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practically leaped into his truck and drove off. When I entered the house, Mama was collapsed

in her rocker, her head down so that her chin touched

her chest.

"Mama!" I cried, going quickly to her side and

kneeling to hold her hand.

She lifted her head slowly. "I'm all right. I

thought it was him returning," she said with a cold

smile. Then her face saddened. "It's too bad I have to

revert to mumbo-jumbo and superstition to keep him

under control.

"I got our money buried all over this place,

Gabriel, in places he ain't never going to find. It's

better he don't know how much we have stored or he'll

take it and leave us high and dry while he goes off on

another bender. What he ain't got, he can't lose," she

concluded.

"I'm sorry, Mama," I said. "I thought he was

doing so much better."

"He was, but he's not constant; he'll never be

dependable, I'm afraid. But," she said, rising, "we've

got to make do with what we have now, don't we? I'll

see to our dinner."

"Do you still love him, Mama?" I asked. I

wondered how it would be possible, especially after

being with Pierre and seeing how wonderful real love

could be. Mama paused and thought a moment and

then tweaked her lips into a tiny smile.

"Sometimes, when he's like he was, I feel the

pitter-patter again. But," she said with a deep sigh, "it

don't last."