And then they were gone, gone to Maravillosa, swallowed up and gone beyond the reach of the CIA, the project, and for all I know beyond the hand of God Himself. We had no word of them until news came of Harrison’s actions on Bayou Rigaud.
I may well have met Otille Rigaud; however, from all reports, it is unlikely I would have forgotten the occasion. She was a woman who traveled freely through the various strata of society, and the mention of her name was sufficient to cause highly respected citizens to cough, make their excuses, and leave the room. I wish that I had met her. Though many have tried to explain the events which occurred upon Bayou Rigaud, she alone might have illuminated them. Stacked on my writing table at this moment is page after page of dubious yet accurate explanation. Data sheets, medical records, government documents. For example, here we have the results of an autopsy performed on an unidentified body, citing one hundred and seventy separate fractures caused by the instantaneous degeneration of bone tissue, blood clots, cell damage, crushed spinal ganglia, and so forth. Appended is a telephone-book-sized study exploring the victim’s agony, which must have been substantial, and speculating on the nature of the forces that came into play. I will quote from the summary section.
…Movements of the Ezawa bacteria within the brains of Subjects One and Two created electrical currents which interacted with the electrical functions of the neurons, thereby enabling them to intuit the direction of the geomagnetic field. The copper device, aside from its function of conductivity, seems to have acted as a topological junction, its design such that all possible formulae of energy manipulation - the vibrational and rotational states of electrons, spin states of magnetic nuclei - were reduced to the choreographed movements of an electrical field (either Subject One or Two) within the geomagnetic field. Together with the device, the subjects became dynamos. They provided the current fed through the device, which in turn fed a magnetic field back through their bodies. Dependent on the exact choreography, the field could attain a potential strength of at least several hundred thousand times that of the geomagnetic field.
‘The energies redirected through the bodies of both subjects must have been of sufficient strength to disrupt in coherent fashion their atomic structures. Bulman hypothesizes there may have been a particular reaction involved with the hemoglobin. Electrons were raised to higher energy states, unipolar fields were created at the fingertips of the subjects, and photons transmitted along the lines of the fields. The emission of light visible in the tapes resulted from energy loss when the electrons dropped back to lower energy states. Essentially, the physical damage sustained by Subject One occurred when his nuclei absorbed enough radiation to flip their orientation and align with Subject Two’s field, this being a structural irony his component particles could not maintain…
All well and good. But none of this speaks to the absolute question: Can the events on Bayou Rigaud be taken at face value, or were more consequential historical actions involved? It may be unanswerable. It may be that when we peer over the extreme edge of human experience, we will find nothing but mute darkness. Or, and this is my conviction, it may be that there is a process of nature too large for us to perceive, an ultimate conjoining of the physics of coincidence and probability, wherein an infinite number of events, events as minuscule as two people meeting in the street and as grandiose as a resurrection, combine and each take on radiant meanings so as to enact an improbable and magical fate. But my own answer aside, I prefer above the rest that given me by an old Cajun woman whom I interviewed preparatory to beginning this memoir. At the very least, it does not beg the question.
‘Le Bon Dieu He got riled at all the funny doin’s down on Bayou Rigaud,’ she said. ‘So He raised up The Green-eyed Man to do battle wit His ancient enemy.’
Chapter 14
July 27 - July 28, 1987
The oak tree sheltering Caitlett’s Store looked as if it had undergone a terrifying transformation: a hollow below its crotch approximating an aghast mouth, swirled patterns in the bark for eyes, thin arms flung up into greenery. Mr Brisbeau parked the truck beside it, keeping the motor running, while Jocundra and Donnell slid out. Someone cracked the screen door of the store and peeked at them, then let it bang shut, rattling a rusted tin sign advertising night-crawlers. Nothing moved in the entire landscape. The marshlands shone yellow-green under the late afternoon sun, threaded by glittering meanders of water and pierced by the state highway, which ran straight to the horizon.
‘Are you going back to the cabin?’ Jocundra asked Mr Brisbeau.
‘The damn gov’ment ain’t puttin’ me on their trut’ machine,’ he said. ‘Me, I’m headin’ for the swamp.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Donnell, sticking out his hand. ‘Thank you.’
Mr Brisbeau frowned. ‘You give me back my eyes, boy, and I ain’t lettin’ you off wit “goodbye” and “thank you.”’ He handed Donnell a folded square of paper. ‘That there’s my luck, boy. I fin’ it in the sand on Gran Calliou.’
The paper contained a small gold coin, the raised face upon it worn featureless.
‘Pirate gold,’ said Mr Brisbeau; he harumphed, embarrassed. ‘Now, me, I ain’t been the luckiest soul, but wit all my drinkin’ I figure I cancel it out some.’
‘Thank you,’ said Donnell again, turning the coin over in his fingers.
‘Jus’ give it back nex’ time you see me.’ Mr Brisbeau put his hands on the wheel. ‘I ain’t so old I don’t need my luck.’ He glanced sideways at Jocundra. ‘You wait twelve more years to come around, girl, and you have to whisper to my tombstone.’
‘I won’t.’ She rested her hand on the window, and he gave it a pat; His fingers were trembling.
‘Ain’t sayin’ goodbye,’ he said, his face collapsing into a sad frown; he let out the clutch and roared off.
Jocundra watched him out of sight, feeling forlorn, deserted, but Donnell gazed anxiously in the other direction.
‘I knew the son of a bitch would be late,’ he said.
The interior of the store was dark and cluttered. Shelf after shelf pf canned goods and sundries, bins of fish hooks and sinkers, racks of rods and reels. The fading light was thronged with particles of dust, and their vibration seemed to register the half-life of some force that radiated from a tin washtub of dried bait shrimp set beneath the window.
‘Cain’t wait here ‘less you buy somethin’,’ said the woman back of the counter, so they bought sandwiches and went outside to eat on the steps.
‘Funny thing happened last night,’ he said, breaking a long bout of chewing. ‘I was talking to Edman while you were searching the house, and I felt you behind me. I could’ve sworn you’d come back in the room, but then I realized I was feeling you walk through the house. It’s happened before, I think, but not so strongly.’
‘It’s probably just sexual,’ she said.
He laughed and hugged her.
‘You folks cain’t wait here much longer,’ said the woman from inside the door. ‘I’m gonna close real soon, and I don’t want you hangin’ round after dark.’