BEYOND THE BAYOU by Kate Chopin

Books at bedtime by calming anxiety, Beyond the Bayo by Kate Chopin. The Bayo curved like a crescent, Around the point of land, on which La Folle is Cabin stood. Between the stream and the hut, Lay a big, abandoned field, where cattle were pasted when the Bayo supplied them with water enough. Through the woods, that spread back into the unknown regions, the women had drawn an imaginary line, and passed this circle she never stepped.

This was the form of her only mania. She was now a large, gaunt black woman, past 35. Her real name was Jacqueline, but everyone on the plantation called her La Folle, because in childhood she had been frightened literally, out of her senses, and had never wholly regained them. It was when they had been skirmishing, and sharp shooting, all day in the woods, evening with near, when petite medair, black with powder, and crimson woodblood, had staggered into the captain of Jacqueline's mother.

His pursuers close at his hills. The site had stunned her childish reason. He dwelt alone in her solitary cabin, for the rest of the quarters had long since been removed beyond her site and knowledge. She had more physical strength than most men, and made her patch of cotton and corn and tobacco like the rest of them.

But to the world beyond the Bayo, she had long known nothing, save, what her morbid, fancy conceived. People at Bella Seam had grown used to her and her way, and they thought nothing of it. Even when Ole Miss died, they did not wander at La Folle had not crossed the Bayo, but had stood upon her side of it, wailing and lamenting. Petite Metre was now the owner of Bella Simey.

He was a middle-aged man, with a family of beautiful daughters about him, and a little son, whom La Folle loved as if it had been her own. He called him Sherry, and so did everyone else because she did. None of the girls had ever been to her what Sherry was. They had each and all loved to be with her and to listen to her wondrous stories of things that always happened yonder beyond the Bayo.

But none of them had stroked her black hand quite as Sherry did, nor rested their heads against her knees so confidingly, nor fall in asleep in her arms as he used to do. For Sherry hardly did such things now since he had become the proud possessor of a gun and had had his black curls cut off. That summer, the summer Sherry gave La Folle two black curls tied with the knot of red ribbon, the water ran so low in the Bayo that even the little children at Bella Simey were able to cross it on foot, and the cattle was sent to pass you down by the river. La Folle was sorry when they were gone, and she loved these dumb companions well, and liked to feel that they were there and to hear them browsing by night up to her own enclosure.

It was Saturday afternoon when the fields were deserted. The men had flocked to a neighbouring village to do their week trading, and the women they were occupied with household affairs. La Folle as well as the others. It was then that she mended and washed her hand full of clothes, scoured her house and did her baking.

In this last employment, she never forgot Sherry. Today she had fashioned croaking holes with the most fantastic and alluring shapes for him. So when she saw the boy come trudging across the old field with his gleaming little new rifle on his shoulder, she called out galley to him, Sherry, Sherry. But Sherry did not heed the summons, that he was coming straight to her.

His pockets all bulged out with diamonds and raisins, and an orange that he had secured for her from a very fine dinner which had been given that day up at his father's house. He was a sunny faced youngster of ten. When he emptied the pockets, La Folle patted him down round the red chinks, wiped his soiled hands on her apron and smoothed his hair. Then she watched him as, with his cakes in his hand, he crossed her strip of cotton back of the cabin and disappeared into the wood.

He had boasted of the things he was going to do with his gun out there. You think they got plenty dear in the wood, La Folle? He had inquired with a calculating air of an experienced hunter. "Nah, nah, the woman laughed.

Don't you look for no dear, Sherry. That's too big. But you bring La Folle one good fat squirrel for her dinner tomorrow, and she's going to be a satisfied. One squirrel ate her bite, our bring you moe and one La Folle.

He had boasted pompously as he went away." When the woman, an hour later, heard the report of the boy's rifle close to the wood's edge. She would have thought nothing of it if a sharp cry of distress had not followed the sound. She withdrew her arms for the tumble of suds as if they had been plundered, dried them upon the apron and as quickly as her trembling limbs would bear her, hurried to the spot whence the ominous rapport had come.

It was as she had feared. There she found Sherry stretched upon the ground with his rifle besigned him. He moaned pitiously. "I'm dead, La Folle.

I'm dead. I'm gone." "No, no, she exclaimed resolutely as she knelt beside him. Put your arm round, La Folle's nape, Sherry.

That's nothing, that going that be nothing." She lifted him into her powerful arms. Sherry had carried his gun muzzle downwards. He had stumbled.

He did not know how. He only knew that he had a ball lodged somewhere in his leg and he thought that his end was at hand. Now, with his head upon the woman's shoulder, he moaned and worked with pain and fright. "Oh, La Folle, La Folle.

It hurts so bad. I can't stand it, La Folle." "Don't cry, Mom babe. Mom babe, my Sherry.

The woman spoke soothingly as she covered the ground with long strides. Look, Folle, go in, mind you, Dr. Bondfield's going, come, make Mon Sherry well again." She had reached the abandoned field. As she crossed it with her precious burden, she looked constantly and restlessly from side to side.

A terrible fear was upon her, the fear of the world beyond the bayon. The morbid and insane dread she had been under since childhood. When she was at the bayous edge, she stood there and shouted for help as if her life depended upon it. "Oh, Petit Metre, Petit Metre, Venudon."

No voice responded. Sherry's hot tears were scolding her neck. She called for each and everyone upon the place and still, no one came. She shouted, she waited.

But whether her voice remained unheard or unheeded, no reply came to her frenzied cries. And all the while, Sherry moaned and wept and entreated to be taken home to his mother. She fully gave a last despairing look around her. Extreme terror was upon her.

She clasped the child close against her breast, where he could feel her heartbeat like a muffled hammer. Then, shutting her eyes, she ran suddenly down the shallow bank of the bayous and never stopped until she had climbed the opposite shore. She stood there, quivering in instant as she opened her eyes. Then she plunged into the footpath through the trees.

She spoke no more to Sherry, but muttered constantly, "Bondure." "Bondure." Instinct seemed to guide her. When the path spread clear and smooth enough before her, she again closed her eyes tightly against the sight of that unknown and terrifying world.

A child, playing in some weeds, caught sight of her, she neared the quarters. The little one uttered a cry of dismay. Le Follet, she screamed in her piercing treble. Le Follet done crossed the bayous.

Quickly, the cry passed down the line of cabins. Yonder, Le Follet done crossed the bayous. Children, old men, old women, young ones with infants in their arms flocked to the doors and windows to see this awe-inspiring spectacle. Most of them shuddered with superstitious dread of what it might pretend.

She token Sherry, some of them shouted. Some of the more daring gathered about her and followed at her heels only to fall back with new terror when she turned her distorted face upon them. Her eyes were bloodshot and the saliva had galled in a white foam in her black clips. Someone had run ahead of her to where petite madrass sat with his family and guests upon the gallery.

Petitre mellard, Le Follet done crossed the bayous. Look her, look her Yonder toting Sherry. This startling intimation was the first which they had had of the woman's approach. She was now near at hand.

She walked with long strides. Her eyes were fixed desperately before her and she breathed heavily as a tired ox. At the foot of the stairway where she could not have mounted she laid the boy in his father's arms. Then the word that had looked red to Le Follet suddenly turned black like that day that she had seen powder and blood.

She reeled for an instant. Before a sustaining arm could reach her she fell heavily to the ground. When Le Follet regained consciousness she was at home again in her own cabin and upon her own bed. The moon raised.

Streaming in through the open door in windows gave that light was needed to the old black mummy who stood at the table concocting a tisane of fragrant herbs. It was very late. Others who had come and found that the stupor clung to her had gone again. Petit Matra had been there and with him Dr Bonfields who had said that Le Follet might die.

But death had passed by. The voice was very clear and steady with which he spoke to Tant Lizette brewing her tisane there in the corner. "FU will give you me one good drink tisane, Tant Lizette I believe I'm going to be sleeping with me." As she did sleep so soundly, so healthfully that all is at without compunctions stole softly away.

To creep back through the moonlit fields to her own cabin in the new quarters. The first touch of the cool grey morning awoke Le Follet. She arose calmly as if no tempest had shaken and threatened her existence but yesterday. She dawned a new blue, cotton-aid and white apron for she remembered that this was Sunday when she had made for herself a cup of strong black coffee and drunk it with relish.

She quitted the cabin and walked across the old familiar field to the bayos edge again. She did not stop there as she had always done before but crossed with a long, steady stride as if she had done this all her life. When she had made a way through the brush and scrub the cotton would freeze that lined the opposite back. She found herself upon the border of a field where the white, bursting cotton with the dew upon it gleamed for acres and acres like frosted silver in the early dawn.

Le Follet drew a long, deep breath. She gazed across the country. She walked slowly and uncertainly like one who hardly knows how, looking about her as she went. The cabins that yesterday had sent a clamor of voices to pursue her were quiet now.

No one was yet to stare at Bellicine. Only the birds that darted here and there from hedges were awake and singing their matins. When Le Follet came to the broad stretch of velvety lawn that surrounded the house she moved slowly and with delight of the springy turf that was delicious beneath her tread. She stopped to find whence came those perfumes that were assailing her senses with the memories from a time far gone.

They were there stealing up to her from a thousand blue violets that peaked out from green luxuriant beds. There they were, sharing down from the big waxen bells of the magnolias far above her head and from the jesamine clumps around her. There were roses too, without number, to right and left palm spread in broad and graceful curves. She had all looked like enchantment beneath the sparkling sheen of dew.

When Le Follet had slowly and cautiously mounted the many steps that led up to the veranda, she turned to look back at the perilous ascent she had made. Then she caught sight of the river, bending like a silver bow at the foot of the bellicine. Exaltation possessed her soul. Her folly wrapped softly upon a door near at hand.

Sheree's mother soon cautiously opened it. Quickly and cleverly, she disembowled the astonishment she felt at seeing Le Follet. "Ahh, Le Follet, it is you, so early. We madame, I come acts how my poem little shuridoo some morning.

He is feeling easier, thank you, Le Follet. Dr. Bondfield say it will be nothing serious. He's sleeping now. Will you come back when he wakes?"

"No, madame. I am going. Wait here, tell Sheree wake up." Le Follet seated herself upon the top most step of the veranda.

"A look of wonder and deep content crept into her face as she watched for the first time, the sunrise upon the new, the beautiful world beyond the bayou."