Buster Trahaw was a man in his mid-thirties, tall and stout with a circle of fat around his stomach and sides that made it look as if he wore an inner tube under his shirt. All of the features of his plain face were distorted by the bloat. He had a thick nose with wide nostrils, heavy jowls, a round chin, and a soft mouth with thick purple lips. His forehead protruded over his cavernous dark eyes and his large earlobes leaned away from his head so that from behind, he looked like a big bat. Right now, his dull brown hair was matted down with sweat, the strands sticking to the top of his forehead.
As soon as I stepped into the room, his smile widened, showing a mouthful of large teeth. Pieces of crawfish were visible between the gaps and his thick pink tongue was covered with the meat as well. He brought the neck of a beer bottle to his lips and drew on it so hard, his cheeks folded in and out like the bellows of an accordion. Grandpère Jack spun around in his chair when he caught Buster's smile.
"Well, where you been, girl?" Grandpère demanded.
"I went for a walk," I said.
"Me and Buster been here waitin' on you," Grandpère said. "Buster's our guest for dinner tonight," he said. I nodded and went to the icebox. "Can't you say hello to him?"
"Hello," I said, and turned back to the icebox. "Did you bring any fish or duck or anything for the gumbo, Grandpère?" I asked without looking at him. I took out some vegetables.
"There's a pile of shrimp in the sink just waitin' to be shelled," he replied. "She's one helluva cook, Buster. I'd match her gumbo, her jambalaya, and étouffée with any in the bayou," he bragged.
"Don't say?" Buster replied.
"You'll soon see. Yes, sir, you will. And look how nicely she keeps the house, even with a hog like me liven' in it," Grandpère added.
I turned and gazed at him suspiciously, my eyes no more than dark slits. He sounded like he was doing a lot more than bragging about his granddaughter; he sounded like someone advertising something he wanted to sell. My suspicious gaze didn't shake him. "Buster here knows about you, Ruby," he said. "He told me he's seen you walking along the road or tending to the stall or in town many times. Ain't that right, Buster?"
"Yes, sir, it is. And I always liked what I saw," he said. "You keep yourself nice and pretty, Ruby," he said.
"Thank you," I said, and turned away, my heart beginning to pound.
"I told Buster here that my granddaughter, she's gettin' to the point when she should think of settlin' down and havin' a place of her own, her own kitchen, her own flock to tend," Grandpère Jack continued. I started to shell the shrimp, "Most women in the bayou end up no better than they were to start, but Buster here, he's got one of the best plantations going."
"One of the biggest and best," Buster added.
"I'm still going to school, Grandpère," I said. I kept my back to him and Buster so neither would see the fear in my face or the tears that were starting to escape my lids and trickle down my cheeks.
"Aw, school ain't important anymore, not at your age. You've already gone longer than I did," Grandpère said. "And I bet longer than you did, huh, Buster?"
"That's for sure," Buster said, then laughed.
"All Buster had to learn was how to count the money comin' in, ain't that right, Buster?"
The two of them laughed.
"Buster's father is a sick man; his days are numbered and Buster's going to inherit the whole thing, ain't you, Buster?"
"That's true and I deserve it, too," Buster said.
"Hear that, Ruby?" Grandpère said. I didn't respond.
"I'm talking to you, child."
"I heard you, Grandpère," I said. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and turned around. "But I told you, I'm not ready to marry anyone and I'm still in school. I want to be an artist anyway," I said.
"Hell, you can be an artist. Buster here would buy you all the paint and brushes you'd need for a hundred years, wouldn't ya, Buster?"
"Two hundred," he said, and laughed.
"See?"
"Grandpère, don't do this," I pleaded. "You're embarrassing me."
"Huh? You're too old for that kind of thing, Ruby. Besides, I can't be around here watchin' over you all day now, can I? Your Grandmère's gone; it's time for you to grow up."
"She sure looks good and grow'd up to me," Buster said and wiped his thick tongue over the side of his mouth to scoop in a piece of crawfish that had attached itself to the grizzle of his unshaven face.
"Hear that, Ruby?"
"I don't want to hear that. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not marrying anyone right now," I cried. I backed away from the sink and from them. "And especially not Buster," I added, and charged out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"Ruby!" Grandpère called.
I paused at the top of the stairway to catch my breath and heard Buster complain.
"So much for your easy arrangements, Jack. You brought me here, got me to buy you this case of beer and she ain't the obedient little lady you promised."
"She will be," Grandpère Jack told him. "I'll see to that."
"Maybe. You're just lucky I like a girl who has some spirit. It's like breaking a wild horse," Buster said. Grandpère Jack laughed. "Tell you what," Buster said. "I'll up what I was going to give you by another five hundred if I can test the merchandise first."
"What'dya mean?" Grandpère asked.
"I don't got to spell it out, do I, Jack? You're just playin' dumb to get me to raise the ante. All right, I'll admit she's special. I'll give you one thousand tomorrow for a night alone with her and then the rest on our wedding day. A woman should be broken in first anyway and I might as well break in my wife myself."
"A thousand dollars!"
"You got it. What'dya say?"
I held my breath. Tell him to go straight to hell, Grandpère, I whispered.
"Deal," Grandpère Jack said instead. I could see them shaking hands and then opening another bottle of beer.
I hurried into my room and closed the door. If ever I needed proof that all the stories about Grandpère Jack were true, I just got it, I thought. No matter how drunk he got, no matter how many gambling debts he mounted, he should have some feeling for his own flesh and blood. I was seeing firsthand the sort of ugly and selfish animal Grandpère had become in Grandmère Catherine's eyes. Why didn't I have the courage to obey my promise to her immediately? I thought. Why do I always look for the best in people, even when there's not a hint of any there? All my lessons are to be learned the hard way, I concluded.
Less than an hour or so later, I heard Grandpère come up the stairs. He didn't knock on my door; he shoved it open and stood there glaring in at me. He was fuming so fiercely it looked like smoke might pour out of his red ears.
"Buster's gone," he said. "He lost his appetite over your behavior."
"Good."
"You ain't gonna be like this, Ruby," he said, pointing his finger at me. "Your Grandmère Catherine spoiled you, probably fillin' you with all sorts of dreams about your artwork and tellin' you you're goin' to be some sort of fancy city lady, but you're just another Cajun girl, prettier than most, admit; but still a Cajun girl who should thank her lucky stars a man as rich as Buster Trahaw's taken interest in her.
"Now, instead of being grateful, what do you do? You make me look like a fool," he said.
"You are a fool, Grandpère," I retorted. His face turned crimson. I sat up in my bed. "But worse, you're a selfish man who would sell his own flesh and blood just to keep himself in whiskey and gambling."
"You apologize for that, Ruby. You hear."
"I'm not apologizing, Grandpère. It's you who have years of apologizing to do. You're the one who has to apologize for blackmailing Mr. Tate and selling Paul to him."