Gunsmoke Blues Page 6

  “I think so.”

  “Good,” the doctor said. “You must be pretty important since the Black Dispatches are handling your case. They didn’t turn it over to the constabulary.”

  With that, the doctor moved on to his next patient, an elderly man with both legs in plaster casts.

  Robert lay in bed on his own for a while, but he had too much energy. He really wanted to get up and run around, but that didn’t seem what other people expected from him.

  He wasn’t sure about speaking to the dispatches though. He had stabbed that man. Killed him. Would he be arrested for murder? He didn’t think he deserved to go to prison. After all, he had just been trying to protect the children. He’d been so scared, he hadn’t been thinking straight. Perhaps they would make allowances for that.

  After a while the woman who had interviewed him the day before came back. She was short and stocky, with the muscles of a woman who worked the farm. She was almost as muscular as Harriet Tubman and just as short, but Harriet was much leaner.

  Although her body was built like a Mississippi farm girl, her skin was smooth, like a Negro from New York, and sepia-toned, and her chubby cheeks gave her the appearance of a cute child. But Robert remembered how she had dragged him away from that lunatic with her strong arms. She was a lot tougher than her baby face suggested.

  “Remember me?” she enquired, her mouth a tentative half-smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Robert said nervously. “Ida. Ida B. Wells. You came to see me yesterday.” He pushed himself upright in the bed, taking care not to knock the needle that still connected the catheter to his arm.

  Ida looked concerned. “Hey, steady. Are you sure you should be sitting up? You were barely able to talk to me yesterday.”

  “I’m feeling much better today.” In fact his strength was returning almost minute by minute, despite the lack of food. He hoped he wasn’t heading for some kind of relapse.

  “Well, just take it easy,” Ida said. She sat down in a chair next to the bed. “The doctor told me it would be all right for me to ask you some questions.”

  “Yes,” Robert said. “I’m sure there are lots of things you need to ask me. I’ve got some questions for you, too. That is, if you don’t mind me asking,” he added. There was something reassuring about the woman. Even though she seemed quite gruff, Robert felt that he could tell that baby face anything. And it would be a relief to talk to someone about what had happened.

  “Of course,” Ida said. “You can ask me anything. But first, I need to run through my questions. Is that okay?”

  Robert nodded.

  “I already know a lot about the sequence of events. I was first on the scene, along with my colleague. A neighbor flagged us down and reported a disturbance so we broke into the house. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. I remember someone shouting and the door breaking down, and feeling glad that the children would be rescued at last. I wasn’t really worried about myself. I think I’d been so frightened that I just wasn’t able to feel scared any more. I didn’t care about the man either. I didn’t feel anything. I just kept twisting the knife. You had to wrench it from my fingers to make me stop. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No, Robert. It’s perfectly understandable. What you describe is a common reaction to severe trauma.”

  “And are the children all right?”

  “They’re safe now. And maybe I can anticipate your next question and put you at ease a little. I want to let you know that you aren’t going to be prosecuted for killing Mr. Celestin.”

  Not prosecuted. It took a moment to fully sink in. He wasn’t going to prison after all. But something Ida had said wasn’t right. It took a while before he worked it out. “Mr. Celestin. That was his name?” The man had behaved so badly it hardly seemed right he should have a name. He had been more like a beast.

  “That’s right. And it’s clear that there’s no case for you to answer. We’ve already established from speaking to the other children exactly what happened. From what they’ve told us, Mr. Celestin was responsible for the incident, and you were simply protecting them and yourself.”

  “Are they really okay?” Robert asked. He didn’t think the man had hurt them, but they must have been traumatized by what happened.

  “They’re completely unhurt,” Ida reassured him. “Shaken, but children as young as them recover quickly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hoped it was true. He wasn’t certain he would ever recover from the events of that evening. How could you kill a man and not be deeply affected? “Do you know why he did it?” Robert asked. “Mr. Celestin, I mean. Was he just some kind of madman?”

  “There’ll be an inquest into the death at some point, and the coroner will try to establish the cause of death and the sequence of events leading up to the incident.”

  “The cause of death won’t be too hard to work out,” Robert said. A bread knife through the heart, Robert thought. That would be a pretty good clue.

  “Right,” Ida agreed. “So the inquest will focus more on the events that led up to his death. It seems that Mr. Celestin had been ill for some time before the incident. He hadn’t been to work for several weeks. He’d visited a doctor who told him he could take time off school until he recovered.”

  Robert frowned. “School?”

  “Mr. Celestin taught at Audubon High School.”

  “What?” Robert couldn’t process the new information. “I thought he was some derelict or something.” The idea that he’d killed a teacher seemed so much worse. But that kind of thinking made him feel shame. He had killed a man. What right did he have to judge him, too?

  Ida consulted her notes. “We took statements from each of the children, and from neighbors, but I just wanted to check some details with you. Did Mr. Celestin, at any point, indicate why he wanted to harm you and the children?”

  “He said he wanted to eat us.”

  Now it was Ida’s turn to look shocked. “I wasn’t aware of that,” she half-whispered. “The children didn’t say anything about it, just that he had frightened them.”

  Robert carried on. “He told me he hadn’t eaten for days and he wanted to eat us up.” He noticed Ida glance at the bandages that covered the bite wound on his shoulder. “I guess he decided to start on me.” For some reason, Robert no longer felt any shock or even disgust at the idea of eating another human being. He could almost begin to understand what had driven Mr. Celestin to do it. After two weeks without food, Robert felt ever more ravenous himself. He wondered what his flesh had tasted like, and whether Mr. Celestin had enjoyed it.

  “I see.” Ida looked ill.

  “Anything else you want to know?” Robert asked.

  “Not for the moment. There will be a report after the post-mortem examination to try to shed some light on the nature of Mr. Celestin’s illness, and then the coroner’s court will be in touch when it’s time for you to attend the inquest. You won’t be on trial at the inquest. The purpose will be simply to establish the cause of death.”

  “I understand,” Robert said.

  “So is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

  “Just one more thing… thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For saving my life. Doctor Laveau said that if you hadn’t arrived when you did and given me first aid, I’d be dead.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Audubon High School, New Orleans, new moon.

  Anton Sardis hurried along the school corridor, worried he’d be late for his Earth Sciences class. His heavy bag bounced on his shoulders, stuffed with books. Earth Sciences was his favorite class. Or at least it had been, before everything had gone wrong.

  As Anton entered the classroom, Smokey Donaldson jumped out at him from behind the door. “Gonna eat you, gonna gobble you up!” Smokey shouted. The other children in the class burst into hysterical laughter. “Mm, tasty,” Smokey said, pretending to chew on a bone. “I’s very hungry.” He rubbed his stomach and patted
it with both hands.

  Ever since Mr. Celestin had attacked those little children on Halloween, the idea of a teacher eating his class had been all anyone wanted to talk about at school. Anton didn’t think it was funny. He couldn’t think of anything less funny.

  Mr. Celestin had been Anton’s favorite teacher. Anton had always liked Earth Sciences, but the way Mr. Celestin taught it really brought the subject to life. Now he was gone and the sports teacher, Mr. Pierre, had stepped in temporarily. Anton probably already knew more about Earth Sciences than Mr. Pierre ever would.

  Mr. Celestin had been off sick for several weeks before he’d attacked those little children on Halloween night. No one knew why he’d been sick, or why he’d done what he did. The other teachers refused to talk about it, but that had only fueled the wildest speculation. Anything from a rare tropical disease to possession by the Loa Marinette had been proposed, but Smokey Donaldson’s theory was probably the most popular. “Guy just went fou—mad. So would you if you had to teach at this merdique school.”

  Anton couldn’t come up with a better explanation himself. Nothing else could explain how a kind and sensitive man could have turned that way. Perhaps teaching at Audubon High School really had pushed him over the edge. Smokey was certainly right that the school was shitty. Half the children there didn’t want to be taught, and Anton had the feeling that the teachers didn’t want to teach them either. Mr. Celestin had been one of the few who seemed to care, but perhaps something had just made him go mad. Then again, it might have been some kind of fever that made Mr. Celestin act in the monstrous manner he did. Anton guessed he would never find out the truth. All that really mattered was that the best teacher he ever had was dead, and school would never be the same again.

  The other children in the classroom were still laughing at Anton. Smokey Donaldson lunged forward again. “Gonna bite your head off!” he cried, opening his mouth wide and rolling his eyes.

  Smokey’s sidekick, Marcel Jean-Baptiste, appeared and grabbed hold of Anton’s arm. “You’ll have to pull down his pants first,” he said.

  The classroom erupted in laughter.

  Anton moved his free hand instinctively to his groin. “Get away from me, that’s sick.”

  Mr. Pierre, the substitute teacher, sauntered into the classroom with a copy of The Picayune newspaper tucked under his arm. He glared at the boys. “Is there a problem, Anton?” he demanded.

  Anton felt his cheeks flush with shame. “No, Mr. Pierre.”

  “Good.”

  Everyone scrambled to find a seat.

  Mr. Pierre started to wipe the blackboard clean, then thought better of it, clearing just enough space to scrawl the words, Rainfall Patterns in New Orleans. “Okay. Everyone turn to page 79 of your textbook and start reading.” He sat down at his desk and began to read his newspaper.

  Anton heard a loud whisper from his left. “Hey, Sardis, look at this.” He turned to look. Smokey flicked a piece of stale beignet straight at him, using his wooden ruler as a catapult. The missile hit him right in the middle of his face, knocking his spectacles askew. “Ow!” he cried.

  “Quiet in class,” droned Mr. Pierre from behind his newspaper.

  Smokey and Marcel snickered loudly, but the teacher paid them no attention.

  Anton rubbed his nose where the paper had struck. At times like this he felt as if the world had no meaning. Nice guys like Mr. Celestin lost their minds and tried to eat small children before getting killed themselves. Meanwhile, fools like Smokey Donaldson and Marcel Jean-Baptiste carried on regardless. If there really was a God, He wasn’t taking his job very seriously. Just like Mr. Pierre, in fact. Anton sighed and opened his textbook to page 79. They had already done that chapter with Mr. Celestin, but there was no point telling that to Mr. Pierre. Instead, he started to read.

  After school had finished, Anton made his way out of the school gates and along North Prieur Street. Most children took long treks home on foot, others rode their Rover safety bicycles, but Anton lived just a close walk away. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the sound of footsteps running up behind him. He stepped to the side to let the runners pass, but lurched as someone grabbed hold of his school bag and swung him around. It was Smokey and Marcel, grinning like a couple of idiots.

  “Hey!” he cried. “Stop that!”

  “Hey, Anton,” Marcel said. “Can you lend us some money?”

  “What for?” Anton asked. He knew he’d said the wrong thing immediately.

  “So you got some, then,” Smokey said. “Come on, hand it over.”

  Anton shook his head and tried to press past, but Marcel blocked his way.

  “We’ll pay you back next week,” Smokey said.

  “No,” Anton said. He looked around for help, but there were no teachers or adults within sight. He knew that none of the other children would help him.

  Marcel grabbed hold of Anton’s school bag and dragged it out of his hands before he could react. “Is the money in here?” he asked, unbuttoning the bag and rummaging inside.

  “Stop it!” Anton shouted. He grabbed for the bag, but Marcel was bigger than him and held it out of reach.

  “Just give us the money, and there’ll be no hassle,” Smokey said. “Come on, don’t make things bad for yourself.”

  Anton knew they had him beaten. He was the smallest boy in the class. How could he hope to fight back when he was outnumbered two to one? He pulled a gold one dollar coin out of his pocket and handed the note over to Smokey.

  “That all you got?” demanded Smokey.

  Anton nodded miserably.

  “It’ll do,” Marcel said, dumping the school bag onto the pavement. He and Smokey ran off down the road, laughing as they went.

  Anton picked up his bag and trudged on toward home. Tears pricked at his eyes. He was sad, but also mad at himself because he was too afraid to fight back. Smokey and Marcel terrified him, and they knew it.

  He heard another person coming up behind him and turned sharply in alarm.

  It was Ava L’Esperance, a girl from his class. Anton looked away from her, hanging his head in shame. She had seen everything.

  Ava walked along beside him for a little while then she said, “You live near here, don’t you? I’ve seen you walking this way before.”

  Anton was surprised that she had even noticed him. She was much too pretty to be interested in him. He glanced furtively at her, and caught her hazel eyes watching him closely from beneath a crown of reddish brown plaits. Her fawn-brown skin and her broad nose was splashed with freckles. Looking at her face was like staring directly at the sun and he turned his head away, embarrassed. “Lafitte Terrace,” he answered timidly. “You live on Roman Street. I knew the family who used to live in your house.”

  “We moved there in the summer,” Ava said. She waited a while then added, “I’m sorry about what happened to Mr. Celestin.”

  Anton turned his face back to hers in surprise. “Me too. But why are you telling me?” Ava had never even spoken to him before.

  “Because I know he was your favorite teacher,” she said

  How she knew that was a mystery to Anton. “Yes, he was. I don’t think it’s funny that he attacked those children. I just thought it was very sad.”

  Ava nodded. “Me too. Forget about Smokey and Marcel.”

  “I’ll try to.”

  They walked along in silence for a minute then she said, “I saw what just happened.”

  Anton felt his cheeks burn. “It was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing. And it will get worse if you let it.”

  Anton had no reply to that. She had said aloud what he dreaded himself.

  “They pick on you because you act different—you’re smart,” Ava continued. “That’s all. I used to get bullied in my old school because I have freckles.”

  Anton stopped and stared at her. How could anyone bully a girl so fine? He wondered. “That’s stupid,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” His cheeks reddened.


  Ava shook her head, her hair flashing sparks of red as her braids swayed back and forth. “It doesn’t matter. That’s how bullying works. It’s not important why you’re different. It can be anything, something small or stupid. Like having freckles, or spectacles, or being big or small.” She placed a gentle hand on Anton’s shoulder, which made Anton’s heart race. “But you have to show them that you’re strong, otherwise they’ll just get worse and worse.”

  Anton stared at his feet. “I’m not strong,” he said miserably. “I’m small and weak, and I wear spectacles, and I’ve never hit anybody in my life.”

  “I don’t think you’re weak,” Ava said “And hitting people doesn’t make you strong. There are different ways to be strong.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Charity Hospital, new moon.

  After speaking to Robert, Ida went to visit her colleague, John Scobell. He’d just been moved out of Intensive Care and this was the first time she’d been allowed to visit him since the night of the giant rat attack.

  The local newspaper had reported the attack on its front page, and a couple of people had claimed to see the animal roaming around nearby Lalaurie Mansion in the French Quarter that same night. The Picayune had picked up the story and sensationalized it, calling the animal the Beast of Back of Town. They’d tried to interview Ida about her encounter, but she had refused to speak to them. She didn’t think she would mention it to Scobell either.

  She was shocked at how bad he looked. The big man lay in the hospital bed, wired up to various machines and tubes. His face was deathly pale and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. At first she thought he was unconscious, but after a minute he stirred and opened his eyes. They glowed with an unhealthy yellow sheen.

  She tried to keep her voice calm and casual. “Hey, Big Sco’. How you doing there, big man?”

  “Not so bad,” he replied, his voice hoarse and weak. “I’d give you a hug if I didn’t have so many needles sticking in me.”