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"I wanted us to go there. I pushed for it," he moaned, his voice cracking.

"But, Daddy, sooner or later we would have gone there anyway. You can't blame yourself. It was a horrible, horrible accident."

"Accident," he said bitterly. His chin quivered. "I warned them; I told them not to wander off, didn't I?"

"Yes, Daddy. Stop blaming yourself. Mommy's upstairs wrenching her heart with blame, and Pierre has fallen into a serious coma because he blames himself. Jean simply shouldn't have gone into the water."

"He was just a young boy, still a child," Daddy protested. "It was my job to take care of him, watch over him, protect him. I failed. I failed miserably," he said and closed his eyes. He looked as if he might keep them shut forever.

"Daddy, I'm afraid for Pierre. We've got to do something. Call the doctor back."

Daddy opened his eyes slowly and stared at me as if my words were taking hours to enter his brain. "You think it's that serious?"

"He'll be dehydrated. I think he's even running a fever."

"Oh, no. I'll lose both of them," he said and stood up. He nodded after his own thoughts. "I'd better pay some attention to him and stop wallowing in my own tragedy," he added and started out. I followed him up the stairs to Pierre's room.

Pierre hadn't moved a muscle since I had last been beside him. His eyes were open, but so empty it was as if I could see through them, down the long corridor, into the blackness of his closed-down mind. Daddy went to the bed and sat beside Pierre, taking his hand into his.

"Pierre, you've got to snap out of this and help us, help Mommy. You must eat and drink something. It wasn't your fault. You tried to keep Jean from going into the water. Come on, Pierre," Daddy pleaded. Pierre didn't even blink. "Pierre." Daddy touched his cheek. "Come on, son. Please," he begged. Pierre's eyes remained turned inward. Suddenly he grimaced as if in great pain. And then he made a horrible guttural noise that frightened Daddy and me. Daddy retreated with surprise and stood up. "What's wrong with him? Why is he doing that?"

"I think he's reliving the tragedy," I guessed.

"Pierre, stop it. Stop it," Daddy ordered. He shook him by the shoulders. Pierre's expression didn't change, but the horrible sound ended. Daddy released him and turned to me. "I'd better call the doctor, as you say, Pearl."

"Go on, Daddy. I'll stay with him," I said. Daddy left the room.

I sat on the bed and took Pierre's hand in mine, stroking it gently.

"Poor Pierre," I said. "You had to see such a terrible thing, but you can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault."

I lifted my eyes to his face and saw the beginning of a single tear as it crawled over his eyelid and made its slow zigzag journey down his cheek to his chin. Incredibly, that was it, only one tear; as if he had cried all the others inside and had nothing more left to show. I leaned over and wiped the solitary tear away.

"Won't you try to drink some water, Pierre? Please. For me. Please," I begged. His lips didn't move, and his eyes remained as cold and hard as chips of turquoise. I sighed and held his hand and spoke to him softly until I was exhausted with the effort. Then I heard the door open and saw Mommy standing there, her hair down, her face streaked with her own dried tears, her skin waxen. She was in her

nightgown, but wore no slippers.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked in a voice stripped of emotion. She sounded like someone who had been mesmerized and was speaking under a spell, but she seemed finally to realize there was something the matter with Pierre.

"He won't drink or eat anything. His expression hasn't changed since we returned, nor has he moved. He's in a catatonic state, Mommy. I told Daddy to call the doctor."

"Mon Dieu," she said. "What have I done?"

"Mommy, please. It doesn't do anyone any good if you blame yourself. Look what it's doing to Pierre." I turned to him. "I'm sure he's blaming himself."

"My baby," she said and moved forward to embrace him. She sat on the bed and took him in her arms, but he was like a rag doll, his head wagging, his eyes frozen, his limbs lifeless. She rocked with him and tried to soothe him, but he didn't respond. The realization struck her, and she lowered him to the pillow, an expression of shock and fear in her face.

"What can we do, Pearl?" she cried.

"The doctor will be here any minute, Mommy, but I think Pierre's going to have to go to the hospital. They'll have to put him on an I.V. until he returns."

"Returns?" she asked. "From where?"

"From his own sanctuary, his place of escape, a place where what's happened is not a reality."

"How long could this last?" she asked, looking at him. I was afraid to tell her what I knew. I had read of people who had gone into a catatonic state for years because of some emotional trauma. Some of them never emerged, and some, when they emerged, were dramatically different because they had regressed into childhood.

"He'll snap out of it soon, Mommy, but he needs medical attention," I replied.