Mardi Gras Madness (Carnival of Love)

Chapter Twenty-three

Barbara lay quietly beside Bob and suffered. Two hundred feet away were merry shouts and laughter, bright lights, happy couples drinking deeply of the delights of the occasion with abandoned merriment.

Barbara tried to shut the sounds from her ears. Why had Bob turned away from her? His soul had risen to the uttermost heights of passion just a few moments before. She knew it had not been feigned. Now he lay upon his side, his back toward her and his body tense.

What had happened? Why had he turned away?

Could she have been dreaming this scene just enacted? Barbara moved restlessly and clutched at her dress where he had ripped it.

No. It had been no dream. The torn dress was an actuality. She put out her hand timidly and touched Bob’s shoulder. She spoke in the same muffled tone she had used to deceive him all evening:

“What is it... dear?”

She waited through an eternity with her hand resting upon his shoulder. She could feel his body tremble beneath her feverish fingers. Then he turned upon his back and clutched at her hand. In the dim light she saw his face set grimly beneath the revealing domino.

“I’m a rotter,” he grated. “A low, loathsome beast. Disgusting even to myself.”

“Oh no,” she breathed quickly, but he silenced her with a gesture.

“Don’t tell me. I know. I’ve just come to my senses. It’s as though I’d been walking around in a sort of stupor.” He spoke haltingly, as though he sought to set his thoughts aright.

“You must listen to me. To-night is a climax. My... my actions a short time ago were utterly bestial. I know it now. I realize what I’ve done. I... I want to apologize.”

“There’s... nothing to apologize for,” Barbara told him faintly. “I... was glad.”

He turned toward her swiftly. “Glad?” he muttered. His hand reached toward her body but he checked himself.

“No,” he said. “You don’t understand. A few minutes ago I told you that I loved you. That was a lie. I wanted you... physically. I thought you wanted me to say I loved you. I don’t love you. I can’t love you. I’ll never love again.”

“Tell me about it,” Barbara said softly. God! how she longed to rip off her mask and tell him her identity. But she could not. Not yet. Something told her she must wait... that she was on the verge of a discovery.

“I... I don’t want to think about it,” Bob said slowly. “But you have a right to know. It may serve as an excuse... a partial excuse...” He smiled pitiably and went on:

“It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with details. But... last week I was engaged to a girl back home — in Tancipahoa Parish. We were in love. At least, I was in love. Desperately. She wanted to come to New Orleans for this accursed Mardi Gras fête. She wanted me to come. I was a fool and refused. I refused her permission to come. She tore off my ring and gave it back to me.”

Barbara shuddered to hear the hurt in Bob’s voice. Still she must wait. There were so many things she didn’t understand. But her heart sang exultantly that he loved her still. Nothing else mattered. All else was dross. Bob loved her!

“I... I didn’t know what to do. We were both hurt and angry. She left last Sunday morning. I tried to stay at home and work on the farm, but I simply couldn’t. All I could see was a vision of her here alone. Monday I gave up and came on the train. I arrived late and went out to the house where she was visiting. She... she came back after midnight. I stayed hidden... and saw her kiss a strange man good night. He said something that told me that... that...”

Bob paused helplessly. His mouth was twisted with pain and his eyes were agonized. Barbara held her breath to hear him continue. Now she was beginning to understand. Her thoughts flashed back to the preceding evening when Frank had brought her home. She had let him kiss her... and Bob had been hidden in the shadows, watching! Her hand went up to her mouth and she stifled a little cry.

“Well... I knew that... she had given herself to him. I guess I went... sort of crazy. You see... I loved her.” He paused, then spoke more quietly.

“That’s the hellish part of it. I still love her. A portion of me still loves her. No matter what she’s done. No matter what she can ever do. That’s why... it was rotten of me to tell you I loved you. After I saw that... I’m not just sure what I did. Nothing mattered any more. I wanted to hurt her... hurt myself... I plunged down into the depths. Nothing was too awful... I couldn’t hurt myself enough. I... I... oh, my God! what have I done?”

Bob’s voice had risen shakily during his recital

“Don’t, dear,” Barbara pleaded. She leaned over him and slipped her hand beneath his head. Then she let her lips rest upon his — softly at first — then with all the strength of her newfound passionate love.

Bob lay quiescent for a moment. He was strangely moved by this kiss from the masked girl whom he had almost raped. This was different from her other kisses — different from any kiss he had ever known. Her lips were soft and sensuous, yet they were alive, youthful and vibrant, fresh and virgin, yet compellingly passionate.

He had thought passion was dead. He had thought that shame had driven it from his body. Now, passion returned, increased a hundredfold. Her breasts were pressed burningly against his chest, and he felt the blood leap like mad fire in response to her offered body.

Without his volition, it seemed, his hand slipped upward and passed beneath the torn dress to touch the wonder of her lovely breasts. Then his hand groped on, circling her body to touch the slim length of her back.

Barbara raised her head and stared into his dear face so close beneath her own. All of her body and her soul cried out maddeningly for him. The emotion which Frank had succeeded in arousing within her was but a pallid imitation of what she now felt.

This was life! And this was love! The splendor of the discovery that the feeling was mutual overshadowed all else. Henceforth there could be no more questions. No more doubt, nor fear, nor wonder.

Now, that she had proven the allure of her body, masked, she must unmask. To passion must be added love. The supreme test. Without either, the other were better not born.

But she hesitated. Dared she? Would Bob loathe her now? Would it not be better, perhaps, to wait? To give herself to him utterly before he learned the truth? Then she would have that. Suppose he scorned her? Suppose he hated her after she tore off her mask and he learned how she had played with him?

Did she dare?

A sudden cessation of the boisterous merriment from the house was the first intimation that the decision was to be made for her.

“Listen,” Bob breathed. “Listen.”

They lay quietly, scarcely breathing. A sudden pall of silence seemed to have descended upon the city. It was as though every living being, every growing thing, paused momentarily to hearken.

The sound came to their ears faintly and from out of the night. Dimly heard yet carrying a message that all understood; bringing a command which all instinctively obeyed.

The impressive tolling of the chimes of the aged St. Louis Cathedral!

For one hundred and fifty years these chimes have rung at midnight to mark the close of Mardi Gras. The end of Fat Tuesday, and the beginning of Ash Wednesday. Calling the faithful to prayer and the forty days of Lent preceding Easter.

There is something compellingly significant about this moment. Even the most irreligious feel something of the solemnity of the occasion when the tolling chimes send out their powerful reverberations.

The spirit of festival and fun is ended. With the tempo of gayety increasing daily from the Christmas holidays to rise to its thunderous crescendo on Mardi Gras Day... then suddenly to be forsaken for the austerity and period of spiritual communion of Lent.

At midnight of Mardi Gras, New Orleans seems to breathe a great sigh... and set herself swiftly to enter into the changed spirit of rejoicing... a spiritual rebirth each year such as is not witnessed in any other spot on the globe.

This was the first time either Bob or Barbara had felt the significance of this hour.

Both knew what the tolling of the chimes portended. It is impossible to live through a Mardi Gras festival in New Orleans without, subconsciously, becoming attuned to listen for this voice from the cathedral which will mark another Mardi Gras as of the past.

The end of the Masquerade.

A putting-away of frivolity; a discarding of the gaudy trappings of pleasures of the flesh.

Barbara lifted her head to hear more, clearly. The deep voice of the bells seemed to strike through to her soul in rapturous proclamation that all was as she might have willed it.

The Masquerade was ended.

And with the lusty madness of the Mardi Gras she had left her old self behind. She felt cleansed and sobered. A new phase.

A period of spiritual communion... more important by far than all fleshly pleasures.

She breathed deeply and turned to Bob with shining eyes. He had arisen on one elbow and now he peered at her steadily.

“The end of Mardi Gras,” he said slowly, with a queer gesture. “The end of pretense and the time to put folly behind one. Time to unmask and reveal ourselves as we are.”

His hand reached up and he tore the domino from his face. A thin sliver of moon had peeped from behind a cloud, and Barbara saw that his face was white and drawn.

Her hand trembled so that she could scarcely control it as she reached upward to take the mask from her face. Her whole body quivered in the grip of terrible wonderment. What would Bob do?

The mask was tied tightly, and she had to rip it downward to tear it from her face. Then she faced Bob shakily:

“My dear...”

“My God! Babs!” He shrank from her, putting up his hands as though to ward off a fearful vision.

“Yes.” She spoke gently. “Can you forgive me?”

“Babs! How could you... how...?”

“Does it matter?” she asked quietly. “Does anything matter now, Bob?”

“But you... you... you’ve known all along. You came here on purpose... with me?”

“Yes.”

“But why... why? How could you have done it? My God in heaven! What have I done, Babs?”

“You’ve taught me what love can be,” she said quietly. She would not say more. She would make no plea. If he didn’t understand there was nothing she could say to change matters.

“Babs?” He looked at her wonderingly. Then his head went forward to bury his face on her shoulder. She felt his splendid body shaking in the grip of terrible emotion.

“Don’t, Bob. I love you... Doesn’t that make everything all right?”

He drew away from her and stared at her somberly. “You can’t mean it,” he said brokenly.

“Bob!” The strength seemed to flow from her body and she sank against him for support. “I am yours forever.”

“Darling.” Bob leaned over and kissed her. “To-morrow we’ll be married,” he whispered gently. “But to-night...”

“To-night...?” Barbara smiled shakily. “To-night is ours.”