the gallery and looking out at the bayou, wondering
what life would have been like had we not made some
of the decisions we had made when we were young
and impulsive. But one night after dinner toward the
end of the month, the phone rang. Paul had already
settled himself in his favorite easy chair and had the
journal opened to the business pages. Pearl was asleep
and I was reading a novel. James appeared in the
doorway.
"It's for Madame," he announced. Paul looked
up curiously. I shrugged and rose.
"Maybe it's Jeanne," I suggested. He nodded.
But it was Beau, who sounded like a voice without a body. . . a wisp of himself, so soft and stunned, I
questioned whether it was really he.
"Beau? What is it?"
"It's Gisselle. We're at the ranch. We've been
here for more than a week now."
"Oh," I said. "She knows about us, then?" "No, that's not it," he replied.
I held my breath. "What then, Beau?" "She was bitten by mosquitoes. We thought
nothing of it. She complained like crazy, of course,
but I rubbed alcohol on her and forgot it. Then. . ." "Yes?" My legs felt as if they might turn to air
and float out from under me.
"She started to have these severe headaches.
Nothing I gave her helped. She took nearly a bottle of
aspirin. She had a fever, too. Last night the fever went
way up and she was hallucinating. I had to call the
doctor from the village. By the time he arrived, she
was paralyzed."
"Paralyzed!"
"And she was babbling incoherently. She