Ruby (Landry 1)

"Oh, Paul, how could you say such a horrible thing? I'd like to be a famous artist, of course; but I would never turn my back on my people and. . . and never forget you. Never," I insisted.

"You mean that, Ruby?"

I tossed my hair back over my shoulder and put my hand on my heart. Then, closing my eyes, I said, "I swear on Saint Medad. Besides," I continued, snapping my eyes open, "it will probably be you who leaves the bayou to go to some fancy college and meet wealthy girls."

"Oh, no," he protested. "I don't want to meet other girls. You're the only girl I care about."

"You say that now, Paul Marcus Tate, but time has a way of changing things. Look at my

grandparents. They were once in love."

"That's different. My father says no one could live with your grandfather."

"Once, Grandmere did," I said. "And then things changed, things she never expected."

"They won't change with me," Paul boasted. He paused and stepped closer to take my hand again. "Did you ask your grandmother about the fais dodo?"

"Yes," I said. "Can you come to dinner tomorrow night? I think she should have a chance to get to know you better. Could you?"

He was quiet for a long moment.

"Your parents won't let you," I concluded.

"I'll be there," he said. "My parents are just going to have to get used to the idea of you and me," he added, and smiled. Our eyes remained firmly on each other and then he leaned toward me and we kissed in the moonlight. The sound and sight of an automobile set us apart and made us walk faster toward the town and the soda shop.

The street looked busier than usual this evening. Many of the local shrimp fishermen had brought their families in to enjoy the feast at the Cajun Queen, a restaurant that advertised an all-youcan-eat platter of crawfish and potatoes with pitchers of draft beer. In fact, there was a real festive atmosphere with the Cajun Swamp Trio playing their accordion, fiddle, and washboard on the comer near the Cajun Queen. Peddlers were out and folks sat on cypress log benches watching the parade of people go by. Some were eating beignets and drinking from mugs of coffee and some were feasting on sea bob, which was dried shrimp, some-times called Cajun Peanuts.

Paul and I went to the soda fountain and confectionery store and sat at the counter to have our ice cream sodas. When Paul told the owner, Mr. Clements, why we were celebrating, he put gobs of whip cream and cherries on top of our sodas. I couldn't remember an ice cream soda that had ever tasted as good. We were having such a good time, we almost didn't hear the commotion outside, but other people in the store rushed to the door to see what was happening and we soon followed.

My heart sunk when I saw what it was: Grandpere Jack being thrown out of the Cajun Queen. Even though he had been escorted out, he remained on the steps waving his fist and screaming about injustice.

"I'd better see if I can persuade him to go home and calm down," I muttered, and hurried out. Paul followed. The crowd of onlookers had begun to break up, no longer much interested in a drunken man babbling to himself on the steps. I pulled on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Grandpere, Grandpere ."

"Wha . . who. ." He spun around, a trickle of whiskey running out of the corner of his mouth and down the grainy surface of his unshaven chin. For a moment he wobbled on his feet as he tried to focus on me. The strands of his dry, crusty looking hair stood out in every direction. His clothing was stained with mud and bits of food. He brought his eyes closer. "Gabrielle?" he said.

"No, Grandpere. It's Ruby, Ruby. Come along, Grandpere. You have to go home. Come along," I said. It wasn't the first time I had found him in a drunken stupor and had to urge him to go home. And it wasn't the first time he had looked at me with his eyes hazy and called me by my mother's name.

"Wha . . ." He looked from me to Paul and then back at me again. "Ruby?"

"Yes, Grandpere. You must go home and sleep."

"Sleep, sleep? Yeah," he said, turning back toward the Cajun Queen. "Those no good. . . they take your money and then when you voice your opinion about somethin' . . things ain't what they was around here, that's for sure, that's for damn sure."

"Come on, Grandpere." I tugged his hand and he came off' the steps, nearly tripping and falling on his face. Paul rushed to take hold of his other arm.

"My boat," Grandpere muttered. "At the dock." Then he turned and ripped his hand from mine to wave his fist at the Cajun Queen one more time. "You don't know nothin'. None of you remember the swamp the way it was 'fore these damn oil people came. Hear?"

"They heard you, Grandpere. Now it's time to go home."

"Home. I can't go home," he muttered. "She won't let me go home."

I swung my gaze to Paul who looked very upset for me. "Come along, Grandpere," I urged again, and he stumbled forward as we guided him to the dock.

"He won't be able to navigate this boat himself," Paul declared. "Maybe I should just take him and you should go home, Ruby."

"Oh, no. go along. I know my way through the canals better than you do, Paul," I insisted.