Chapter XIII

by Kate Chopin

　　A feeling of oppression and drowsiness overcame Edna duringthe service. Her head began to ache, and the lights on the altarswayed before her eyes. Another time she might have made an effortto regain her composure; but her one thought was to quit thestifling atmosphere of the church and reach the open air. Shearose, climbing over Robert's feet with a muttered apology. OldMonsieur Farival, flurried, curious, stood up, but upon seeing thatRobert had followed Mrs. Pontellier, he sank back into his seat.He whispered an anxious inquiry of the lady in black, who did not noticehim or reply, but kept her eyes fastened upon the pages of her velvetprayer-book."I felt giddy and almost overcome," Edna said, lifting herhands instinctively to her head and pushing her straw hat up fromher forehead. "I couldn't have stayed through the service." Theywere outside in the shadow of the church. Robert was full ofsolicitude."It was folly to have thought of going in the first place, letalone staying. Come over to Madame Antoine's; you can rest there."He took her arm and led her away, looking anxiously andcontinuously down into her face.How still it was, with only the voice of the sea whisperingthrough the reeds that grew in the salt-water pools! The long lineof little gray, weather-beaten houses nestled peacefully among theorange trees. It must always have been God's day on that low,drowsy island, Edna thought. They stopped, leaning over a jaggedfence made of sea-drift, to ask for water. A youth, a mild-facedAcadian, was drawing water from the cistern, which was nothing morethan a rusty buoy, with an opening on one side, sunk in the ground.The water which the youth handed to them in a tin pail was not coldto taste, but it was cool to her heated face, and it greatlyrevived and refreshed her.Madame Antoine's cot was at the far end of the village. Shewelcomed them with all the native hospitality, as she would haveopened her door to let the sunlight in. She was fat, and walkedheavily and clumsily across the floor. She could speak no English,but when Robert made her understand that the lady who accompaniedhim was ill and desired to rest, she was all eagerness to make Ednafeel at home and to dispose of her comfortably.The whole place was immaculately clean, and the big,four-posted bed, snow-white, invited one to repose. It stood in a smallside room which looked out across a narrow grass plot toward theshed, where there was a disabled boat lying keel upward.Madame Antoine had not gone to mass. Her son Tonie had,but she supposed he would soon be back, and she invited Robertto be seated and wait for him. But he went and sat outside thedoor and smoked. Madame Antoine busied herself in the large frontroom preparing dinner. She was boiling mullets over a few redcoals in the huge fireplace.Edna, left alone in the little side room, loosened herclothes, removing the greater part of them. She bathed her face,her neck and arms in the basin that stood between the windows. Shetook off her shoes and stockings and stretched herself in the verycenter of the high, white bed. How luxurious it felt to rest thusin a strange, quaint bed, with its sweet country odor of laurellingering about the sheets and mattress! She stretched her stronglimbs that ached a little. She ran her fingers through herloosened hair for a while. She looked at her round arms as sheheld them straight up and rubbed them one after the other,observing closely, as if it were something she saw for the firsttime, the fine, firm quality and texture of her flesh. She claspedher hands easily above her head, and it was thus she fell asleep.She slept lightly at first, half awake and drowsily attentiveto the things about her. She could hear Madame Antoine's heavy,scraping tread as she walked back and forth on the sanded floor.Some chickens were clucking outside the windows, scratching forbits of gravel in the grass. Later she half heard the voices ofRobert and Tonie talking under the shed. She did not stir. Evenher eyelids rested numb and heavily over her sleepy eyes. Thevoices went on--Tonie's slow, Acadian drawl, Robert's quick, soft,smooth French. She understood French imperfectly unless directlyaddressed, and the voices were only part of the other drowsy,muffled sounds lulling her senses.When Edna awoke it was with the conviction that she had sleptlong and soundly. The voices were hushed under the shed. MadameAntoine's step was no longer to be heard in the adjoining room.Even the chickens had gone elsewhere to scratch and cluck. Themosquito bar was drawn over her; the old woman had come in whileshe slept and let down the bar. Edna arose quietly from the bed,and looking between the curtains of the window, she saw by theslanting rays of the sun that the afternoon was far advanced.Robert was out there under the shed, reclining in the shade againstthe sloping keel of the overturned boat. He was reading from abook. Tonie was no longer with him. She wondered what had becomeof the rest of the party. She peeped out at him two or three timesas she stood washing herself in the little basin between thewindows.Madame Antoine had laid some coarse, clean towels upon achair, and had placed a box of poudre de riz within easy reach.Edna dabbed the powder upon her nose and cheeks as she looked atherself closely in the little distorted mirror which hung on thewall above the basin. Her eyes were bright and wide awake and herface glowed.When she had completed her toilet she walked into theadjoining room. She was very hungry. No one was there. But therewas a cloth spread upon the table that stood against the wall, anda cover was laid for one, with a crusty brown loaf and a bottle ofwine beside the plate. Edna bit a piece from the brown loaf,tearing it with her strong, white teeth. She poured some of thewine into the glass and drank it down. Then she went softly out ofdoors, and plucking an orange from the low-hanging bough of a tree,threw it at Robert, who did not know she was awake and up.An illumination broke over his whole face when he saw her andjoined her under the orange tree."How many years have I slept?" she inquired. "The wholeisland seems changed. A new race of beings must have sprung up,leaving only you and me as past relics. How many ages ago didMadame Antoine and Tonie die? and when did our people from GrandIsle disappear from the earth?"He familiarly adjusted a ruffle upon her shoulder."You have slept precisely one hundred years. I was left hereto guard your slumbers; and for one hundred years I have been outunder the shed reading a book. The only evil I couldn't preventwas to keep a broiled fowl from drying up.""If it has turned to stone, still will I eat it," said Edna,moving with him into the house. "But really, what has become ofMonsieur Farival and the others?""Gone hours ago. When they found that you were sleeping theythought it best not to awake you. Any way, I wouldn't have letthem. What was I here for?""I wonder if Leonce will be uneasy!" she speculated, as sheseated herself at table."Of course not; he knows you are with me," Robert replied, ashe busied himself among sundry pans and covered dishes which hadbeen left standing on the hearth."Where are Madame Antoine and her son?" asked Edna."Gone to Vespers, and to visit some friends, I believe. I amto take you back in Tonie's boat whenever you are ready to go."He stirred the smoldering ashes till the broiled fowl began tosizzle afresh. He served her with no mean repast, dripping thecoffee anew and sharing it with her. Madame Antoine had cookedlittle else than the mullets, but while Edna slept Robert hadforaged the island. He was childishly gratified to discover herappetite, and to see the relish with which she ate the food whichhe had procured for her."Shall we go right away?" she asked, after draining her glassand brushing together the crumbs of the crusty loaf."The sun isn't as low as it will be in two hours," heanswered."The sun will be gone in two hours.""Well, let it go; who cares!"They waited a good while under the orange trees, till MadameAntoine came back, panting, waddling, with a thousand apologies toexplain her absence. Tonie did not dare to return. He was shy,and would not willingly face any woman except his mother.It was very pleasant to stay there under the orange trees,while the sun dipped lower and lower, turning the western sky toflaming copper and gold. The shadows lengthened and crept outlike stealthy, grotesque monsters across the grass.Edna and Robert both sat upon the ground--that is, he lay uponthe ground beside her, occasionally picking at the hem of hermuslin gown.Madame Antoine seated her fat body, broad and squat, upon abench beside the door. She had been talking all the afternoon, andhad wound herself up to the storytelling pitch.And what stories she told them! But twice in her life she hadleft the Cheniere Caminada, and then for the briefest span.All her years she had squatted and waddled there upon the island,gathering legends of the Baratarians and the sea. The night cameon, with the moon to lighten it. Edna could hear the whisperingvoices of dead men and the click of muffled gold.When she and Robert stepped into Tonie's boat, with the redlateen sail, misty spirit forms were prowling in the shadows andamong the reeds, and upon the water were phantom ships, speeding tocover.