The Hard Blue Sky by Shirley Ann Grau Page B

it,” Inky said.
    Cecile shook her head. “And they fighters, them. Tough as nobody’s business.”
    “They could toss you in the bay,” Hector said. “Any size pieces they want to.”
    “Something stopped Henry, for sure.”
    Hector chuckled and began to move away. “Crazy Livaudais,” he said, “that what we always say around here. Whole bunch always been crazy.”
    “See you,” Cecile said.
    “I’ll be here,” Inky said.
    Hector was halfway down the wharf. Cecile ran to catch up with him, turning once to wave.
    Inky sat down on the sun-warmed cockpit seat and stared at the winch handle. And he felt just a little twinge of regret for not using it.
    All the rest of the evening young Livaudais’s face bothered him.

A S THEY HAD PLANNED, Perique and Hector began drinking after supper. They worked on the whisky, sitting in the little screened-in part of the Boudreau porch. Cecile put the kids to bed and went over to the Monjures, next door, visiting. Every now and then they could hear her laughing. Finally she came back, passed by with only a look for them, and went to bed.
    They found another bottle and kept drinking, steadily. Shortly after ten they finished all they had. And Perique left, walking slowly along the gravel paths, until he saw the light in the Landry house. He went over and let himself in the gate. The dogs knew him, and whined around his legs. He walked up to the window which was just slightly over his head, and called: “Hey!”
    He heard the rustle of the paper as Annie put down the magazine. “Hey!” he called again. She did not answer. But the whisky was singing behind his ears, so he said: “You got company in the parlor.”
    And went around the front and let himself in.
    Annie had been curled up on her bed, her clothes off in the stuffy night, reading magazines: a copy of House and Garden that was four months old, and five or six back issues of the Ladies’ Home Journal.
    When she heard Perique she pulled up a couple of copies to cover herself, in case he could climb up on something and look in the window.
    She was surprised. She really was. And her skin prickled with a shiver even in the heat. It was a pleasant feeling. She was glad he had come, gladder to see him than she had been in a long while. She slipped a dress on, hurrying, not bothering with panties or a bra. It was a heavy chintz cotton, and there wasn’t really any need for it, she told herself. She stopped to put on some lipstick, and brush her hair, and smear a little perfume down the sides of her neck.
    He had put on only a single light in the living-room, and for a minute she didn’t see him. “Goodness,” she said, “it’s dark.”
    “It’s your eyes,” he said thickly.
    He was drunk, she thought. And there was another lovely little goosepimply shiver.
    “Papa hasn’t come back,” she said, “he must be staying the night.”
    “I figured that,” he said.
    “I was in bed.”
    “That’s a nice place to be.”
    “I meant I had to get dressed again, in skirts and all.”
    “Okay,” he said, “let’s us talk about your skirts.”
    “You been drinking?”
    “Honey,” he said, “I am drunk. You got any beer?”
    “You don’t need any more.”
    He got up and walked quietly past her and out to the kitchen. “Know your house well as mine.”
    She went around, turning on the lights. He came back, three beer cans balanced on one hand, and squinted into the light. “God damn,” he tumbled the cans into her lap. “Hold on to these.” And he turned them all back out. “Open me a beer,” he said.
    “I don’t know,” she said, “you had enough.”
    “Not going to do it, huh?”
    She caught the warning in his voice and shivered again.
    “Okay,” he said. “Do it myself, me. And that there is one against you.”
    “One what?”
    “Tell you when the time come.”
    “What?”
    He drank the beer in long gulps. “I’m real thirsty,” he said. “Whisky give you a thirst.”
    “Don’t I get