Page 25

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"I've been thinking it all over," I said. "I'm not sure you're the best for me."

"What?"

Out in the swamp, perched on a big sycamore tree, the old marsh owl stared at us as if he could hear and understand the words we were saying. He was so still, he looked stuffed.

"After you left last night, I gave everything more thought. know there are many girls my age or slightly older who are already married in the bayou. There are even younger ones, but I don't just want to be married and live happily ever after in the bayou. I want to do more, be more. I want to be an artist."

"So? I would never stop you. I'd do everything I could to--"

"An artist, a true artist, has to experience many things, travel, meet many different kinds of people, expand her vision," I said, turning back to him. He looked smaller, diminished by my words. He shook his head.

"What are you saying?"

"We shouldn't be so serious," I explained.

"But I thought . ." He shook his head. "This is all because I made a fool of myself last night, isn't it? Your grandmother is really very upset with me."

"No, she's not. Last night just made me think harder, that's all."

"It's my fault," he repeated.

"It isn't anyone's fault. Or, at least it isn't our fault," I added, recalling Grandmere Catherine's revelations last night. "It's just the way things are."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"I want you to . . . to do what I'm going to do . . see other people, too."

"There's someone else then?" he followed, incredulous. "How could you be the way you were last night with me and the days and nights before that and like someone else?"

"There's not someone else just yet," I muttered.

"There is," he insisted. I looked up at him. His sadness was being replaced with anger rapidly. The softness in his eyes evaporated and a fury took its place. His shoulders rose and his face became as crimson as his bruised cheek. His lips whitened in the corners. He looked like he could exhale fire like a dragon. I hated what I was doing to him. I wished I could just vanish.

"My father told me I was a fool to put my heart and trust in you, in a--"

"In a Landry," I coached sadly.

"Yes. In a Landry. He said the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

I lowered my head. I thought about my mother letting herself be used by Paul's father for his pleasure and I thought about Grandpere Jack caring more about getting money than what had happened to his daughter.

"He was right."

"I don't believe you," Paul shot back. When I looked at him again, I saw the tears that had washed over his eyes, tears of pain and anger, tears that would poison his mind against me. How I wished I could throw myself into his arms and stop what was happening, but I was thwarted and muzzled by reality. "You don't want to be an artist; you want to be a whore."

"Paul!"

"That's all, a whore. Well, go on, be with as many different men as you like. See if I care. I was crazy to waste my time on a Landry," he added and pivoted quickly, his boots kicking up the grass behind him as he rushed away.

My chin dropped to my chest and my body slumped on the cypress log bench. Where my heart had been, there was now a hollow cavity. I couldn't even cry. It was as if everything in me, every part of me had suddenly locked up, frozen, become as cold as stone. The sound of Paul's motor scooter engine reverberated through my body. The old marsh owl lifted his wings and strutted about nervously on the branch, but he didn't lift off. He remained there, watching me, his eyes filled with accusation now.

After Paul left our house, I got up. My legs were very shaky, but I was able to walk back to the roadside stall just as a carload of tourists pulled up. They were young men and women, loud and full of laughter and fun. The men went wild over the pickled lizards and snakes and bought four jars. The women liked Grandmere's handwoven towels and

handkerchiefs. After they had bought everything they wanted and loaded their car, one of the young men paused and approached us with his camera.

"Do you mind if I take your pictures?" he asked. "I'll give you each a dollar," he added.