statues. Mam Judith moved her head in an almost imperceptible nod, and Trinidad felt her mother push her forward. The reader of tea leaves looked straight into the young girl’s eyes and said in a voice deep as a well and cold as a river bottom, “Pour some of that water into this cup and then drink it down, girl. I got business witchew.” She didn’t take her eyes away from Trinidad’s even for a second.
Trinidad did as she was told and set the cup between them when she finished. Mam Judith’s hand, a gnarled and brittle and broken-off branch, reached out to slide the cup closer to her own self. She perused the tea leaves in its bottom, squinting and harrumphing every now and again and sometimes seeming to growl.
When Trinidad swallowed, the sound of it rolled and crackled off the walls and the floor.
“You gots the gift, girl,” Mam Judith said, and then stopped in order to let the drama settle in. She shut her lips tight and stared into Trinidad’s face and finally said in a snake-hissy whisper, “You don’t be all the way of this world. There something in you can’t be from this world. You gots the Knowing. You mark what I say: when the time be right, things gwine come to you by thoughts and by visions. And you gots a Purpose too. Your Purpose gonna show itself when the time be right.”
There was no further explanation, and no one spoke of it ever again.
Trinidad’s life took tumbles and turns after her mother died. She married a man named Jackson Prefontaine but was widowed while still quite young. She ended up as housekeeper for the Virgil B. Hortons, a wealthy white family in Pascagoula, Mississippi, but she was not meant to stay there forever. Trinidad was meant to go to Bayou Cymbaline at a time in the future and join with Bonaventure Arrow, who, like her, would have a touch of the divine.
The Other Grandma
T HE voice of Adelaide Roman came around sometimes, although only once in a while. Whenever unborn Bonaventure heard it, he would climb up behind his mother’s ribs and form himself into a tight little ball, because Adelaide’s voice was sharp and scraping. Sometimes its sound waves beat viciously on his eardrums, nearly shattering his tiny hammer and anvil bones. These instances provided first evidence that the gift of peculiar hearing could sometimes be unkind.
Adelaide had been born and raised on Bayou Deception Island, the only child of Etienne Cormier and the former Reevy Simonette, two full-blooded Cajuns, neither of whom was very much to look at. But they were good people and well thought of, which is why no one could ever figure out how Adelaide fit into the picture. Not only was she pretty, but she had a tendency to act like she’d wound up with her parents by mistake, like she was never meant to be a Cormier at all. She’d been a colicky baby who grew into a prissy kind of child, never wanting to play outside, never wanting dirt on her clothes, and never wanting people to touch her. She narrowed her eyes at her parents, and slapped their hands away. It wasn’t because she was scared; it was because she thought herself better. As she grew up, it became apparent that Adelaide was ashamed of her family.
Her good looks only added to Adelaide’s conceit. Once she matured and became aware of how pretty she was she removed herself mentally and emotionally from Bayou Deception Island. She turned eighteen in 1927 and left the place physically once and for all. She got herself to a town called Cooksville, where she found a waitressing job at a rundown restaurant called the Last Stop Diner. The following year she met Theodore Roman, a man twelve years her senior.
Theodore Roman was a tall, good-natured fellow with a strong chin, a receding hairline, and a voice as smooth as butterscotch pudding. Theo wasn’t from Cooksville; he’d only been on the back side of a fishing trip he’d taken to Big Eddy Lake out near Shoats Creek, where he’d spent his formative years. Theodore lived
Trinidad did as she was told and set the cup between them when she finished. Mam Judith’s hand, a gnarled and brittle and broken-off branch, reached out to slide the cup closer to her own self. She perused the tea leaves in its bottom, squinting and harrumphing every now and again and sometimes seeming to growl.
When Trinidad swallowed, the sound of it rolled and crackled off the walls and the floor.
“You gots the gift, girl,” Mam Judith said, and then stopped in order to let the drama settle in. She shut her lips tight and stared into Trinidad’s face and finally said in a snake-hissy whisper, “You don’t be all the way of this world. There something in you can’t be from this world. You gots the Knowing. You mark what I say: when the time be right, things gwine come to you by thoughts and by visions. And you gots a Purpose too. Your Purpose gonna show itself when the time be right.”
There was no further explanation, and no one spoke of it ever again.
Trinidad’s life took tumbles and turns after her mother died. She married a man named Jackson Prefontaine but was widowed while still quite young. She ended up as housekeeper for the Virgil B. Hortons, a wealthy white family in Pascagoula, Mississippi, but she was not meant to stay there forever. Trinidad was meant to go to Bayou Cymbaline at a time in the future and join with Bonaventure Arrow, who, like her, would have a touch of the divine.
The Other Grandma
T HE voice of Adelaide Roman came around sometimes, although only once in a while. Whenever unborn Bonaventure heard it, he would climb up behind his mother’s ribs and form himself into a tight little ball, because Adelaide’s voice was sharp and scraping. Sometimes its sound waves beat viciously on his eardrums, nearly shattering his tiny hammer and anvil bones. These instances provided first evidence that the gift of peculiar hearing could sometimes be unkind.
Adelaide had been born and raised on Bayou Deception Island, the only child of Etienne Cormier and the former Reevy Simonette, two full-blooded Cajuns, neither of whom was very much to look at. But they were good people and well thought of, which is why no one could ever figure out how Adelaide fit into the picture. Not only was she pretty, but she had a tendency to act like she’d wound up with her parents by mistake, like she was never meant to be a Cormier at all. She’d been a colicky baby who grew into a prissy kind of child, never wanting to play outside, never wanting dirt on her clothes, and never wanting people to touch her. She narrowed her eyes at her parents, and slapped their hands away. It wasn’t because she was scared; it was because she thought herself better. As she grew up, it became apparent that Adelaide was ashamed of her family.
Her good looks only added to Adelaide’s conceit. Once she matured and became aware of how pretty she was she removed herself mentally and emotionally from Bayou Deception Island. She turned eighteen in 1927 and left the place physically once and for all. She got herself to a town called Cooksville, where she found a waitressing job at a rundown restaurant called the Last Stop Diner. The following year she met Theodore Roman, a man twelve years her senior.
Theodore Roman was a tall, good-natured fellow with a strong chin, a receding hairline, and a voice as smooth as butterscotch pudding. Theo wasn’t from Cooksville; he’d only been on the back side of a fishing trip he’d taken to Big Eddy Lake out near Shoats Creek, where he’d spent his formative years. Theodore lived
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