I
The leaves were so still that even Bibi thought it was
going to rain. Bobinôt, who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect equality with his little son, called the child’s attention to certain sombre clouds that were rolling with sinister intention from the west, accompanied by a sullen, threatening roar. They were at Friedheimer’s store
and decided to remain there till the storm had passed. They sat within the door on two empty kegs. Bibi was four years old and looked very wise.
“Mama’ll be ’fraid, yes,” he suggested with blinking eyes.
“She’ll shut the house. Maybe she got Sylvie helpin’ her this evenin’,” Bobinôt responded reassuringly.
“No; she ent got Sylvie. Sylvie was helpin’ her yistiday,” piped Bibi.
Bobinôt arose and going across to the counter
purchased a can of shrimps, of which Calixta was very fond.
Then he returned to his perch on the keg and sat stolidly holding the can of shrimps while the storm burst. It shook the wooden store and seemed to be ripping great furrows in the distant field. Bibi laid his little hand on his father’s knee and was not afraid.
II
Calixta, at home, felt no uneasiness for their safety. She sat at a side window sewing furiously on a sewing machine.
She was greatly occupied and did not notice the
approaching storm. But she felt very warm and often stopped to mop her face on which the perspiration
gathered in beads. She unfastened her white sacque at the throat. It began to grow dark, and suddenly realizing the
situation she got up hurriedly and went about closing windows and doors.
Out on the small front gallery she had hung Bobinôt’s Sunday clothes to air and she hastened out to gather them before the rain fell. As she stepped outside, Alcée
Laballière rode in at the gate. She had not seen him very
often since her marriage, and never alone. She stood there with Bobinôt’s coat in her hands, and the big rain drops
began to fall. Alcée rode his horse under the shelter of a
side projection where the chickens had huddled and there were plows and a harrow piled up in the corner.
“May I come and wait on your gallery till the storm is over, Calixta?” he asked.
“Come ’long in, M’sieur Alcée.”
His voice and her own startled her as if from a trance, and she seized Bobinôt’s vest. Alcée, mounting to the porch, grabbed the trousers and snatched Bibi’s braided
jacket that was about to be carried away by a sudden gust
of wind. He expressed an intention to remain outside, but it was soon apparent that he might as well have been out in
the open: the water beat in upon the boards in driving
sheets, and he went inside, closing the door after him. It was even necessary to put something beneath the door to keep the water out.
“My! what a rain! It’s good two years sence it rain’ like that,” exclaimed Calixta as she rolled up a piece of bagging and Alcée helped her to thrust it beneath the crack.
She was a little fuller of figure than five years before
when she married; but she had lost nothing of her vivacity. Her blue eyes still retained their melting quality; and her yellow hair, dishevelled by the wind and rain, kinked more stubbornly than ever about her ears and temples.
The rain beat upon the low, shingled roof with a force and clatter that threatened to break an entrance and
deluge them there. They were in the dining room—the
sitting room—the general utility room. Adjoining was her bed room, with Bibi’s couch along side her own. The door
stood open, and the room with its white, monumental bed, its closed shutters, looked dim and mysterious.
Alcée flung himself into a rocker and Calixta nervously began to gather up from the floor the lengths of a cotton
sheet which she had been sewing.
“If this keeps up, Dieu sait if the levees goin’ to stan’ it!” she exclaimed.
“What have you got to do with the levees?”
“I got enough to do! An’ there’s Bobinôt with Bibi out in that storm—if he only didn’ left Friedheimer’s!”
“Let us hope, Calixta, that Bobinôt’s got sense enough to come in out of a cyclone.”
She went and stood at the window with a greatly
disturbed look on her face. She wiped the frame that was clouded with moisture. It was stiflingly hot. Alcée got up and joined her at the window, looking over her shoulder.
The rain was coming down in sheets obscuring the view of far-off cabins and enveloping the distant wood in a gray mist. The playing of the lightning was incessant. A bolt struck a tall chinaberry tree at the edge of the field. It filled all visible space with a blinding glare and the crash seemed to invade the very boards they stood upon.
Calixta put her hands to her eyes, and with a cry,
staggered backward. Alcée’s arm encircled her, and for an instant he drew her close and spasmodically to him.
“Bonté!” she cried, releasing herself from his encircling arm and retreating from the window, “the house’ll go next!
If I only knew w’ere Bibi was!” She would not compose herself; she would not be seated. Alcée clasped her shoulders and looked into her face. The contact of her warm, palpitating body when he had unthinkingly drawn her into his arms, had aroused all the old-time infatuation and desire for her flesh.
“Calixta,” he said, “don’t be frightened. Nothing can happen. The house is too low to be struck, with so many tall trees standing about. There! aren’t you going to be quiet?
say, aren’t you?” He pushed her hair back from her face that was warm and steaming. Her lips were as red and
moist as pomegranate seed. Her white neck and a glimpse of her full, firm bosom disturbed him powerfully. As she
glanced up at him the fear in her liquid blue eyes had given place to a drowsy gleam that unconsciously betrayed a sensuous desire. He looked down into her eyes and there was nothing for him to do but to gather her lips in a kiss. It reminded him of Assumption.
“Do you remember—in Assumption, Calixta?” he asked in a low voice broken by passion. Oh! she remembered; for
in Assumption he had kissed her and kissed and kissed her; until his senses would well nigh fail, and to save her he
would resort to a desperate flight. If she was not an
immaculate dove in those days, she was still inviolate; a
passionate creature whose very defenselessness had made her defense, against which his honor forbade him to prevail. Now—well, now—her lips seemed in a manner free to be tasted, as well as her round, white throat and her whiter breasts.
They did not heed the crashing torrents, and the roar of the elements made her laugh as she lay in his arms. She was a revelation in that dim, mysterious chamber; as white as the couch she lay upon. Her firm, elastic flesh that was
knowing for the first time its birthright, was like a creamy lily that the sun invites to contribute its breath and
perfume to the undying life of the world.
The generous abundance of her passion, without guile or trickery, was like a white flame which penetrated and
found response in depths of his own sensuous nature that had never yet been reached.
When he touched her breasts they gave themselves up in quivering ecstasy, inviting his lips. Her mouth was a
fountain of delight. And when he possessed her, they
seemed to swoon together at the very borderland of life’s mystery.
He stayed cushioned upon her, breathless, dazed, enervated, with his heart beating like a hammer upon her.
With one hand she clasped his head, her lips lightly
touching his forehead. The other hand stroked with a soothing rhythm his muscular shoulders.
The growl of the thunder was distant and passing away.
The rain beat softly upon the shingles, inviting them to drowsiness and sleep. But they dared not yield.
The rain was over; and the sun was turning the
glistening green world into a palace of gems. Calixta, on
the gallery, watched Alcée ride away. He turned and smiled at her with a beaming face; and she lifted her pretty chin in the air and laughed aloud.
III
Bobinôt and Bibi, trudging home, stopped without at the cistern to make themselves presentable.
“Goodness, Bibi! What will your mama say! You should be ashamed. You shouldn’t be wearing those nice pants—just look at them! And how did you get mud on your collar? I’ve never seen anything like it!” Bibi stood there, the picture of quiet resignation. Bobinôt, meanwhile, was all serious concern as he worked to clean himself and his son of the mud from their trek over heavy roads and soaked fields. He scraped the mud from Bibi’s bare legs and feet with a stick, brushing away the last bits from his own heavy shoes. Bracing themselves to meet an overly particular housewife, they crept cautiously through the back door.
Calixta was in the kitchen, preparing supper. She had set the table and was pouring coffee by the hearth. She jumped up the moment they entered.
“Oh, Bobinôt! You’re back! I was so worried. Where were you in all that rain? And Bibi? He’s not soaked, is he? He’s not hurt?” She scooped Bibi up and covered him in kisses.
All the apologies and explanations Bobinôt had been rehearsing on the way home vanished as Calixta felt his clothes to see if he was dry, clearly just relieved to see them safe.
“I brought you some shrimp, Calixta,” Bobinôt said, pulling a can from his deep pocket and placing it on the table.
“Shrimp! Oh, Bobinôt, you’re too good!” She gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek. “We’ll have a real feast tonight!”
Bobinôt and Bibi relaxed, finally at ease, and as the three sat down to eat, their laughter filled the room, so hearty it could have been heard as far as Laballière’s.
IV
Alcée Laballière wrote to his wife, Clarisse, that night. It was a loving letter, full of tender solicitude. He told her not to hurry back, but if she and the babies liked it at Biloxi, to stay a month longer. He was getting on nicely;
and though he missed them, he was willing to bear the
separation a while longer—realizing that their health and pleasure were the first things to be considered.
V
As for Clarisse, she was charmed upon receiving her husband’s letter. She and the babies were doing well. The society was agreeable; many of her old friends and
acquaintances were at the bay. And the first free breath
since her marriage seemed to restore the pleasant liberty of her maiden days. Devoted as she was to her husband, their intimate conjugal life was something which she was more than willing to forego for a while.
So the storm passed and every one was happy.
