say our way is the only way, but I don’t think that can be true. If only you take Him seriously. Too many people in our city don’t, I’m sorry to say.”
“That’s what Mrs. de Rivera told me tonight,” David answered.
“Rosa? I’m very fond of Rosa. She tells me you met her brother on the voyage.”
“Oh, yes, and we liked each other. But he’s going to college in the North when the time comes, so I shall probably never see him again.”
“Yes, the Anglos send their sons to William and Mary or even Harvard. Of course, we Creoles send oursons to Paris, but maybe you’ll go north to college, too.”
To that David made no reply. The possibilities were confusing, almost alarming.
“Or perhaps you would like Paris, too? You and Miriam? I was at school in France for a while.”
“No,” David said. This was more alarming. “I don’t want to go back to Europe. And I don’t want Miriam to go, either,” he added firmly.
“Oh, Miriam can go to school here. It really doesn’t matter for a girl one way or the other. She’ll be married young, pretty girls always are. I was sixteen. I met Sylvain when I was fifteen, and we were married the next year. Oh,” Pelagie cried, “I only hope you’ll be as lucky as I am, Miriam. But you will be.” And taking the child by the shoulders, she turned her toward the lampglow. “Look at those eyes! You’ll put your hair up here, like this, with a curl over each ear. And I’m sure your papa will buy some diamonds for your ears, you have good little ears. Oh, yes, you’ll be a beauty, darling.”
She prattles like her mother, David thought; that is to say, like a silly child. But she’s good all the same. He liked the tender way her hands touched Miriam.
“You have to come see us in the country. We live with Sylvain’s father, but Sylvain has promised me to buy a house in town so that we can have a place of our own for the social season and the opera. I do so love the opera .…”
The prattle ceased when Sylvain appeared and took his wife off to their room.
Blaise got up from his pallet on the floor when David entered his own room.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, Blaise.”
“No, no, I’ve been waiting for you, M’sieu David.”
“You go back to sleep. I’ll come in a minute.”
“Where are you going, M’sieu David?”
“Call me just David, will you, Blaise? I’m going to the
olla
in the back hall for water.”
Blaise was dismayed. “Not that one! It hasn’t been clarified yet. Serafina put alum in it not an hour ago. Besides, I’m always supposed to get things for you, M’sieu David.”
“But I’m used to doing things for myself, Blaise.”
“Not here, M’sieu David. Not here.”
Blaise’s bare feet slapped the steps as he descended; his slender shadow wavered on the wall.
David went out to the rear gallery overlooking the courtyard. The moon had risen and in the luminous night he could see the ragged outlines of massed banana leaves; a wind passed briefly and they rustled. He heard the purl and ripple of water, and remembered that there was a fountain at the end of the garden. A fresh fragrance, faintly tart, lay in the air; he remembered being told it was from those syringa bushes banked like snow against the farther wall. And a restless bird called out one startled, poignant note. Sweet night! Like no night the boy had ever seen. So sweet, so troubling!
Perhaps I came too late, he thought. Perhaps even fifteen is too late to make a change like this. I don’t know. I want to do right. I will do right. But I just don’t know about this place.
4
“Well, now you’ve seen the U.S. Mint,” Ferdinand said as they swung together past the foot of Esplanade Avenue. He put his arm around David’s shoulder. “You don’t know what it means to have my son here with me! My one regret—I can’t say it often enough—my one regret is that it took so long, that we’ve lost so much time. But enough of that. You’re here,” he said
“That’s what Mrs. de Rivera told me tonight,” David answered.
“Rosa? I’m very fond of Rosa. She tells me you met her brother on the voyage.”
“Oh, yes, and we liked each other. But he’s going to college in the North when the time comes, so I shall probably never see him again.”
“Yes, the Anglos send their sons to William and Mary or even Harvard. Of course, we Creoles send oursons to Paris, but maybe you’ll go north to college, too.”
To that David made no reply. The possibilities were confusing, almost alarming.
“Or perhaps you would like Paris, too? You and Miriam? I was at school in France for a while.”
“No,” David said. This was more alarming. “I don’t want to go back to Europe. And I don’t want Miriam to go, either,” he added firmly.
“Oh, Miriam can go to school here. It really doesn’t matter for a girl one way or the other. She’ll be married young, pretty girls always are. I was sixteen. I met Sylvain when I was fifteen, and we were married the next year. Oh,” Pelagie cried, “I only hope you’ll be as lucky as I am, Miriam. But you will be.” And taking the child by the shoulders, she turned her toward the lampglow. “Look at those eyes! You’ll put your hair up here, like this, with a curl over each ear. And I’m sure your papa will buy some diamonds for your ears, you have good little ears. Oh, yes, you’ll be a beauty, darling.”
She prattles like her mother, David thought; that is to say, like a silly child. But she’s good all the same. He liked the tender way her hands touched Miriam.
“You have to come see us in the country. We live with Sylvain’s father, but Sylvain has promised me to buy a house in town so that we can have a place of our own for the social season and the opera. I do so love the opera .…”
The prattle ceased when Sylvain appeared and took his wife off to their room.
Blaise got up from his pallet on the floor when David entered his own room.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, Blaise.”
“No, no, I’ve been waiting for you, M’sieu David.”
“You go back to sleep. I’ll come in a minute.”
“Where are you going, M’sieu David?”
“Call me just David, will you, Blaise? I’m going to the
olla
in the back hall for water.”
Blaise was dismayed. “Not that one! It hasn’t been clarified yet. Serafina put alum in it not an hour ago. Besides, I’m always supposed to get things for you, M’sieu David.”
“But I’m used to doing things for myself, Blaise.”
“Not here, M’sieu David. Not here.”
Blaise’s bare feet slapped the steps as he descended; his slender shadow wavered on the wall.
David went out to the rear gallery overlooking the courtyard. The moon had risen and in the luminous night he could see the ragged outlines of massed banana leaves; a wind passed briefly and they rustled. He heard the purl and ripple of water, and remembered that there was a fountain at the end of the garden. A fresh fragrance, faintly tart, lay in the air; he remembered being told it was from those syringa bushes banked like snow against the farther wall. And a restless bird called out one startled, poignant note. Sweet night! Like no night the boy had ever seen. So sweet, so troubling!
Perhaps I came too late, he thought. Perhaps even fifteen is too late to make a change like this. I don’t know. I want to do right. I will do right. But I just don’t know about this place.
4
“Well, now you’ve seen the U.S. Mint,” Ferdinand said as they swung together past the foot of Esplanade Avenue. He put his arm around David’s shoulder. “You don’t know what it means to have my son here with me! My one regret—I can’t say it often enough—my one regret is that it took so long, that we’ve lost so much time. But enough of that. You’re here,” he said
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