Crescent City Part 15

Emma came bustling from the dining room, where she had been inspecting tables.

"Andre! Where's your bride? I've been looking for her. Ah, there she is! Marie Claire, how are you, my dear? But you look adorable"-as though she had not herself been upstairs only a few minutes before attending to the girl's dress.

Marie Claire gave her earnest smile. She had not changed. Her tight curls were still the color of pale sand and she wore an unbecoming dress of the same dull color. She is so plain, Miriam thought with sudden pity, and he's so flashing.

The engaged pair was drawn away and the party began to split into groups. Old ladies, the married and the widowed, collected around the buffet tables. Why were old people so hungry? Miriam stood outside herself observing. When I was young, she thought, four years ago when I was young, I was inside things; now I am outside watching. There's Sylvain, being chivalrous with Eulalie on his arm. There's Pelagie's Felicite with budding b.r.e.a.s.t.s and long, still-childish hair. Eugene has disappeared to seek the most important of the important people who are here this evening.

She stood alone in the swarm. Then it occurred to her to look for David. She saw him too seldom. But a physician's hours were full. She understood, but wished there could be some long private times with him, uninterrupted; then perhaps she might talk to him about herself, talk as she could to no one else. And sometimes she fantasized about the two of them, taking the children and running away, running north to free air, released from every burden, every obligation .... Fantasy, indeed!

She found him in the small library, sitting over a carafe of wine with Gabriel and Rosa, who was at ease in the company of cigars and men.

"Come sit with us," David said. "We are having a friendly argument about the future of Judaism."

"I'm only saying," Gabriel explained, "that so many of the petty laws and superst.i.tions of the Orthodox are not original elements of the faith. In the last three thousand years there have been more years when we didn't live in ghettos than when we did."

David took up the argument. "Yes, and the years when we lived in ghettos and observed what you call those superst.i.tions and petty laws were the very years when we held on to our highest moral standards. The world around us was beset with b.l.o.o.d.y wars, but in the orthodoxy of the ghetto there was peace."

"You sentimentalize that life, David. These are different times. I would rather remember the free learned Jews of Spain than the imprisoned Jew of the Polish ghetto, in spite of all his piety and virtue."

"Perhaps," Rosa said, "if you had ever seen our services in Charleston, David, you would-"

"I know about them. You've simply thrown out the very structure that for centuries has held the family and the whole people together. That's what you've done."

"Not at all-" Gabriel began, and was interrupted by Ferdinand, who, carrying a drink, stopped at their table.

"What? What kind of a conversation is this? Young people, you ought to be dancing. You're all too serious."

"Oh," David said lightly, "I'm sure there are plenty of conversations about the stock market going on in the house right this minute. Isn't that serious, too, Papa? Or horse racing at Metairie? You can lose a fortune there, and surely losing money is a serious matter!"

"Or poker, or faro. Yes, yes, you're right," Ferdinand replied, only half hearing. And he progressed to the next group, doing his duty as a host.

A moment later Eugene came into the room. By the speed of his walk it was evident that he was on a search. When he saw them, he stopped.

"I'm looking for Judge Ballantine. I daresay he hasn't come yet You look very comfortable here."

"We are. Please join us," Gabriel said.

Can he really like Eugene? Miriam wondered as Eugene sat down. And suddenly remembering He cannot take his eyes from you, she wanted to get up, but was imprisoned now between her husband and Gabriel Carvalho.

The latter now resumed the interrupted discussion. "Resistance to the new is understandable, of course. When Moses Mendelssohn translated the Torah into German, how the Orthodox attacked him! They forgot how sixteen centuries earlier the sages had translated it into Arabic and Greek. No, David, it is some measure of reform that will save Judaism for many who would otherwise abandon it."

"The way it's been saved here in New Orleans? What have you got? Shops open on the Sabbath, synagogues three quarters empty ..."

"But we haven't modernized yet here. That's my point! What we have here is just a handful of Orthodox leaning a trifle in the direction of change. And the rest of the people are nothing at all."

"Like my father," David said.

"Don't be too hard on your father." Gabriel spoke quietly. "He has no choice here, as I've just said. And he won't accept the old ways anymore. The old ways remind men like him of Europe. What does he remember? Suffering and brutality. Humiliation and-"

David interrupted. "You're more tolerant than I."

If only David would learn not to interrupt so rudely, Miriam thought. Forgetting her embarra.s.sment in his presence, she wanted to hear what Gabriel had to say.

"More tolerant of everything around you," David said emphatically.

Something compelled Miriam to speak. Part boldly, part shyly, her words came forth. Without looking directly at him, she was addressing Gabriel. "Things don't seem to have changed much since Josephus wrote. The problems were the same almost two thousand years ago."

"My wife is a reader," Eugene said.

He was angry that she had spoken. He himself was too prudent to offer an opinion on a controversial subject. One never knew which potentially useful person one might offend.

"There's my son," he said abruptly.

Children and nursemaids were pa.s.sing through the hall. On seeing his father, little Eugene came running. The father took the boy on his lap.

"What's this, what's this on your arm?"

"It's a bee sting. Blaise put mud on it."

"A bee sting? This time of year? It happened just now?"

"It happened yesterday," Miriam said.

"You didn't tell me!"

"It didn't seem that important."

"Well, well, since it's all right-but I should be told." And, as if doubting the wholeness of the boy, Eugene carefully examined his face, his neck, and his fat knees.

For a moment conversation stopped. All were expected to give their attention to little Eugene. And he was a handsome child in his kilt, his badger sporran, and Glengarry bonnet with its sprig of heather, all a la mode. Eugene had ordered the outfit from Scotland.

"Soon you will be going to school," he said, dandling his son.

"You're sending him to France?" inquired Rosa.

"Oh, not yet, but when he's older, of course."

No, Miriam thought fiercely, you will not do that to me. And although she knew the answer perfectly well, she pursued the question. "What about Angelique? Shall you send her to France, too?"

Eugene shrugged. "If you wish, but it's not essential."

She had not spoken to him so directly for a long time, if ever. But now she was driven by the sight of him holding her child, as if he alone were responsible for Eugene.

"Oh, I know it's thought that a woman needs no education," she said in a low, rapid voice. "Education will only make her discontented and unfit to keep a household! Yes, that's what's said." She stopped. It was no use.

Eugene put down the boy, who scurried away, then turned to David. "Tell me, is it from you that my wife gets these unusual tastes?"

"Not at all. Miriam has her own tastes."

"These discussions lead nowhere." Eugene stood up. His tone touched the edge of mockery, as if he were saying: What do ideas matter anyway? We all know they don't.

"Down with discussions, then," David said.

The group dispersed and Miriam found herself enclosed with Gabriel behind a wall of people.

"Your brother and I have our differences, as you see. I like to think they keep our friendship lively."

"Your differences are very small, I think. You don't disagree on principles. And they're really all that matter, aren't they?"

"Do come, they're making a toast!" someone cried, and Miriam was pushed forward in the general movement toward the dining room.

"So you have been reading Josephus," Gabriel said, hurrying beside her.

"Over my husband's objections."

He did not comment. Instead he asked gently, "How is the dog getting on?"

"Oh, he has got his land legs. You were so kind, I don't know whether I thanked you enough."

"You did," he said.

He had brought the dog, complete with a basket and blanket, one Sunday afternoon. Rosa had put a red bow on its head; the wobbling bow had fallen over one eye, so that the little thing had seemed to be winking. Miriam had laughed with delight.

"Gretel the Second! She's almost exactly the same! It's so good of you, Gabriel, such a beautiful surprise!"

"Very thoughtful," Eugene had added. "I daresay if you'd brought her a basket of diamonds she wouldn't have been as pleased."

And Gabriel had stood there on the verandah watching the event, saying no more, but watching as he was doing right now, with a gaze so intense, so serious, that in her confusion she could only pretend to fix the clasp of her bracelet, which did not need to be fixed.

Earnestly, as if to draw her attention away from the bracelet, he said, "I had planned to replace your Gretel as long ago as last winter. It took too many months to make the arrangements."

He can't take his eyes away from you, Eugene had said.

In the dining room a bald gentleman with raised gla.s.s was saying something about blessings on the young couple, on the friends, on the house, on everything.

Ferdinand spoke jovially into Miriam's ear. "You see what a brotherly spirit we have? All for one and one for all." He was not a drinking man and he had already had two gla.s.ses of champagne.

"This party must be costing a fortune," someone remarked in Miriam's other ear. She recognized the voice of Sylvain, who was hidden behind a pair of broad shoulders. "It's rumored that Raphael's overextended himself most awfully. Of course, it may be only a rumor. I hope so for the sake of my mother-in-law." And as the broad shoulders moved away, he caught sight of Miriam. "Ah, Miriam, I want to introduce the bridegroom. You must meet Andre. Everyone admires him."

"I have met him," she objected, but had already been drawn away by Sylvain's arm to a group around another small table upon which a single supper plate had been laid. There sat old Lambert Labouisse, enthroned and erect; his expression under a crown of immaculate white hair was severely regal. A discussion of politics had apparently been going on around him.

"My son, Alexandre, is five years old," said Sylvain, at once joining in, "and I predict that he will grow up to fight in a war."

"Let us hope not," Gabriel answered soberly.

"In Congress they are already ranting about 'the sin of slavery,'" Sylvain continued. "John Slidell-a very good friend of mine-comes back from Washington with warnings of the sentiments in the Senate."

"Do you not think it's significant," asked the elder Labouisse, "that some of our most brilliant defenders in the Senate are not southern born? Slidell is from New York; and, of course, Soule is from France. Remarkable," he mused, and the others inclined their heads respectfully as though the old man had himself said something remarkable. "Soule is coming here tonight, I've been told. I've not seen him yet. In my opinion this talk of war is exaggerated. Our civilization will not be undermined by a handful of fanatics," he concluded scornfully.

Startled, Miriam heard a whisper and turned to look into the face of Andre Perrin.

"Excuse me. Would I be depriving you of this discussion or might you like to dance?"

"I should like to dance," she said, rising.

Suddenly the talk had become too heavy. It was important talk, but she had had enough of it; guiltily she understood this was because she was too absorbed with herself.

"Such heavy talk on a night like this," said Andre Perrin as if she had spoken her thought aloud.

In the courtyard, where dancing couples were moving in concentric circles, he drew her into the outer one. At once they fell into step.

"I have just come back from the war in Mexico," he told her. "I don't want to hear any more threats of war. People think it's all parades and flags. But you enjoyed old Rough-and-Ready's victory parade, I hope? He was quite a sight, riding Old Whitey."

"Oh, yes, it was splendid."

"Your little boy was thrilled with it, anyway. You're wondering how I knew he was there? I saw you. Your girl was with you, too. They're twins, aren't they?"

"Yes, but they say forty thousand people were in the Place d'Armes. How could you have seen me?"

Perrin enjoyed her surprise. "Because when we stood at attention opposite the cathedral, I recognized Pelagie in the front row. You were next to her. You wore a gray velvet bonnet with a white plume. Your boy wanted to pull away from your hand and run with the soldiers. You had to hold him back."

"Incredible! What a memory you have."

"As a matter of fact, my memory is not all that good. But I remembered you."

He was not much taller than she, so that she could look almost directly into his face. His skin was ruddy brown from wind and sun. He was so close that she could see the blond roots of his eyelashes.

"You think I'm too bold, Mrs. Mendes? I don't mean to be."

"It's all right," she murmured. After a moment of awkward silence she could think of nothing better to add than "It was a stirring parade."

"It was a stirring war. All the way from Matamoros, where we landed, to Monterrey."

"But such terrible suffering! The heat and the flies-we kept reading the dispatches in the Picayune. Surely you must want to forget it all."

"I should like to." He laughed. "My mother won't let me, though. She has renamed our plantation 'Palo Alto,' after the battle in which I was almost wounded. She wants to think I was a hero, which I wasn't."

Miriam liked the way he could laugh at himself, liked the easy grace of the dance, liked the way she was feeling. Swaying and swinging, they drew an arabesque around the courtyard. The light played on his face whenever they pa.s.sed beneath a lantern. His mouth was beautifully molded, and even when he was not smiling, the curve of the lips gave an effect of good humor. Like sunshine, she thought.

"Shall you be living at Palo Alto?" she asked, and remembered at once what Pelagie had said about going abroad.

"No, we're going to France for a while. But we're having a house built here in town for when we come back. It's in the Garden District with the Americans."

"So you're deserting us in the Vieux Carre!"

"Oh, we are all getting mixed up together these days. The old rivalry's dying, it's practically dead. Look at us here tonight Everyone of us speaks both languages. The Creoles themselves are moving, spreading all over the city. It's a wonderful city. I shall love working here."

"You're an attorney?"