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forth like vomit, then disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. She gave him
a smile that positively dripped honey. "Do come in."
She unchained the door and Gabriel entered, trying to keep up his own smile,
and thinking that this was one whacked old lady. He'd be lucky to get out of
here at all, much less with any information.
Madame led her visitor into a small parlor and motioned for him to sit down.
The room was a parlor, too not a living room, family room, home office, or
"media nook." Old silk settees bore clawed feet and doilies covered each chair
arm and tabletop within eyesight. The wallpaper, yel-
lowed and cracked, still matched lampshades, which had yellowed and cracked in
synchronicity.
Like the building exterior and, indeed, Madame herself, only the ghost of
graciousness was left clinging to physical matter so staled by age it already
smelled of the grave.
"I trust you are keeping yourself safe, madame?" Gabriel said as Cazaunoux
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settled her-
self on an adjacent settee. Castro calmed, hypnoti-
cally silenced by the warmth of her lap. Gabriel observed this and felt his
stomach turn. He did not want to imagine the rancidness of either the dog or
his perch.
"Oui, Father, I try, with Our Lady's help."
Madame sighed the sigh of a true martyr.
"It is a dangerous time out there," Gabriel prompted.
"Don't I know it, Father!"
"What with those horrible crimes in the paper! I
feel it my duty to check on the security of good
Catholics like yourself, doncha know."
"Bless you! It is a comfort to be visited. I'm usu-
ally so alone here. I do get afraid, Father." Her large, bleary eyes peered at
him desperately. "I do get afraid."
"Is it the murders, my child?" Gabriel asked, sounding extraordinarily
sympathetic.
Madame pulled back, her face blanking with disdain. She pursed her lips
knowingly. "Ha!
They are only the latest! You'll see, Father, when you've lived here as long
as I have. Their evil is ever present, whether they are in the papers or not!
We are neither more nor less safe that we've ever been or ever will be!"
Madame
smoothed the fabric of her dress, picked lint off
Castro's fur.
"They, madame?"
Madame nodded. "Oui, Father. But let us speak of something more . ..
uplifting. Perhaps you'll pray for me?" She looked hopeful.
Gabriel felt a rush of irritation. "So I would like to, dear lady, but we must
know what to pray for, mustn't we? God isn't a mind reader."
Madame looked confused at this remark.
Obviously, this wasn't a Catholic tenet she was used to hearing. Gabriel
pressed on.
"I feel it my duty, as spiritual shepherd of this community, to know its
sinners as well as its vir-
tuous so that I can be informed in my prayers and in my efforts."
Madame looked concerned. "But, Father, it is better for you not to know too
much about some things. It is very dangerous!" She looked around the room
bitterly. "Why do you think I am forced to shut myself up in here, behind
closed doors? It is because I know too much, and if I were not careful, if I
did not guard myself, they would smell out my knowledge and come for me!"
Gabriel suppressed a smile. He nodded sympa-
thetically instead. "And what is it that you know, madame?"
Madame looked mysterious. "I am Creole, no?
My grandmother lived in this very house. She was alive in the time of Marie
Laveau. She knew!"
"Ah, did she now? And what did she know, my child?"
"I couldn't tell you, Father," Madame said stub-
bornly. "C'est pour ceux qui savent."
Gabriel had heard this phrase before, among other Creoles. It literally meant
"It is for those who know," but it more accurately translated to
"Fuck off, you're not Creole."
"For those who know about... cabrit sans c'orl"
Gabriel hinted darkly, hoping she wouldn't think he was talking about the
Swiss Alps or something.
She did not. Madame stopped petting Castro abruptly, her hands flying to her
face in alarm.
She blushed deeply. "Father, you do know!" she whispered. It would have been
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funny if there were not something quite so maniacal about it.
"To fight the enemy, you must know the enemy," Gabriel said ominously.
"What a relief! You don't know the times I've tried to speak with a priest [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]