Yes ma
’
am. A fine but busy morning.
”
He replied without stopping or even
slacking his pace.
“
I
’
d like nothing better
than to stop a while and visit. I
’
ve some jokes to
raise a blush in those fine cheeks of yours, but maybe another time. I
’
m needed elsewhere, and no time to
waste. But I
’
m sure that
’
s music to your ears!
”
And he marched away into the dim east.

She
never heard the phone ring, but an hour later, when the knock came on the door,
she heard it and, putting on her robe, shuffled out to answer. It was George,
and Annie as well this time, like a delegation with a grim purpose to perform.
Behind them was George
’
s station wagon parked on the street,
and there were birds singing, and the sky was clear and the air clean. Celeste
was squinting at them.

“
She missed us,
”
George said.
“
I can take these boards off the windows
and we can open up the shop tomorrow. She missed us clean.
”

“
Are you okay Celeste?
”
Annie asked.

“
Just tired. I didn
’
t sleep well.
But
what of the storm?
Where did she land?
”

“
Mississippi mostly,
”
Annie said.

George
nodded.
“
Over towards Biloxi.
”

“
How bad was it?
”
Celeste asked.

“
Where ever she went,
there
’
s nothing left, as I hear it,
”
Annie said.
“
She swept it all clean with wind and
flood water.
”
Then, because George wasn
’
t quick enough to stop her, she added,
“
At least a hundred people killed and
maybe a whole lot more than that.
”

That
news hit Celeste in the stomach so hard it made her head reel. She heard
nothing else
;
no words, no singing birds. Her mind
closed like a slamming door. She had set Camille on them; all those people that
might have been waking to this bright and clear morning as she had done. No
wonder Death
’
s Right Hand had no time to talk to her
last night. He had business off to the east where Camille had gone to trample,
crush and drown whoever she could find. George caught Celeste as she fell.
Caught her just before her head could hit the floor.

She
came to with her head in Annie
’
s lap and George
dabbing her forehead with a cool, damp hand towel. He spoke as soon as her eyes
found his.

“
You okay?
”

Her
head and her stomach still hurt something awful, but she managed to move her
head, yes.
“
Tired I guess,
”
she said weakly.
“
Worried. Maybe.
”

“
We were lucky,
”
he said.
“
Camille could have killed thousands and
thousands if she had landed here. Anybody who didn
’
t leave might have died, and all of
this would have been swept away. We were very lucky, Celeste.
”

“
He
’
s right,
”
Annie said above
her.

“
You ought to see a
doctor.
”
George told her.

Celeste
rolled her eyes up where she could see him properly, even though it hurt.

“
No doctors, unless it
’
s Aurore. I
’
m still your boss and Big Brother. Don
’
t forget that.
”