After the church service, the procession wound its way to the cemetery. I recalled Jean's and Pierre's questions about the vaults—what we in New Orleans call the burial ovens—built above ground because of the water table. What had once been a place of intrigue and curiosity to Jean would now serve as his home and resting place.
Daddy and Mommy clung tightly to each other. Most of the time, Daddy was holding Mommy up, her legs moving like the legs of a marionette on a string. I remained as close to her as I could, ready to embrace her myself if she started to topple. At the gravesite, the three of us embraced. I don't think any of us actually heard the priest's words. There was just the morbid rhythm of his voice reciting the prayers. He showered the holy water on Jean's casket and finally said 'Amen.'
I barely had raised my eyes higher than Mommy's and Daddy's faces all day, so I wasn't aware of the blue sky. To me it was a totally overcast day with only a slight breeze.
As we turned to walk back to our limousine, I saw Sophie standing under a tree. She was grinding the tears out of her eyes with her small fist, but the sight of her gave me a boost and helped me manage the journey home.
Mommy went right to bed. Daddy sat on the sofa in the sitting room greeting people and sipping from a tumbler of bourbon. As soon as I had the opportunity, I called the hospital, hoping Pierre had begun his recovery. We so desperately needed a morsel of good news, but his condition remained unchanged.
I decided I had to go to him, that a full day without any of us at his side was unacceptable, even though it was Jean's funeral day. I whispered my intentions to Daddy, who just nodded. He was numb with grief and unaware of what was happening around him.
At the hospital I met Dr. LeFevre in the hallway. She had just been in to see Pierre. 'I'm going to move Pierre to the psychiatric unit,' she said. 'His recovery is going to take longer than I first anticipated. The emotional wound goes deep. I gather he and Jean were very close.'
'Inseparable,' I said, 'and very protective of each other.'
'Well, I know it's a difficult time for you and your parents, but try to give him as much time as you can. Just hearing your voice, feeling you beside him, will help reassure him and make his recovery that much more likely,' she added. I didn't like the way her eyes shifted away from me.
'Do you think he will recover? I mean, will he be all right?'
'We'll see,' she said in a noncommittal tone and walked off.
I put my chair as close to Pierre's bed as I could and sat holding his free hand. He stared ahead, blinking, his lips slightly open. I stroked his hand and spoke softly to him.
'You've got to try to get better, Pierre. Mommy and Daddy desperately need you to get better. I need you. Jean wouldn't want you to be like this. He would want you to help Mommy and Daddy. Please try, Pierre.'
I sat there, waiting, watching. Except for the reflexive movement of his eyelids, he was like a statue made of human skin and bones. His ears and his eyes had brought him shocking, horrible information, and he had shut them down as a result, locking out any further details. Somewhere inside himself he was safe; he was playing with Jean; he could hear Jean's voice and see him. He didn't want to hear my voice, for my voice would shatter the illusion like thin china, and the shards would stab him in his heart forever and ever.
Sophie stopped in before going on duty, and I thanked her for coming to the funeral. She promised she would peek in on Pierre whenever she could and talk to him, too. I told her he would soon be moved to the psychiatric wing.
'That's all right. I'll get up there, too,' she promised. We hugged, and she went to work. I remained as long as I could, talking to Pierre, pleading, soothing, cajoling him to return to us. Finally, exhausted myself, I went home.
All of the mourners had gone. The house was dead silent. Aubrey told me Daddy had retreated to his study. I found him sprawled on his leather sofa, mercifully asleep. I put a blanket over him and then went up to see Mommy.
At first I thought she was asleep too, but she turned her head slowly toward me and opened her eyes like someone who had risen from the grave. She reached out for me, and I hurried to her side and took her hand. We embraced, and then I sat beside her.
'Where's your father?' she asked.
'In his study, asleep.'
'Did you go to see Pierre?'
I nodded. 'The doctor wants to move him to the psychiatric ward so he can get the kind of treatment he needs,' I told her.
'Then he's no better?'
'Not yet, Mommy. But he will be.'
She shook her head and looked away. 'Don't think your sins ever go away,' she said. 'You confess, you perform penance, you hope for forgiveness, but your sins are indelible. They hover like parasites, waiting for an opportunity to feed on your good fortune.'
'You've got to stop doing this to yourself, Mommy.'
'Listen to me, Pearl,' she said tightening her grip on my hand. 'You're brighter than I was at your age. You won't make the same mistakes, and you won't succumb to your weaknesses. You don't have the weaknesses I had. And that is good because you don't just hurt yourself, you hurt those you love and who love you.'
'Mommy?'
'No. What could a free, innocent soul like Jean possibly have done to be so punished? This is not his doing. The weight of my sins was placed on him, and he suffered because of that, don't you see?
'Nina knew,' she muttered. 'Nina knew.'
I sighed so deeply and loudly that she spun on me.
