All well and good. But none of this speaks to the absolute question: Can the events on Bayou Rigaud be taken at face value, or were more consequential historical actions involved? It may be unanswerable. It may be that when we peer over the extreme edge of human experience, we will find nothing but mute darkness. Or, and this is my conviction, it may be that there is a process of nature too large for us to perceive, an ultimate conjoining of the physics of coincidence and probability, wherein an infinite number of events, events as minuscule as two people meeting in the street and as grandiose as a resurrection, combine and each take on radiant meanings so as to enact an improbable and magical fate. But my own answer aside, I prefer above the rest that given me by an old Cajun woman whom I interviewed preparatory to beginning this memoir. At the very least, it does not beg the question.
‘Le Bon Dieu He got riled at all the funny doin’s down on Bayou Rigaud,’ she said. ‘So He raised up The Green-eyed Man to do battle wit His ancient enemy.’
July 27 - July 28, 1987
The oak tree sheltering Caitlett’s Store looked as if it had undergone a terrifying transformation: a hollow below its crotch approximating an aghast mouth, swirled patterns in the bark for eyes, thin arms flung up into greenery. Mr Brisbeau parked the truck beside it, keeping the motor running, while Jocundra and Donnell slid out. Someone cracked the screen door of the store and peeked at them, then let it bang shut, rattling a rusted tin sign advertising night-crawlers. Nothing moved in the entire landscape. The marshlands shone yellow-green under the late afternoon sun, threaded by glittering meanders of water and pierced by the state highway, which ran straight to the horizon.
‘Are you going back to the cabin?’ Jocundra asked Mr Brisbeau.
‘The damn gov’ment ain’t puttin’ me on their trut’ machine,’ he said. ‘Me, I’m headin’ for the swamp.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Donnell, sticking out his hand. ‘Thank you.’
Mr Brisbeau frowned. ‘You give me back my eyes, boy, and I ain’t lettin’ you off wit “goodbye” and “thank you.”’ He handed Donnell a folded square of paper. ‘That there’s my luck, boy. I fin’ it in the sand on Gran Calliou.’
The paper contained a small gold coin, the raised face upon it worn featureless.
‘Pirate gold,’ said Mr Brisbeau; he harumphed, embarrassed. ‘Now, me, I ain’t been the luckiest soul, but wit all my drinkin’ I figure I cancel it out some.’
‘Thank you,’ said Donnell again, turning the coin over in his fingers.
‘Jus’ give it back nex’ time you see me.’ Mr Brisbeau put his hands on the wheel. ‘I ain’t so old I don’t need my luck.’ He glanced sideways at Jocundra. ‘You wait twelve more years to come around, girl, and you have to whisper to my tombstone.’
‘I won’t.’ She rested her hand on the window, and he gave it a pat; His fingers were trembling.
‘Ain’t sayin’ goodbye,’ he said, his face collapsing into a sad frown; he let out the clutch and roared off.
Jocundra watched him out of sight, feeling forlorn, deserted, but Donnell gazed anxiously in the other direction.
‘I knew the son of a bitch would be late,’ he said.
The interior of the store was dark and cluttered. Shelf after shelf pf canned goods and sundries, bins of fish hooks and sinkers, racks of rods and reels. The fading light was thronged with particles of dust, and their vibration seemed to register the half-life of some force that radiated from a tin washtub of dried bait shrimp set beneath the window.
‘Cain’t wait here ‘less you buy somethin’,’ said the woman back of the counter, so they bought sandwiches and went outside to eat on the steps.
‘Funny thing happened last night,’ he said, breaking a long bout of chewing. ‘I was talking to Edman while you were searching the house, and I felt you behind me. I could’ve sworn you’d come back in the room, but then I realized I was feeling you walk through the house. It’s happened before, I think, but not so strongly.’
‘It’s probably just sexual,’ she said.
He laughed and hugged her.
‘You folks cain’t wait here much longer,’ said the woman from inside the door. ‘I’m gonna close real soon, and I don’t want you hangin’ round after dark.’
‘There must be some kind of feedback system in operation,’ said Jocundra after the woman had clomped back to the counter. ‘I mean considering the way your abilities have increased since you began healing. I’d expect more of an increase while you’re on the veve. Even though you’ll be trimming back the colony, you’ll be routing them through the systems that control your abilities.’
‘Hmm.’ He rubbed her hip, disinterested. ‘It was really weird last night,’ he said. ‘Sort of like the way you could tell the Gulf was beyond the pines at Robichaux’s. Something about the air, the light. A thousand micro-changes. I knew where you were every second.’
