The Storm Kate Chopin 1898 I The leaves were so still that even Bibi thought it was going to rain. Bobinôt, who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect equality with his little

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The Storm
Kate Chopin
1898
I
The leaves were so still that even Bibi thought it was going to rain. Bobinôt,
who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect equality with his little
son, called the child’s attention to certain sombre clouds that were rolling
with sinister intention from the west, accompanied by a sullen, threatening
roar. They were at Friedheimer’s store and decided to remain there till the
storm had passed. They sat within the door on two empty kegs. Bibi was
four years old and looked very wise.
“Mama’ll be ‘fraid, yes,” he suggested with blinking eyes.
“She’ll shut the house. Maybe she got Sylvie helpin’ her this evenin’,”
Bobinôt responded reassuringly.
“No; she ent got Sylvie. Sylvie was helpin’ her yistiday,” piped Bibi.
Bobinôt arose and going across to the counter purchased a can of shrimps,
of which Calixta was very fond. Then he retumed to his perch on the keg
and sat stolidly holding the can of shrimps while the storm burst. It shook
the wooden store and seemed to be ripping great furrows in the distant
field. Bibi laid his little hand on his father’s knee and was not afraid.
II
Calixta, at home, felt no uneasiness for their safety. She sat at a side
window sewing furiously on a sewing machine. She was greatly occupied
and did not notice the approaching storm. But she felt very warm and often
stopped to mop her face on which the perspiration gathered in beads. She
unfastened her white sacque at the throat. It began to grow dark, and
suddenly realizing the situation she got up hurriedly and went about closing
windows and doors.
Out on the small front gallery she had hung Bobinôt’s Sunday clothes to
dry and she hastened out to gather them before the rain fell. As she
stepped outside, Alcée Laballière rode in at the gate. She had not seen him
very often since her marriage, and never alone. She stood there with
Bobinôt’s coat in her hands, and the big rain drops began to fall. Alcée rode
his horse under the shelter of a side projection where the chickens had
huddled and there were plows and a harrow piled up in the corner.
“May I come and wait on your gallery till the storm is over, Calixta?” he
asked.
“Come ‘long in, M’sieur Alcée.”
His voice and her own startled her as if from a trance, and she seized
Bobinôt’s vest. Alcée, mounting to the porch, grabbed the trousers and
snatched Bibi’s braided jacket that was about to be carried away by a
sudden gust of wind. He expressed an intention to remain outside, but it
was soon apparent that he might as well have been out in the open: the
water beat in upon the boards in driving sheets, and he went inside, closing
the door after him. It was even necessary to put something beneath the
door to keep the water out.
“My! what a rain! It’s good two years sence it rain’ like that,” exclaimed
Calixta as she rolled up a piece of bagging and Alcée helped her to thrust it
beneath the crack.
She was a little fuller of figure than five years before when she married;
but she had lost nothing of her vivacity. Her blue eyes still retained their
melting quality; and her yellow hair, dishevelled by the wind and rain,
kinked more stubbornly than ever about her ears and temples.
The rain beat upon the low, shingled roof with a force and clatter that
threatened to break an entrance and deluge them there. They were in the
dining room—the sitting room—the general utility room. Adjoining was her
bed room, with Bibi’s couch along side her own. The door stood open, and
the room with its white, monumental bed, its closed shutters, looked dim
and mysterious.
Alcée flung himself into a rocker and Calixta nervously began to gather up
from the floor the lengths of a cotton sheet which she had been sewing.
“If this keeps up, Dieu sait if the levees goin’ to stan it!” she exclaimed.
“What have you got to do with the levees?”
“I got enough to do! An’ there’s Bobinôt with Bibi out in that storm—if he
only didn’ left Friedheimer’s!”
“Let us hope, Calixta, that Bobinôt’s got sense enough to come in out of a
cyclone.”
She went and stood at the window with a greatly disturbed look on her
face. She wiped the frame that was clouded with moisture. It was stiflingly
hot. Alcée got up and joined her at the window, looking over her shoulder.
The rain was coming down in sheets obscuring the view of far-off cabins
and enveloping the distant wood in a gray mist. The playing of the lightning
was incessant. A bolt struck a tall chinaberry tree at the edge of the field.
It filled all visible space with a blinding glare and the crash seemed to
invade the very boards they stood upon.
Calixta put her hands to her eyes, and with a cry, staggered backward.
Alcée’s arm encircled her, and for an instant he drew her close and
spasmodically to him.
“Bonté!” she cried, releasing herself from his encircling arm and retreating
from the window, the house’ll go next! If I only knew w’ere Bibi was!” She
would not compose herself; she would not be seated. Alcée clasped her
shoulders and looked into her face. The contact of her warm, palpitating
body when he had unthinkingly drawn her into his arms, had aroused all
the old-time infatuation and desire for her flesh.
“Calixta,” he said, “don’t be frightened. Nothing can happen. The house is
too low to be struck, with so many tall trees standing about. There! aren’t
you going to be quiet? say, aren’t you?” He pushed her hair back from her
face that was warm and steaming. Her lips were as red and moist as
pomegranate seed. Her white neck and a glimpse of her full, firm bosom
disturbed him powerfully. As she glanced up at him the fear in her liquid
blue eyes had given place to a drowsy gleam that unconsciously betrayed a
sensuous desire. He looked down into her eyes and there was nothing for
him to do but to gather her lips in a kiss. It reminded him of Assumption.
“Do you remember—in Assumption, Calixta?” he asked in a low voice
broken by passion. Oh! she remembered; for in Assumption he had kissed
her and kissed and kissed her; until his senses would well nigh fail, and to
save her he would resort to a desperate flight. If she was not an
immaculate dove in those days, she was still inviolate; a passionate
creature whose very defenselessness had made her defense, against which
his honor forbade him to prevail. Now—well, now—her lips seemed in a
manner free to be tasted, as well as her round, white throat and her whiter
breasts.
They did not heed the crashing torrents, and the roar of the elements made
her laugh as she lay in his arms. She was a revelation in that dim,
mysterious chamber; as white as the couch she lay upon. Her firm, elastic
flesh that was knowing for the first time its birthright, was like a creamy lily
that the sun invites to contribute its breath and perfume to the undying life
of the world.
The generous abundance of her passion, without guile or trickery, was like
a white flame which penetrated and found response in depths of his own
sensuous nature that had never yet been reached.
When he touched her breasts they gave themselves up in quivering
ecstasy, inviting his lips. Her mouth was a fountain of delight. And when he
possessed her, they seemed to swoon together at the very borderland of
life’s mystery.
He stayed cushioned upon her, breathless, dazed, enervated, with his heart
beating like a hammer upon her. With one hand she clasped his head, her
lips lightly touching his forehead. The other hand stroked with a soothing
rhythm his muscular shoulders.
The growl of the thunder was distant and passing away. The rain beat softly
upon the shingles, inviting them to drowsiness and sleep. But they dared
not yield.
III
The rain was over; and the sun was turning the glistening green world into
a palace of gems. Calixta, on the gallery, watched Alcée ride away. He
turned and smiled at her with a beaming face; and she lifted her pretty
chin in the air and laughed aloud.
Bobinôt and Bibi, trudging home, stopped without at the cistern to make
themselves presentable.
“My! Bibi, w’at will yo’ mama say! You ought to be ashame’. You oughta’
put on those good pants. Look at ‘em! An’ that mud on yo’ collar! How you
got that mud on yo’ collar, Bibi? I never saw such a boy!” Bibi was the
picture of pathetic resignation. Bobinôt was the embodiment of serious
solicitude as he strove to remove from his own person and his son’s the
signs of their tramp over heavy roads and through wet fields. He scraped
the mud off Bibi’s bare legs and feet with a stick and carefully removed all
traces from his heavy brogans. Then, prepared for the worst—the meeting
with an over-scrupulous housewife, they entered cautiously at the back
door.
Calixta was preparing supper. She had set the table and was dripping
coffee at the hearth. She sprang up as they came in.
“Oh, Bobinôt! You back! My! but I was uneasy. W’ere you been during the
rain? An’ Bibi? he ain’t wet? he ain’t hurt?” She had clasped Bibi and was
kissing him effusively. Bobinôt’s explanations and apologies which he had
been composing all along the way, died on his lips as Calixta felt him to see
if he were dry, and seemed to express nothing but satisfaction at their safe
return.
“I brought you some shrimps, Calixta,” offered Bobinôt, hauling the can
from his ample side pocket and laying it on the table.
“Shrimps! Oh, Bobinôt! you too good fo’ anything!” and she gave him a
smacking kiss on the cheek that resounded, “J’vous réponds, we’ll have a
feas’ to-night! umph-umph!”
Bobinôt and Bibi began to relax and enjoy themselves, and when the three
seated themselves at table they laughed much and so loud that anyone
might have heard them as far away as Laballière’s.
IV
Alcée Laballière wrote to his wife, Clarisse, that night. It was a loving letter,
full of tender solicitude. He told her not to hurry back, but if she and the
babies liked it at Biloxi, to stay a month longer. He was getting on nicely;
and though he missed them, he was willing to bear the separation a while
longer—realizing that their health and pleasure were the first things to be
considered.
V
As for Clarisse, she was charmed upon receiving her husband’s letter. She
and the babies were doing well. The society was agreeable; many of her
old friends and acquaintances were at the bay. And the first free breath
since her marriage seemed to restore the pleasant liberty of her maiden
days. Devoted as she was to her husband, their intimate conjugal life was
something which she was more than willing to forego for a while.
So the storm passed and every one was happy.

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