She glared back at Aunt Jeanne with her cold gray eyes shooting devilish electric sparks. 'Promised. What good are promises? Do people keep promises? Promises are no more than elaborate lies,' she declared. Perhaps she had recently had a minor stroke, I thought, noticing the way one corner of her mouth twisted while the other corner remained still. Her right eye was closed a little more than her left, too.
'I don't know what you think, Mrs. Tate,' I said. 'But I will become a doctor.'
For a moment she seemed impressed. Then she nibbled on her toast. 'You know,' she said, 'my son, Paul, would have been a good father to you. Of course, I didn't want him to be your father, but she put a spell on him.'
'Mother!'
A white line was etched around Mrs. Tate's tight, hateful lips. 'Don't tell me. I know about spells,' she said. 'Some of the people here think your great-grandmother was a healer, a spiritual person, but I know the truth. She was a witch. I told Paul. I begged him to stay away from that shack, that house of evil, but he was entranced, doomed.'
'Mother, if you're going to continue like this, I'll have to take Pearl someplace else to eat. The past isn't her fault.'
'Whose fault is it, then? Mine? Look at me,' she said holding up her clawlike hands. 'Look what that woman did to me. She cursed me. And for what? For trying to save my son. My son,' she groaned.
'I'm sorry,' Aunt Jeanne told me.
'It's all right. Pain distorts people's thinking,' I said. 'I'm sorry you're suffering with arthritis, Mrs. Tate, but it's not because of some curse. I imagine your doctor has diagnosed it as rheumatoid arthritis,' I said. 'Are you taking an anti-inflammatory drug?'
'Drug. I have cabinets filled with drugs. Not one of them does me any damn good,' she muttered.
'Perhaps you should go to a specialist in New Orleans.'
'I've been to specialists. None of them are worth a damn. It's a curse, I tell you. No medicine will help me.'
'That's not true, Mrs. Tate. I think—'
'You think? Listen to her, Jeanne. She
'No, but . . .'
'But nothing,' she said. 'Jeanne, get me one of those pills. At least they keep me from suffering.'
'Okay, Mother.' Aunt Jeanne looked at me and then got up. The moment she left the room, Mrs. Tate seemed to have a surge of new energy. She leaned toward me, her eyes small dark beads. 'Tell me about your mother. Quickly.'
I explained again what had happened to Jean and why Mammy had returned to the bayou.
The story apparently pleased her. She smiled and sat back. 'It's true,' she said. 'She is responsible, and more will happen until she . . .'
'Until she what?'
'Drowns, just as my son drowned,' she said bitterly.
Before my eyes, her face seemed to shrivel and grow haggard with the impact of her hate. The sight of this transformation sent a hot flash through my spine. Bitterly I met her eyes. 'That's a horrible thing to say. You're not just sick in your body; you're sick in your mind. Daddy was right. You're twisted up inside, and your hatred has turned you into this . . . creature!' I cried and got up.
'Pearl!' Aunt Jeanne said, returning. 'What happened? Mother, what did you say?'
'Just the truth,' she muttered. 'Give me the pill.' I ran from the room, my heart thumping, my face burning with anger and fear.
Aunt Jeanne caught up with me on the gallery steps. 'Pearl, wait! Please! You mustn't listen to her, Pearl. She's not well.'
'No, she isn't. She's so full of meanness and hate, it's eating her alive,' I said. 'I was hoping, praying, that for some reason Mommy would have come to you. She always liked you, but I can see why she would stay away,' I said looking back through the front door.
'She might still call me, Pearl.'
'I'm returning to Cypress Woods,' I said. 'That's where she was last.'
'Cypress Woods? Oh, dear. I hope she'll be all right. The poor thing. There's nothing worse than losing a child. Look what it did to my mother,' she added and I softened. She was right. There was no excuse for Gladys Tate's viciousness, but it was understandable that she would think the world had been cruel to her.
'Come on back inside, Pearl. She'll calm down and go to sleep, and you and I will be able to visit.'
'Thank you, Aunt Jeanne, but I would just be on pins and needles thinking about Pierre and Mommy and Daddy.'
'But what can you do at Cypress Woods?'
'Wait, hope, keep searching,' I said. 'I'll drive by the shack again and see if she's gone back there, and then I'll return to Cypress Woods.'
'I'd go searching with you, but I can't leave my mother just yet,' she explained.
'I'll be all right, Aunt Jeanne.'
