tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11761768341795161132024-03-13T15:44:35.472-07:00The Cajun PI and Other Matters CajunA mixture of writing, food, and characters that matter to me.Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-18422081652006207282018-03-24T09:17:00.000-07:002018-03-24T09:18:39.031-07:00Prologue: The Three Indians<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Prologue: The Three Indians<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The frozen winter wind rattled the windows of our shack. We all sat in a semi-circle around the fireplace. My mother slowly rocked in her rocking chair mending my old torn jeans with the remnants of another old torn pair. My father sat in a straight back chair next to her. He held a long stick and absently poked into the fire with it, sending sparks up the soot-darkened chimney. Occasionally, he and <i>Monsieur</i> Pete drank from the bottle of cheap bourbon whiskey at his feet. <i>Monsieur</i> Pete chain-smoked and told stories, the blue cigarette smoke puffing out with each word. I sat cross-legged on the quilt my mother, <i>Madame </i>Rowena, and <i>Madame </i>Miltaire had put together with scraps of material from the three families. She had spread it out on the floor between my father and <i>Monsieur </i>Pete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Are those true stories you're telling us, Pete?" my mother asked with a twinkle in her eyes. She knew that <i>Monsieur</i> Pete often sprinkled his stories with a little of his fertile imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He had just finished telling us a story about how the Cajuns settled the banks of Bayou Serpent, which snaked its way through the woods behind our shack. He reached into his dirt and grassed-stained khaki pants and pulled out his sack of Bull Durham tobacco. He carefully folded the cigarette paper in half and shook some of the fine tobacco onto it. Then he rolled it into a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply before answering her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"They sure are, <i>Madame</i> LeClerc. Or they're as true as I can make them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My mother set her sewing on her lap and leaned forward. She cocked an eyebrow at <i>Monsieur </i>Pete, and a small smile played on her lips. He grinned back at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"You see, <i>Madame</i> LeClerc, a story should be told many times and by as many different people as possible."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Why, <i>Monsieur</i> Pete?" I asked. I had not heard this explanation before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He inhaled from his cigarette, and his words tumbled out with the smoke. "Because it changes every time that way. Stories should be like people. They should live." He turned and faced my mother. "And to answer your question directly, <i>Madame</i> LeClerc, they sure are true. A story can change a lot—just like a person, but it should always have some truth to it. Storytelling is too important not to."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My mother nodded and resumed her rocking and sewing. No one talked. The wind outside pushed at the house, and occasionally, a particularly strong gust rattled the tin on the roof.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I examined the pattern on the quilt, a patchwork of colorful squares bordered by strips of cloth depicting cornflowers, magnolias, black-eyed susans, and morning glories. I remembered watching my mother and her friends, sewing it together over long summer evenings in the dwindling daylight and later by coal oil light. They told stories as they worked—stories inspired by the fabric with which they worked. I recognized some of the material on the quilt—a dress my mother wore when she and my father first started seeing each other, an old sheet <i>Madame</i> Rowena slept on when she was a young girl, an old shirt my father hid from my mother because he hated it, and part of <i>Monsieur</i> Miltaire’s old red overalls. I stretched out on it with my head toward the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Monsieur</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Pete inhaled from his cigarette, looked about the room, and started another story. I could hear the wind whistle through the cracks in the house, but the fire kept us warm and comfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"We were talking about storytelling just now, and it reminded me of the story I heard a long time ago about three Indians. You know that the Cajuns relied a lot on the Indians when they first settled these parts." <i>Monsieur</i> Pete threw his cigarette into the fire and rolled another. He was slow, deliberate, and spent as much care it seemed to roll a cigarette as he did telling his stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My father nodded in his direction and poked at the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"The first Indian was a great hunter. They called him Spirit of the Wind because he was as quiet as the wind when he wanted to be. He'd go out early in the morning and stalk deer. You never seen a hunter like this one. Quiet? This Indian walked on his toes for miles and miles through the thickest woods. Wouldn't break a twig or rustle a leaf. He'd stalk up to ten feet of a deer, draw back his arrow, and <i>swoosh,</i> let fly with one straight through some poor deer's heart. Always, he'd get so close that he never missed, and always, he'd furnish meat for the tribe. They were very proud of him and treated him with great respect."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Sounds like he deserved all the respect he got, Pete," my mother said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I turned at the sound of her voice and studied her face. It was a beautiful face, filled with lines and wrinkles that could be soft and yielding, as it was then, or hard and rigid when she needed it to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"A man who provides for his people deserves respect."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"He surely does, <i>Madame</i> LeClerc. He surely does." <i>Monsieur</i> Pete paused for a moment. "Now the second Indian wasn't as quiet as the first one whenever he stalked his deer. But he knew them. He knew where they ate, slept, and courted each other. He knew that and more. He could tell you where a deer stopped and shooed a fly off of itself. All he had to do if he wanted a deer was to wait for it, arrow drawn back in his bow, ready to fly, and the first deer that showed its head, <i>swoosh</i>, and the second Indian’d furnish the tribe with deer meat. They called him Spirit of the Trees because he was as patient as the trees, and they treated him with as much respect as Spirit of the Wind."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The warmth from the fire and <i>Monsieur </i>Pete's voice made me drowsy, so I closed my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"That was a smart Indian, Pete," my father said quietly. "He doesn't work as hard as the other one to get his deer."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I lifted my head and watched as he uncapped the whiskey bottle and passed it to <i>Monsieur</i> Pete. The glow from the fireplace danced around him. His face and pale blue eyes made dark by the shadows reflected the fire’s red glow. Wrinkles crisscrossed over my father's face too—deep ones that mirrored his fields in the spring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"That's where I got to disagree with you, Seth," <i>Monsieur</i> Pete said, handing the bottle back. "I believe he worked just as hard and as long as the first Indian. It takes a long time and a lot of figuring to learn something well."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My father nodded. He capped the bottle and sat it on the floor between his battered work boots. Then he picked up the stick and resumed his poking in the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"What about the third Indian?" he asked without looking up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Well, the third Indian didn't know much about deer, except that he liked the taste of them. He wasn't much of a hunter either. Wasn't one little twig safe when he was around."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My father chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Sounds like this one was a bit lazy, Pete," my mother said. I could hear the smile in her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"<i>Non, Madame</i> LeClerc, not this one. He wasn't lazy. It's just that he did all the work in his head. He didn't have to stalk the deer like the first Indian. He didn't have to learn about deer. He watched until he saw the hunters come back with their deer. Then he'd walk on over to the Spirit of the Wind’s wigwam just before dinnertime and tell him a long story about the quietest hunter there ever was who could go through the woods as silent as the wind itself. Of course, Wind thought the story was about himself and invited the storyteller to stay for supper, so he could finish his story."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"That's pretty smart, Pete."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"It surely is, <i>Madame</i> LeClerc. The next day his stomach started growling again, so he went over to the Spirit of Trees’ wigwam just before dinnertime and told a long story about the most patient hunter there ever was. Of course, Trees figured the story was about himself, so he invited the third Indian to stay for supper, so he could finish his story."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There was a pause. I could hear the coals snap and pop as my father poked into them. I listened to the soft squeak of my mother’s rocking chair as she slowly rocked on the worn linoleum. I heard <i>Monsieur</i> Pete strike a match, and I smelled cigarette smoke mixed with wood smoke. I started to fall asleep, but <i>Monsieur</i> Pete's voice brought me back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"You see, the third Indian was a different sort of fellow altogether. He didn't know much about hunting, and he couldn't care less about where deer did their business, but he knew men who hunted. That third Indian knew that all right."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Didn't those Indians ever figure it out, Pete?" my mother asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Sure they did, <i>Madame</i> LeClerc. Sure they did, but they needed him as much as he needed them. They called him the Spirit of the Smoke and treated him with the greatest respect."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I did not hear anything else <i>Monsieur</i> Pete said. I fell asleep. Sometime during the night, the Spirit of the Smoke visited me. He leaned over me and told me that smoke was an Indian's friend. It was a sign of fire and filled their houses, and when the smoke disappeared, the smell stayed behind as a reminder, so that it never was completely gone. Then he told me a long story about a quilt maker, a great spirit, who created a huge quilt out of stories about his people. I looked up into his earnest black eyes and saw my reflection in them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The next day, I learned that <i>Monsieur </i>Pete stayed and told another story before he left. My mother said it was a great one about a quilt made out of stories, and she would try to tell it to me sometime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Why does <i>Monsieur</i> Pete tell stories, Momma?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My mother studied me for a while before answering. She pushed back a strand of dark hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"I guess it’s his way of saying thank you, <i>mon fils</i>."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Thank you for what?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">"For his meal, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">mon fils</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">." my mother said </span>through<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> a grin. "For his meal."</span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-62177597472727269482018-01-04T06:36:00.002-08:002018-01-04T06:36:31.161-08:00Deceptions (4)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Junior & Sally learn about each other
and find surprises.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">---<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sally Mae's uncle gave me a job stocking
shelves Monday through Friday from 5:00 P.M. to 10:00 P.M. and agreed to pay me
two dollars an hour. It wasn't much, but at least I would have enough money to
pay Sally Mae for staying at her place. I was still shocked at how quickly my
fortunes had turned around. I had a job, money, a place to stay, and I would
get to talk to and see Sally Mae every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her apartment building, a three-story red
brick rectangle, was just four blocks from the store. The apartment itself was
on the third floor and was small. It held two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, a
living room/dining room combination. There were three posters on the wall. The
one over the record player was a frame poster of Tommy James and the Shondells,
<i>Crimson and Clover</i> album cover. The
poster behind the couch was a Woodstock one, "3 Days of Peace and
Music." The one next to the front door was the most impressive, a large
horizontal poster of the early Beatles. I dropped my suitcase near the couch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Nice. Your roommate is into
rock?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Those are mine, Junior." My
face must have reflected my surprise because she laughed a deep throaty sound.
"See what you missed out on when you didn't talk to me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"But you were…I mean, you didn't
seem…"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I was prim and proper in high
school, a good Catholic girl because I thought that's what everybody wanted.
When I left Serpentville, I left all that behind me. This is what I like. This
is exciting."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Are you into…?" I couldn't seem
to finish a sentence. I was having trouble seeing Sally Mae in this new light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"No, I'm not into drugs, if that's
what you planned to ask. I just like the music, the rush to change the
world."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I nodded and sat on the couch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Let me show you around. That doo</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">r
there leads to Latoya's bedroom." She pointed to the door to the right of
the couch. "This other one is mine." She indicated the door across
from me with her head. "That other door is the bathroom. The kitchen is to
your left. That's it. It's not a big apartment, but it serves its purpose, and
the rent is cheap. I leave for work at eight in the morning and return around
noon. I clerk at the IGA. On Saturdays, I work from eight until closing time at
nine. On Sundays, I work from eleven, when we open, until five, when we
close."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Wow, you're pretty busy."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I make enough to pay the rent on
this place and buy food. My mother pays my college tuition. That's about all
there is to know about me. What about you?" She sat next to me. I caught a
scent of honeysuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Well, you pretty much know how I got
here. I plan on spending four years in the navy, save some money, and use the
GI Bill to get through college."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"What's after college?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I'm not sure, but I've always been
interested in books, so whatever it's going to be will probably have something
to do with literature or writing. How about you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Either a nurse or a doctor. I'm not
sure. I want to help people."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Wow, a doctor."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We went on like this for over an hour.
Then she stood, made a couple of sandwiches, and we ate. When we were done, she
stood and grabbed a set of keys hanging on the kitchen wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Come on, Junior. I want to show you
something."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We climbed into a Volkswagen Bug, and she
drove to Lac Point Vert. She parked the car, and we climbed out. The sun
shimmered on the water like diamonds. We sat among the roots of a large live
oak, our backs resting against the trunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"This is my favorite spot." A
heron flew across the lake and landed about twenty feet from us, and in the
shallows near the shore, eyed the surface for a meal. "It's so quiet out
here, and I like to sit and think about the things I'd like to
accomplish."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Such as?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She glanced at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I want to travel, Junior, to see the
world."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"You could always join the navy."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"You're joking, of course, but I
thought about it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We were silent a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Have you ever been out of Louisiana,
Junior."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Texas once, about a mile across the
border to do a boardroading job. That's it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I went to Pensacola with my parents
once. I was thirteen. I was too frightened to go into the water. I don't want
to be that way. I want to do new things, experience new things. I want
excitement in my life. I'm so tired of the same routine every day—work, school,
homework, church. I want surprises. I want to do new things."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"You brought me here and shared this
spot with me. I'd like to share something with you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"What?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"It's a person. He lives in the woods
about seven miles south west of Serpentville. Want to meet him?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I don't know. It'll be close to dark
by the time we get there."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"That's okay. He's a night
person."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She gazed into my face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Is it safe?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I doubt it, but you wanted a new
experience. I promise you, this will be a new experience."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Okay, let's do it." She stood
and handed me the keys to the car. "You drive."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hunter Monet was a recluse. He lived in a
house, a tarpaper shack really, perched on the banks of the sleepy Bayou
Serpent. A dusty lane, unpassable when it rained, snaked through a mixture of
cottonwood and oak trees. It wasn't quite dark yet, but he had already started
his fire pit. A rabbit sat cooking in an enormous cast iron pot. When he saw
the car, he stood walked into his shack. He came out a few seconds later
holding his Winchester in the crook of his arm. When he recognized me, he
leaned it against the wall and smiled, exposing a mouthful of black and mostly
rotten teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Junior, where'd you get the shiny
new wheels?" he said, walking toward the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I nodded at Sallie Mae.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"It's hers."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He leaned into the driver's side window
and stared at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Well, now, I don't get too many
visitors of the female type out here. Welcome to my home, young lady."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sallie Mae gave him a nervous grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hunter could be intimidating. He stood
about six two, wide shoulders, arms as thick as the oaks surrounding his shack,
long grey hair that flowed down his back, and a full grey beard that hung down
to his waist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Ya'll get down. I got a rabbit stew
cooking, and we'll have ourselves a little party." He paused. "You did
bring some refreshment, I hope." I nodded at the case of PBR in the back
seat. He opened the back door and pulled it out. "C'mon, let's get a few
of these down our gullet before they get warm."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sallie Mae and I followed him to the fire
and sat on a couple of stumps he had placed there for visitors. He popped
opened a couple and handed them to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Ya'll make yourselves comfortable.
I'll be right back."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I could tell Sallie Mae was uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I met Hunter about three years ago
while hunting squirrel on his property. He didn't seem very happy about it, and
I thought for sure he was going to shoot me with that rifle of his."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"He does seem menacing."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Yeah, he does, but he's about as
gentle as they come. He's from Opelousas. He left there for California to make
his millions. He didn't make that much, but he made a bunch, invested it in a
company called IBM, and dropped out."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Dropped out?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Yeah, he became a hippie. Lived in a
commune for a few years and came back here. He bought fifty acres of this
woodland, built this shack, and has been living here, alone, ever since."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"You're saying he's rich and chooses
to live this way."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"That's exactly what I'm saying."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Why?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But I didn't get a chance to answer.
Hunter returned carrying a scarred and battered Washburn guitar and a joint.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"This is straight from Thailand. The
very best stuff on the market." He held the joint out for us to inspect.
Sally Mae gave me a worried glance. "We'll smoke a little, listen to a few
tunes, and then eat. It's going to be a party." He lit the joint using a
live coal from the fire. He took a hit and blew the smoke out into the air.
Then he handed it to Sally Mae. She took it, looked at me, and I nodded. She
hit it, coughed, and passed it to me. I sucked on it, held the smoke in my
lungs for a few seconds, and exhale. Hunter took the joint from me and it made
its way around again. This time, Sally Mae held the smoke for a few seconds.
After the third round, Hunter killed the roach and placed it on a stump.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Now for a little entertainment."
He picked up the guitar, hit a few random notes, and then broke into the mellow
chords of "The Sound of Silence." When he ended the song, Sally Mae
clapped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"You have a beautiful voice
for…" She let her voice trail off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"A big man?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Yes," she said and blushed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Don't worry. I know I'm a big bear
and a little frightening. My momma was Baptist, and she insisted I learn all
the hymns we sang at Bedrock Baptist Church. She even sent me to a voice
trainer and a piano teacher. I never took to the 88, but the guitar rocked my
soul."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"88?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"A piano has 88 keys, 52 white and 36
black. Anyway, turns out I had a mellow voice for a big man, but I never did
anything with it. Might be the only regret I have about my life."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Well, you certainly rocked my
soul."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Great, how about another song?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Please."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"How about a Van Morrison tune? You
familiar with 'Slim Slow Rider'?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sally Mae shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I know some of his stuff, but it's
what I hear on the radio."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Then you're in for a treat."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hunter played several songs, and then we
attacked the stew. We smoked and drank some more after we ate, and I decided
that it was time to leave. Sallie Mae staggered to the car, and I sat behind
the wheel. Hunter leaned into the driver side window.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"You okay?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Yeah, Hunter, we don't have far to
go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Good. It was nice to meet you,
Sallie Mae. You're a very pretty girl. You remind me a little of my wife."
He shook his head a little. "Anyway, ya'll have a safe trip home. Come
back any time."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I turned the car around and navigated the
dirt lane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"He said I reminded him of his wife.
Is he married?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Was. I never did get a chance to
answer your question about why he chose to live like he does. He had a cushy
job with some bank out in California. He married and was living the suburban
life. Then one day, while he was at work, some asshole broke into his house and
raped and killed his wife. As an homage to her, he decided to devote
his life to peace. The hippie lifestyle seemed to fit the bill."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"He told you all this?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Yeah, one night, he drank too much
or smoked too much, and it shot out of him like vomit."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Why'd you
bring me here?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk501254173"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Hunter is one of the most
interesting people I've ever met. I thought maybe you'd enjoy meeting
him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Is that the only reason?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"No, seeing
the sun shimmer on lake waters is calming and beautiful, and I had a nice
afternoon watching it with you, but the world is a lot more fucked up than
that. You can also see beauty in a person's struggle to cope with the loss of
someone he loved dearly."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk501254037"><br /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She stared at me for a long time as I
drove.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-56472302579921940032017-12-26T10:39:00.000-08:002017-12-26T10:40:41.971-08:00Deceptions (3)<span style="font-size: large;">The continuing story of Junior Fontenot and his misadventures.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Deceptions</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I still had a few dollars from my last
Coco paycheck, so I decided to drown my sorrows. I found an IGA store and
bought a six-pack of PBR, sat on a city bus bench, and popped a top. At first,
I feared a policeman would come by and arrest me for vagrancy or something, but
at least I would have someplace to sleep if that happened. I was on my second
beer when Sally Mae happened by.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Junior?" she said, walking in
my direction. She looked even better than in high school. She wore sneakers,
jeans, a dark tee shirt, untucked, and had her red hair tied back in a
ponytail. She still had a sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose, but
she looked more mature, more like a woman. I laid my beer down and stood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Sally Mae? What are you doing in
Ellisonville? I figured you'd be in college somewhere."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "I am. I'm taking classes here at the
junior college. It's cheaper than the universities and my credits will
transfer."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "That's great."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She eyed my suitcase.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Are you going somewhere?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "I just joined the navy." I
contemplated telling her my sad story, but decided against it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Oh." She seemed disappointed.
"When are you leaving?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Not for a while, a hundred and
twenty days, in fact." I grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Are you staying in
Serpentville?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> It didn't look like I was going to escape
telling her the whole sordid story, so I offered her a seat. She sat next to
me and I caught a whiff of coconut and honeysuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "I had a little accident while working
for Coco Construction."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Was that you? I saw it on the
news."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Yeah, it was me. Anyway, I lost my
job. Then Uncle Sam told me that he was ready to draft me. My mother kicked me
out. Well, to make a pitiful story short, I'm jobless, moneyless, and homeless.
I couldn't get any more less."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I guess I looked pitiful because she
grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh at
you. I know you must be depressed, but you sound so…well, so pitiful." She
was silent for a moment. "You never did answer me back at graduation. Why
didn't you like me?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "You want the truth?" I figured
I might as well unburden myself. I couldn't get any lower than I was. She
nodded. "It wasn't that I didn't like you. It was just the opposite."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "So, why didn't you talk to me or
show an interest?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Because you were so popular, and I
was…well, not. I didn't think you would have any interest in me."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Remember that time in Junior High
when I sat next to you in the cafeteria?" I nodded. "Why do you think
I did that?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "There were no other seats?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "There were plenty seats, Junior. I
wanted you to talk to me, but all you did was stuff your face with that awful
stew, and never said a word. I thought for sure you hated me. I finally got you
to talk to me at graduation, and then that idiot, Gary Courville, came over and
interrupted us."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Okay, here she was telling me that I had
been a fool in high school, something else for me to kick myself about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "So, what are you going to do,
Junior?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "Right now, I have no idea. That's
why I was sitting here—trying to figure out what to do."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "My uncle manages the IGA here. I'm
sure he can give you a part time job for a few months. It probably wouldn't be
much, stocking shelves maybe, or sweeping. I've got an apartment not far from
here. You're welcomed to stay with me. I have a roommate, but she won't be back
for a few weeks. I can't let you stay in her room, but you can have the
couch."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "I couldn't impose on you like that,
Sally Mae."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She smiled, her green eyes lighting up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "What choice do you have?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "None."</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> "Come on, then. Let's go talk to my
uncle."</span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-70358688386286601612017-12-19T09:14:00.000-08:002017-12-19T09:14:25.963-08:00Deception (2)<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was depressed, no doubt about it.
I lost my job. There was a real possibility that I might go to Vietnam. My
mother considered me a dead beat and wanted me out. I had to tell her, of
course. I waited for the right moment, just after supper. She hadn't started
drinking, yet. I think she anticipated the news, though.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why didn't you stay at work,
today?" she asked, before I could say anything. She pulled a beer out of the
refrigerator and opened it. She threw the opener on the table. "Get you
one," she said and sat across from me. Surprised, I accepted her offer, opened
a beer, and took a long drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How did you know I didn't
spend all day at work?" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Rowena saw you go into Joe's,
and she told Lois. Lois told me when she came by to drop off some wild ducks
for me to pluck. She was supposed to clean them for Franklin Hebert, but her
arthritis was acting up, and she let me do them. Franklin paid me seventy-five cents
a duck. He had over ten of them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew she would go on forever if I
didn't stop her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I lost my job, Mom."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She took a long drink from her
beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What are you going to
do?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I guess I'll move out, but I
don't have anywhere to go right now. Could I stay just a few days longer?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She considered it, but after a few
moments of silence, she shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, I don't think so."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But I've got nowhere to
go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She didn't even blink an eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You should have thought of
that before you lost your job."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It was an accident,
Mom."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Son, I love you," she
said, and grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator. She motioned me to get
another if I wanted. "But you're a lot like your daddy. If I don't force
you to do something, you'll stay, and live off me forever." I couldn't
believe what I was hearing. She was throwing me out on the street. "I
can't support the both of us. You can spend the night, but tomorrow I want you
to find someplace else to stay."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I haven't got any place to
go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm sorry, son. But that's
the way it is." She stood up and walked out on the front porch. The slap
of the screen door seemed final. "I'm going over to Rowena," she said
through the screen. "Help yourself to the beer in the ice box." She
left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The free beer was poor consolation,
but it would do, so I grabbed another from the refrigerator and plopped down on
my bed. I felt like a lost puppy, friendless and unloved. I felt the hot tears
come to my eyes. I considered suicide, but I was afraid that it would help
everybody but me, and to be honest, I was not a great fan of pain, so I got up
off my bed and packed my suitcase. Once I stuffed it as full as I could, I sat
down in the only chair in my room, a rough wooden one that my father had made
from two by fours, and watched the daylight slowly fade through my windows. Sometime
after dark, I heard my mother come in. She was drunk. I could tell by how she
walked, slow and hesitant. She opened the refrigerator, and I heard her open a
can of beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat in my dark room, stared at
the outline of my packed suitcase, and watched the occasional headlights from
the traffic on the road outside bounce across my bedroom wall. I could hear the
cars well before I saw their headlights—big trucks whined, pick-ups hummed, and
cars whistled. Their headlights made eerie patterns on my room's bare wall,
bounced to the ceiling, and disappeared across the room. I loved to pretend
that each vehicle was an adventure. This one or that one would slow, turn into
my driveway, its headlights would illuminate my room, someone would jump out,
and invite me to go with him on some wild new adventure, fishing off the coast
of Maine, surfing the beaches of California, or just cruising the highways of
America. Of course, it never happened, no matter how much I wished it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that there was only one
choice left opened to me. I had to get away from Serpentville. I had to move,
and since I was broke, unemployed, and untrained, my only choice was to join
the service. Uncle Ham's size twelve shoes were hard to fill, but I didn't seem
to have much of a choice. I couldn't join the army, or the marines—these people
were going to Vietnam. I didn't know much about the coast guard. That left the
navy and the air force, and I was not a great fan of flying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The next morning, I stood on the
Ellisonville black top with my thumb in the air. Franklin Hebert stopped and
dropped me in front of the Ellisonville courthouse steps, suitcase in hand,
ready to talk to the navy recruiter. His office sat on the first floor behind a
glass door with <i>United States Navy
Recruiter</i> stenciled in bold black letters over the navy seal, an
anchor wrapped in rope. I walked into a cool, air-conditioned office with three
uncomfortable-looking plastic and chrome chairs sitting before a laminated oak
coffee table covered with magazines and pamphlets. A man dressed in a khaki
uniform covered with stripes, stars, medals, and colorful bars sat behind a
desk across the room. I was sure he must have served in both World Wars, Korea,
and was straight out of Vietnam. Only, he was too young-looking for any of
those, except Vietnam. He had short dark hair, thick bushy brows, thin lips,
and a friendly smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hello," he said in a
surprisingly sweet voice. "My name is Chief Davis. Can I help you?" He
stood and walked around the desk and gave me a powerful handshake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'd like to enlist, sir."
I threw the sir in there for good measure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Are you certain?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I am."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good. Let's see," he
said and walked around the desk again. He pulled out a handful of papers.
"I just need you to fill these forms for me. And after you've done that,
perhaps you wouldn't mind taking a small test."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I took the paper stack from him and
sat down at the small table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The thoroughness and personal nature
of the questions surprised me. I understood that the navy needed certain
information from me, but they wanted to know everything: Did I have
hemorrhoids? No. Did I ever have an encounter with someone of my own sex? No. Did
I belong to any communist organization? No. Was I a criminal? No. Did I have
ingrown toenails? No. Did my mother, father, uncle, aunt, or any relatives of
mine ever belong to a communist organization or have an encounter with a member
of their own sex? No. No. Not that I knew of, anyway. Was I, or any member of
my immediate family, ever committed to a mental institution? No. We probably
needed to be. Did anybody ever answer yes to any of these questions? They had
to be a trick. Anybody who answered yes to any of them would be too stupid for
the United States Navy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I handed the recruiter the completed
forms, and he, in turn, handed me the examination. He looked at his watch and
told me to begin. It was by far the easiest test I'd ever taken. My mother
could have passed it, and she never went past the sixth grade in school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Finished," I said,
standing. He looked at me as if nobody in his right mind could finish it that
quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Let me grade it, and if your
score is high enough, we'll talk. Please sit here for a minute." He
pointed to one of the plastic chairs. I watched him while I pretended to read a
current copy of <i>Stars and Stripes</i>. He placed the answer sheet over the
examination. As I watched, I began to doubt myself. That examination could not
have been that easy. It was another trick. They wanted me to think it was easy,
and just as I was berating myself for playing the part of a fool, the recruiter
flung his glasses on the desk top, cleared his voice, and boomed a clear,
resonant, "Good. Very good."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes sir?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Very good, Mr. Fontenot. One
hundred per cent correct. We don't get too many of those in here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You don't?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, we don't. You've done
very well indeed." He plucked an imaginary hair from his sleeve. Now what
you need is a physical."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I've already had a physical
by the draft board, sir."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good. What are you
classified?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"1-A."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good. We can get a copy of
the physical from your draft board." He wrote something down on one of the
forms. "Well, you're old enough, so you don't need consent. If you sign
this form, we'll make a sailor out of you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I surveyed the paper he handed me.
It had me down for a four-year enlistment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sir, I'd like to join for two
years if it's possible?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Your only choice is four,
Fontenot."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I considered it for a minute, but I
knew I would sign up. Four years in the navy had to be better than two years in
Vietnam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good. Four years it is, and
I'll guarantee you one of your top three choices for school. Sign the
form."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good. There'll be a
three-month wait, and then you'll go New Orleans for a mini-physical and then
on to boot camp for your initial training."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"A three-month wait? I'm kind
of ready to go now."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm afraid that isn't possible.
If for some reason an opening appears before your 120-day waiting period, I'll
contact you. Good day."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Somewhere between the "Sign
here" and "Good day" the recruiter had lost his friendly
easy-going attitude. Now, he was the voice of authority. He was superior to me.
I stood on the top step outside the courthouse and reflected on what I had done.
I had joined the navy. That was bad enough, but now, I had 120 days with no
place to stay, unless I went crawling back to my mother, and I was not ready to
do that—not yet, anyway.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-71163335652568213672017-12-15T08:13:00.001-08:002017-12-15T08:13:44.080-08:00Deceptions<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> This is part of a longer work, tentatively titled <i>Deceptions</i>, about a young man who can't seem to do anything right. He finally ends up in the service, and his life takes on a new direction; however, he can't seem to escape the troubles he left behind. Hope you enjoy it. <br /> ______________________________________________________<br /><br />Sally Mae captured the attention of Serpentville High School like no other girl had ever done before and since. At thirteen, she walked into Mr. Jogneaux's ninth grade homeroom with the confidence and assurance her beauty afforded her. At fifteen, she had already developed beyond her years. Her breasts strained against the white, ruffled blouses she loved to wear tucked into her skirts. Her small waist gracefully gave way to her rounded, full hips. She had long slender legs, still a little bony where they showed but not bad looking. If not for her face, which glowed a healthy pink under her freckles, her clear, green eyes, which turned almost yellow when she was angry, and her thick orange-red hair, which hung partway down her back, she might have passed for four or five years older. There was no denying she had a fifteen-year-old face and an eighteen-year-old body.<br /><br />Sally Mae always held herself erect when she walked or sat, and she spoke softly, correctly, with a honeysuckle-sweet southern accent. I wanted to know her better, but I was too proud to stand at the end of the lengthy line of admirers trying to get her attention—she had offers for dates from most of the seniors, members of the track team, the baseball team, and the basketball team, except for Grant Guillory who was practically married to Lois Smith. She dated selectively, always careful of her reputation. She avoided places that served alcohol or boys who had wild or shady reputations; She was a member of the Christian Students for Decency in School club. There were other good-looking girls at Serpentville High School, but none of them could compare with Sally Mae. She was easily the most beautiful, the most desirable.<br /><br />I hated her.<br /><br />I hated her because I was not in her league and never would be. I was not an athlete. I was not particularly handsome, big ears, shaggy black hair, a stick-skinny frame, and I was a bookworm. I was boring, with a capital B. Sally Mae liked parties, horse riding, and excitement, and although I liked parties, I sucked at socializing, and horses scared me. I also liked the wrong music. While the other students listened to the Beatles, The Dave Clark Five, The Stones, or The Strawberry Alarm Clock, I preferred Percy Sledge, Joe Tex, Otis Redding, and the more bluesy tunes of B.B. King, Taj Mahal, and John Lee Hooker. I didn't fit in Sally Mae's circle of friends.<br /><br />During our senior year, while we waited to graduate high school, Sally Mae stood off to the side of the crowd of students, alone and apparently absorbed in contemplation. I screwed up my courage and decided to talk to her.<br /><br />"Thinking about what you're going to do after graduation?"<br /><br />She looked up at me, her green eyes questioning.<br /><br />"Oh, hi Junior. I was thinking about maybe going to college, but I don't know which one. What are you going to do after school?"<br /><br />"I'll probably join the service." I didn't mention that college was not an option for me. Although I had the grades, I did not have the money. My mother was on welfare, and she could not afford to help me. I figured I'd devote a couple of years to Uncle Sam and come out with the GI Bill, which would pay my college.<br /><br />"Vietnam?"<br /><br />"No, I don't want to go there. I'll probably join the Air Force or the Navy."<br /><br />"That's smart. What about after the service? What are you going to do then?"<br /><br />"I'll probably go to college."<br /><br />"That's good." She paused and searched my face with her green eyes. "Why don't you like me, Junior?"<br /><br />The question caught me off guard.<br /><br />"I…I like you all right. It's just…"<br /><br />Just then Gary Courville, the school's track star grabbed her hand and led her away.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />I didn't join up after graduation like I told Sally Mae. Instead, I sat around the house, read books, and occasionally visited Joe's Saloon to play a little pool. After about a week of that, my mother grabbed the book I read, placed it on the table, and sat across from me.<br /><br />"If you expect to stay in this house," she said, "you'll have to pay your way. I expect you to get a job and help me with the rent and groceries." My father died when I was seven, and my mother turned to alcohol to relieve the misery of poverty and welfare to sustain her drinking. Since I was no longer in school, the welfare checks were going to shrink.<br /><br />"Your Uncle Ham would have offered to help me with the rent and groceries," she continued.<br /><br />I groaned. Uncle Ham was my mother's brother, champion of the navy, veteran of World War II, wearer of size twelve shoes. Whenever my mother was angry with me, she used Uncle Ham as a measuring stick. "You ought to be more like your Uncle Ham, Junior. He was a good boy. He never left his bed unmade. He knew how to make a bed." If she was especially drunk or vindictive, she resorted to comparing me to my father. "You're just like your daddy, Junior, lazy and no good. He stayed home and share-cropped that two-bit farm of his, while brave young men like your Uncle Ham went off to fight the Japs."<br /><br />Uncle Ham's shoes were difficult to fill. Sometimes I wished he hadn't died off the coast of Okinawa like he did. I really would like to have had a talk with him.<br /><br />"Okay, Momma," I said. "I'll find a job."</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />I met Philip Brashear in a bar in Ellisonville, one rainy afternoon. He said he needed a boy to work with him at Coco Construction, and since I had no money, and my mother was about to kick me out of her house, I agreed to meet him at the head office at four the next morning.<br /><br />"I don't have a car," I told him, hoping that it wasn't a deal breaker.<br /><br />"Where do you live?"<br /><br />I explained, and he said that since it was on his way, he'd pick me up at 3:30 a.m. I groaned my agreement.<br /><br />"What should I wear?"<br /><br />"Wear something you're not too attached too. Wear something cool, but make sure it has long sleeves. Bring gloves and a good wide straw hat."<br /><br />"What exactly does Coco construct, Philip?"<br /><br />He grinned, revealing a row of tobacco-stained teeth.<br /><br />"We construct board roads."<br /><br />"What is that?"<br /><br />"You'll see," he said and bought me a beer.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Coco Construction serviced the oilfields, building, servicing, and tearing up board roads that led to oilrigs and wellheads situated in pastures, swamps, and marshes. The roads were constructed of two-inch by six-inch by ten-foot boards laid across each other and held in place with sixteen-penny nails. Sometimes, the roads were single layered, if the ground under them was high and dry. Sometimes, they could have as many as five or six layers if the ground was especially soft and wet. Laying a board road was back breaking work—driving sixteen-penny nails with a special sledgehammer all day, hauling and stacking mud-encrusted boards through several inches of mud, prying up boards held together with rusty nails, mud, and months of heavy traffic. In the summer, it was hot, mosquito-slapping work. A boardroader always had to be on the lookout for snakes, scorpions, spiders, or thousands of other bugs and critters that lived under the boards. In the winter, it was cold, teeth-chattering work. Too much clothes and a worker couldn't move comfortably. Too little clothes and he froze. I soon learned that laying the road was not for me. I had been there less than a month before I started looking for an easier job to do.<br /><br />There were five duties when laying a board road. Two of them I did not qualify for—supervisor and truck driver for the eighteen-wheelers that hauled off the bundles. The rest of the jobs, I felt I could handle—boardroading, which involved laying, servicing, or tearing up the roads, swampy, which involved slinging a wire cable around the bundles and securing it, and winch truck operator, which involved positioning the truck, and working the winch. I started helping the swampy, a short little guy who smoked roll-your-owns, every chance I could. At first, Shorty was a little suspicious of my attentions, but he was slow and lazy and soon started relying on me for help. When he fell sick, I was the natural replacement. By the time he returned, I was firmly entrenched at swampy. I was faster and smarter than Shorty. Philip had no choice. He told him that he needed to return to boardroading or quit.<br /><br />He quit.<br /><br />Swampy was much easier, but I still got my feet muddy, so I started hanging around the winch truck driver as much as possible. Soon, he was letting me position the truck and work the winch—I could do both and still do my job as swampy. After a while, he allowed me to load the eighteen-wheelers. I learned everything he did, and when he took sick, I moved into his job, but Jeff was not Shorty. He had been with the company for years, and he knew people in the front office, so when he returned, I went back to my duties as swampy. During my third month with Coco Construction, Jeff developed cancer and never returned, and Phillip made me winch truck operator.<br /><br />I didn't get my feet muddy anymore, but I lost my job with Coco Construction.<br /><br />We were pulling up a road near a wellhead, a set of pipes, valves, and gauges sticking out of the ground and under a tremendous amount of pressure. Another team worked on laying a road about two or three football fields away. I was busy hauling bundles and stacking them up on an eighteen-wheeler. Philip called me over and told me to pick up a bundle and take it to the other team. The bundle was heavy, the boards covered with a sticky, clay mud. As I winched it up, the front wheels of the truck lifted slightly off the ground, about two or three inches. I looked over at Phil, but he said nothing. I put the truck in gear, and again, the wheels left the ground. Phil waved me forward, so I didn't worry about it. I drove slowly and carefully, but the front kept bouncing up and leaving the ground a few inches. My route took me about twenty-five feet from the wellhead. When I hit a slight incline, the front end of the truck lifted straight up into the air. I was sure the truck would flip over, so I opened the door and jumped out.<br /><br />Only, the truck did not flip over.<br /><br />When the bundle touched the ground, the front of the truck came back down, and since it was still in gear, kept on going toward the wellhead. I could hear Phil yelling at me, but my head was still spinning, and I couldn't make out what he was saying. I turned around, noticed him running toward me, waving his arms and yelling.<br /><br />"I'm okay," I said, when he was close enough to hear.<br /><br />"You stupid shit," he yelled at me and knocked me on the back of the head. "It's moving toward a wellhead."<br /><br />Sometimes, it takes a knock on the head to make a person see clearly. When Phil hit me, I realized at once what I had to do. I ran as fast as I could, away from that truck. I hadn't gone very far when I heard grinding and then an explosion, which knocked Phil on his face and me on top of him. He threw me off and hit me four times on the head before finally standing and dragging me away from the fire. When I could see again, the winch truck lay on its back, all four tires spinning and burning. Flames shot out of the ground a hundred feet in the air where the wellhead used to be. The heat was almost unbearable.<br /><br />Phil grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.<br /><br />"Damn it. Didn't you know that these trucks never flip? Didn't you know that?" I wanted to answer him, point out that the truck was lying on the ground with four wheels up in the air, but something in his eyes stopped me. "Go on. Get out of here."<br /><br />I started walking. I was fifty miles from home, but there was no way I was going to ask Phil for a ride back, so I thumbed my way home.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />When I finally arrived home from my work disaster, my mother handed me a letter from Uncle Sam informing me that I had passed my physical and I was classified 1A.<br /><br />Sometime during the first few weeks with Coco, I received a letter from Uncle Sam, demanding that I go to New Orleans for a physical. I spent a night roaming around Bourbon Street, spending my meager Coco Construction pay on beer and women. The next day, I stood in lines as doctors probed and poked me. Then the government placed me on a bus and sent me home<br /><br />"They going to draft you?" my mother asked.<br /><br />"Yes." I threw the letter in the trash. She pulled it out.<br /><br />"They put you in jail for doing things like that."<br /><br />"Isn't jail a damn sight better than dying in Vietnam somewhere like Jimmy Durio?" Jimmy was the only person from Serpentville to die in Vietnam. Young people used his name to point out what could happen. The older people used him as an example of the ultimate sacrifice. My opinion was that Jimmy would prefer being alive than an example of anything.<br /><br />"He died for his country like your Uncle Ham. You could learn something from them." She placed the letter on the table in front of me and walked off.<br /><br />"What? I could learn how to die?" However, she wasn't listening.<br /><br />The next morning, I heard knocking on the front door at three thirty. It was Phil, and he wanted me to go with him. I didn't want to, but I was afraid that he would cause a raucous, and I didn't want my mother to know, just yet, what had happened, so I told him to give me a couple of minutes to get my clothes on, and we drove to the central office. He did not say a word to me all the way. When we arrived, he told me to go see the big boss and headed toward the workshop. I knew I was in trouble because Sonny Whitmore never fooled around with the likes of me, unless it was very serious. I knocked on the door.<br /><br />"Come in."<br /><br />Whitmore sat at his big ebony desk and glared at me from behind a huge cigar. He took it out and waved it at me.<br /><br />"You sure fucked things up royally, Fontenot."<br /><br />"Yes sir," I looked around the office for some place to sit, but there was none. "I thought I was going to flip over."<br /><br />"What I should do is stick your butt in jail," he threatened, but I knew he couldn't do anything to me like that. I had been working for him, and it was an accident. "But I'm not going to. I'm going to make you work for every penny you cost this company." I wasn't too sure about that. Maybe he could.<br /><br />"Do you know how much you cost this company?" I shook my head. "Over two hundred thousand dollars so far." My knees buckled.<br /><br />"Don't you have insurance?"<br /><br />"You insolent little bastard. Of course, we have insurance, but how long do you think they will stay with us if we present them with accidents like this? Christ almighty, boy. We had to call a special team in from Texas to cap the damn thing. They worked all night and just finished this morning." Whitmore leaned back in his chair. It groaned its discontent. He was a huge man, tall, and fat. "Well, answer me boy. How long do you think it's going to be before that insurance company raises my rates?"<br /><br />"Not long, I guess." I was trying not to say too much. I didn't see any sense in making him angrier than he was.<br /><br />"Finally, you're talking some sense. I have a letter in front of me that specifically says that my insurance rates are about to double. They couldn't even wait for the regular mail—a messenger dropped it off this morning before I even got here. That's how anxious they are." Whitmore leaned forward, and the chair groaned. He glared at me, his bushy gray eyebrows arched over two fiery bloodshot eyes. "You are the cause of that increase, boy. You are going to pay dearly. You are going to work your butt off from morning to night. You are mine." He pushed his cigar in my face, so close, I gagged on the smoke and the stench.<br /><br />My head reeled. I did not want to go back to boardroading—dusk to dawn in the stifling heat or freezing cold, up to my ankles in mud, snakes and all sorts of bugs, sore muscles in the evening, sore muscles in the morning, and in my case, my already tiny paycheck was going to get tinier. I couldn't let that happen, but I didn't want to go to jail either. Then I had an idea. Whitmore couldn't touch me if I was in the service.<br /><br />"Mr. Whitmore," I said, trying to sound as sincere as I could. "I"m real sorry about that accident, but it was an accident, sir. I did not intentionally set out to blow up the well. I would really like to help you pay your insurance increase, but I'm afraid I won't be able to, sir." Whitmore jumped up from his chair, as if blown out of it. I didn't give him a chance to take his cigar out of his mouth. "I've been drafted, Mr. Whitmore," I said, backing away from his desk. "Uncle Sam wants me."<br /><br />"What?" he bellowed, but he did not advance.<br /><br />"I've been drafted, Mr. Whitmore. They want me to go to the army."<br /><br />Whitmore surprised me. He started laughing, a deep, jolly, enjoyable laugh. I grinned.<br /><br />"Well, I'll be damned," he said, once he caught his breath. "I was going to make your life pure hell, boy, but the army can do that good enough for me. Get your little butt out of my office and off my property." I turned around and started for the door. "And boy." I stopped with my hand on the knob.<br /><br />"Yes sir?"<br /><br />"Next time I see you, if I ever see you, you damn well better salute me."<br /><br />"Yes, sir." I almost ran out of his office building, and since no one offered me a ride home, I thumbed again.<br /><br />I was beginning to hate my life.</span>Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-88910526208681448902017-12-08T09:15:00.001-08:002017-12-08T09:15:14.074-08:00The Adoption (A John LeGrand Story)<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Adoption<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Van Morrison wails in the background. I am dancing with a beautiful
woman. Her dark curly hair tickles my nose and smells like a summer beach day.
Her body feels good against mine—soft, curvy, warm. My right arm encircles her,
and my hand rests in the small of her back. I can feel the rise of her buttocks,
and this excites me. I pull her to me a little more, and I feel her breasts
push into my chest. My left hand holds her right hand, and I rest them against
my left shoulder. I pull back and gaze into her face. Her dark eyes stare into
mine, inviting me. Her breath smells like spearmint. I catch a faint smell of
honeysuckle. I lean forward for a kiss. I am no longer in control.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Stop," she says.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Why?" I long for that kiss that I know will send me into
nirvana, but she pushes me back.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"I said stop."<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Don't put on the brakes now. We're in high gear."<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"What is that nun doing in your dream?"<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"It's a blessed miracle. That's why," I say and pull her to
me, but the song changes, and the dream dissipates.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and
glanced at my bedside clock—9:32 A.M. I picked up my cell phone playing its
"Brown-eyed Girl," ringtone and answered it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hello," I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah, that's me." The
voice was feminine and slightly familiar. "What can I do for you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You're John LeGrand, the
detective?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah, that's me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I need you to find something
out for me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Who am I talking to?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm sorry, Mr. LeGrand. I've
never talked to a detective before. I'm a little nervous. My name is Linda
Ledoux."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Like Superman's women?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You know, initials L.L.—Lois
Lane, Lana Lang, Lori Lemaris. Sorry,
just woke up." My sense of humor seldom works with strangers. What can I
do for you, Ms. Ledoux?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Linda. Maybe I could meet
with you. Would noon be all right?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Noon would be perfect, Linda.
Do you have my office address?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I do. I'll be there at
noon."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I went back to bed and tried to
recapture my dream, but it was not to be. The voice of Linda Ledoux kept
creeping back into my consciousness. It was so familiar, and yet, I could not conjure
up a face for the voice or the name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The doorbell rang promptly at noon.
I opened the door, and my knees buckled. I had to hold on to the door to keep
myself up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Are you all right, Mr.
LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She was the girl of my dream—dark
eyes, curly hair, and I caught a whiff of a summer beach day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Uh, yeah, I'm okay. It's just
you look exactly like somebody I know."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She smiled revealing even white
teeth. Obviously, she didn't smoke or drink coffee or tea. I led her to my
office connected to the foyer. The area that included my office wasn't particularly
large, but I kept it uncluttered. A floor to ceiling bookshelf stood next to
the foyer doorway. Most of the books were on crime and old pulp books I picked
up at garage sales. A file cabinet sat against the wall behind me within easy
reach of my desk chair. A rickety chair sat across from my beat up cherry
desk—I found both at the Salvation Army Store—and provided a sitting space for
my clients. The poster hanging next to the bookshelf was a George Rodrique of Ernest
Gaines, a writer I heard read once, in Lafayette. Both Rodriquez' and Gaines'
signatures adorn it. The work hanging on the right of the window overlooking
the street and my neighbor's live oak tree was a framed woodcut on rice paper
by David Alpha, a Lafayette artist. The woodcut portrayed a red snake biting
his tail. In the background is a red palmetto leaf. The rest of the room, about
twenty feet, served as my living room. It contained a couch, a television, an
overstuffed chair, and several photographs: one of a cat, Puddy; another of a
horse, <i>DiableNoir</i>; and one of a black
lab, <i>Chien. </i>All of them, pets of mine
when I was a young boy. The living room area ended at the arch leading to my kitchen
and the bedroom hallway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Linda Ledoux took the chair I
offered her and sat. She wore jeans, and when she crossed her legs, I got a
view of a nice ankle. I shook my head a little and tried to focus on her story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What can I do for you, Ms.
Ledoux?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Linda. I'll have to tell a
little about myself first.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Please do."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm from Ellisonville. Ten
years ago, I had just turned sixteen, I found out I was pregnant. The father, a
seventeen year old farm boy, decided he was not the fathering kind and refused
to own up to the pregnancy." She frowned, and I had the feeling that this
was not an easy task for her. "Sorry," she said. "I'm not very
good at revealing myself like this."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Take your time."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you. You see, I had a
reputation. I was a little wild. I smoked some pot, drank some, and I partied hard.
I was a teenager, and I did have the reputation of being loose. I have to tell
you, though, that farm boy was the only one with whom I ever let my guard down.
Of course, he turned out to be a bastard." Again, she paused and frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Can I get you something to
drink? I have bottled water and a couple of sodas in the refrigerator."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Water would be nice."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I left her with her thoughts for a
few minutes and grabbed a couple of water bottles out of the refrigerator. When
I returned, she seemed composed again and ready to continue her story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"When the stomach started to
show, I left school. My parents were disgusted with me, but I had an aunt, who
sympathized and took me in. I had the baby in Ellison General and gave him up
for adoption. Right away."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You had a boy?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes. I didn't even look at
him." She unscrewed the cap off the bottle and took a long swig. "I'm
sorry," she said. "I thought I would be able to handle this better."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Take your time. There's no
reason to rush any of this." I was wondering where this was leading,
however.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"A nurse took him away
immediately after I birthed him. After I left the hospital, I didn't go back to
school. I jumped on a bus, made my way to New Orleans, and got a job in a
nightclub. I'm not bad looking." If only she knew. "I made good money
there, but I got tired of fighting off the men who only wanted to get in my
pants. After about a year, I quit, took the money I'd saved, and went to school.
I got my GED and attended a beauty school. After a few months, I got my
certification and moved back to Ellisonville." She paused. "I know
you don't need to know all this, but it makes it easier for me to tell it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go ahead," I said. "You've
got my complete attention."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Remember that beauty shop
they had on the Southside? It was called, Curlin' Iron." I nodded although
I had no clue. "It had been closed down for a good while, close to a year,
so I got it for a pretty good deal. I found two or three other beauticians in
the area who were dissatisfied with where they were working, and I invited them
to join me. Before long, I had a thriving business. I'm doing real well for
myself now, which brings me to why I'm here." She took another swig from
the water bottle. "My life has been a mess. Yes, I have a successful
business. I can afford just about anything I want, but there's something
missing from my life—like a piece of me is missing. I read somewhere that some
amputees can't cope with the fact that their legs are gone. They can get around
fine, but they wonder where the legs are." She looked me straight in the
eyes. "Is it rotten yet? Did they freeze it, and is it still <i>alive</i> somewhere? Questions like that. That's
how I feel about my son. I function all right during the day, but at night,
when the lights go off, and I have to be alone with my mind, I wonder." I
saw the tears well up in her eyes and slide down her cheeks. "He is ten
years old, would have been ten years old, two days ago. He's my missing body
part. Do you understand that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You want me to find your son."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I want you to find my
son. I have to know that if I'm going to live any kind of decent life. I just
have to know."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I pushed a box of tissues in her
direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You understand there are
reasons why adoption agencies don't want parents who gave their kids up for
adoption to find them?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I understand, and it
makes all kinds of sense to me, but I have to know."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It wouldn't be easy, and I'm
not even sure, it's possible. Your son could be in Alaska right now or a
foreign country somewhere."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I understand that you might
not succeed, Mr. LeGrand. Would you be willing to try, though?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Call me John. Mr. LeGrand
doesn't sound right." Reason told me to drop the case. Tell her that it
was impossible and go on with my life, but something else waylaid reason and
told me that if I didn't try, I would never see her again. She would stand,
walk out that door, and disappear. I didn't want that. I wanted to finish my
dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'll give it a try," I said,
and her face lit up in a wide smile. "There are no guarantees. You
understand that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I understand, Mr. LeGrand, I
mean John."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I charge two hundred dollars
a day plus expenses. If expenses go over fifty dollars, I call and clear it
with you, if I can. Circumstances sometimes preclude that."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's great with me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I require two hundred and
fifty dollars in advance. That's for one day's work and fifty dollars expenses."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She reached into her purse and
pulled two one hundred dollar bills and a fifty. She handed them to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"One more thing, Linda. When
and if I find your son, you have to promise me, you will not approach him. Without
that promise, I will not even try. The boy might be in a great situation, and
your intervention might destroy a wonderful life he might have."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I have thought about all
that, John, and I promise you that I will not approach him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Now, let me get some
specifics from you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She didn't have too many details. She
had the baby at Ellisonville General and allowed a nurse to give him away to a
representative of the adoptive agency, but she didn't know who that was. No one
talked to her about the child after she had it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After she left, I booted up my computer
and did a little research on adoption. I went to the Louisiana Department of
Social Services Web page and found out that there was an Adoption Registry for
contact between voluntary adoptees. I wondered if she placed her name on the
list. I would have to ask her about it. My research told me that there were two
possibilities for adoption in Ellisonville—Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Adoption
Services and The Office of Community Services with the nearest regional office
in Lafayette. A sixteen year old probably would have gone with the church. Of course,
there might have been other possibilities such as arrangements ahead of time,
adoption agencies outside of the parish. The Internet offered a young girl many
options.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My first stop would have to be the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ellison Parish Regional Hospital—The
General to the layman—was the only hospital in the parish. If someone became
sick or was pregnant, this is where they came. Ellisonville Junior College had
one of the largest nursing programs in the area and trained most of the nurses
working at the hospital. I knew several of them from teaching at the college
because of my job as a part time instructor there. Often, some of the students
who went into nursing took one of my criminal investigation classes as an
elective. The hospital kept all its records in a computer now. If a doctor or
an investigator needed information about a patient, he went to the computer. Doctors
usually kept the medical information that they scribbled on the chart in a
folder, but transcriptionists transferred all of that to a computer. Luckily,
for me, I knew a medical transcriptionist. Eileen Morrison was an old
girlfriend of mine. She was a little weird, but she was good and important to
me right now. She had access to the medical records at Ellisonville General.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gave her a call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"John LeGrand. I haven't heard
from you in at least three months. Where've you been?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Busy, Eileen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Bullshit. A detective in
Ellisonville is not busy—ever."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Touché. Now that we got that all
cleared up, can we talk?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I figured you needed
something from me. What is it? Need a date to the detective ball?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, I don't need a date, but
you would be the first one I'd ask if I did."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Flattery will get you all the
way, Mr. LeGrand."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I smiled. Eileen had a way with
words all right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I need some information on a former
patient of EG."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You know I can't give out
that information, John. Shame on you for even asking."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ten years ago, she gave up
her kid for adoption. All I want to know is who the adoption agency was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm sorry, John, but I could
lose my job if I gave out that kind of information."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The hospital would never fire
you, Eileen. You're much too valuable. Do me a favor. Look up the patient and
read her file. I'll ask you a question. You don't have to answer. I'll figure
it out on my own. That way, you won't have given me an answer."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come on, John. The very fact
that I looked up the patient's file will point straight to me. You know that. You
can't access these things without leaving some sort of trail."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"All right, Eileen. I don't
want to get you in trouble. Forget I asked."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She went silent. I waited her out. I
heard a Chihuahua bark in the background. Where was she? Surely, the hospital
didn't allow dogs. I decided not to ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm sorry, John. I just can't
afford that kind of trouble."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No problem. I'll call you
soon, and this time I won't be asking for anything except some of your
excellent company."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sure you will, John."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She hung up, and I searched my mind
for another way to get the information I needed. Then it occurred to me that I
simply did not ask Eileen the right question. I dialed her number again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"So soon, John. I'm impressed
and slightly overwhelmed."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ha, ha. I realized after I
hung up that I asked you the wrong question. The right question is, 'What adoption
agency does the hospital use most when dealing with adoption cases?'"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That question I can answer
safely: Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Adoption Services."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thanks, Eileen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What, you got a hot case? Let
me guess. Some woman gave up her child and now, I suppose she wants to find the
kid. She feels as if she's missing something. A body part, maybe?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's right, Eileen except
she was a sixteen year old girl. How did you know that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm a woman too, in case you haven't
noticed."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, I've noticed. Plenty of
times."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I've seen lots of stuff like
that. Girl gets pregnant. Girl gives birth. Girl too young to be tied down, so
she gives the baby up. Years later, the woman wonders what it could have been
like. She wonders what the baby turned out to be. It's all too damn
familiar—too damn predictable, John. Sad too."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"One more thing, Eileen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What now?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why am I hearing a dog?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That was my cell phone ring
tone. Isn't it cute?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah," I said. "Real
cute."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Our Lady of Mercy was the largest
church in the parish. They ran the Our Lady of Mercy School, which consistently
won first place in sports and academics in their division. It was very popular,
and parents from three or four parishes over, sent their kids to be educated or
to play sports there. The slogan was, "Our lady gives no mercy," and
that was certainly true when it came not only to sports and academics, but to
the pocket book, too. Our Lady of Mercy was a very expensive school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The church was also involved with
adoption. They took children of adoption age, usually infants, and placed them
in good Christian homes. Of course, they tried to find Catholic homes, but any
Christian home would do. They screened prospective parents very carefully. They
could not drink or smoke. They had to have at least a high school education,
and they had to be church going Christians.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The church was involved with other
social projects in the community. For example, they worked with the department
of social services to find low cost housing for needy Catholics in the parish. Our
Lady had also become involved in the politics of the parish, politicking for
what they considered worthy Catholic candidates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The church was located near the
school on the northern outskirts of the town. It was a huge brick building modeled
after the Basilica di San Pietro in Vatican City, according to the brass sign
located near the front door. Of course, it was not nearly as big as the
basilica, but it was impressive enough. I followed the sidewalk circling the structure
and walked to an office building behind it. I strode into an air-conditioned
waiting room and spoke to a nun sitting behind a counter. She was polite—asked
me my name, the nature of my business, and told me to wait for Sister Mary
Elizabeth. Musak, mostly liturgical, played from hidden speakers in the ceiling.
After a few minutes, a tall, severe-looking nun walked up to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am," I said. She
was almost as tall as I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Would you follow me, please?"
I did as she told me. She led me down a hallway to a small office located at
the back of the building. She indicated a chair, and I sat. She sat across a
desk from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What can I do for you, Mr.
LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ten years ago a young girl gave
birth to a boy and gave him up for adoption. The sister at Our Lady of Mercy
handled the adoption." Okay, I lied to a nun, but only a small lie. I was
reasonably sure that they handled the case. Surely, I would not go to hell for
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Let me finish your story for
you, Mr. LeGrand. She is ten years older now, and she is wondering about what
she gave up."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am. That's basically
it. I'm wondering if there is some way, voluntarily on everybody's part, of
course, that we could find out where the boy is, so she can see how he turned
out."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She shook her head before I even
finished my statement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"There is no way, Mr. LeGrand.
We placed the boy in a good home to Christian parents. He may or may not know
that he was adopted, but in any case, meeting his birth mother could be very traumatic.
Remember, she abandoned him. It would be very difficult if not impossible for a
ten-year-old boy to understand all the complex reasons behind her decision ten
years ago."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Perhaps we would not have to
make the boy aware of his birth mother. Just let her see how well the situation
turned out. It surely would ease the apprehensions the mother feels."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We cannot take the chance,
Mr. LeGrand. Suppose the mother decides that she has to let the boy know who
she is. We would not be able to prevent her."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"So the answer is absolutely
not?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The answer is absolutely not,
Mr. LeGrand. We have never made an exception before, and we will not in this
instance either. I sympathize with the birth mother. It must be very disturbing
knowing that someone, who was once part of you, is alive out there. Of course,
she wants to know that her decision ten years ago was the right one. Believe
me, it was. We do everything in our power to provide a secure home for our
adoptees."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I stood up, and she stood with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"When this woman made a
decision to put up her child for adoption, she was a child herself. Can
children make these decisions and be held accountable? I understand that you
want to protect the child, but who protected the mother when she made that decision?
Did you or someone from your church counsel her—helped her make the decision?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We do everything in our
power, Mr. LeGrand, to make sure that the child is taken care of. I sympathize
with the mother, but two mistakes has never made things right. She made a
mistake, and the result was impregnation. She brought an unwanted child into
this world. It would be a mistake to expose him to a mother he has never known."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I shook her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you," I said and
left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I called Linda and asked her if she
would have dinner with me. I used the old pretext of having to update her. She
agreed and asked me to pick her up at the beauty salon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Linda was gorgeous. She had tied
her hair back a little exposing more of her neck. She wore a simple string of
pearls and a simple black tee shirt tucked into faded jeans. I jumped out of my
old van and opened the passenger door for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"As a chariot, it leaves a lot
to be desired, but I've been having this Dodge Ram van for fifteen years now,
and we're enjoying growing old together."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She climbed up into the passenger
seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh," she said, surprised.
"It's like sitting on top of the world."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Amen, sister. And that's why
this vehicle and I get along so well together. It's like sitting on top of the
world." She laughed, and I shut the door and made my way around to the
driver's side. "Have you ever been to Ally's before?" I asked once I slid
into the driver's seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ally's?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Uh, huh. Ally's Restaurant. She
is African American, and she can cook like nobody's business. A few years ago,
she was in an accident. Some bad guys tried to kill her boyfriend, a deputy
with the Sheriff's Department, but they got her instead. She lost the use of
her legs."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What a sad story."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You would think so, but you
don't know her. She never skipped a beat. She got out of the hospital and
immediately set to work realizing her dream of owning a restaurant. She opened
up Ally's and it's been a success ever since. It is known statewide. I'm
surprised you never heard of it. 'Sixty Minutes' did a story on it about a year
ago."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't eat out much. I'm
afraid I'm a pretty boring person. I work, go home, and go to work again. I'm
trying to realize a dream myself."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You look pretty successful to
me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I pulled into Ally's parking lot
and escorted her to the front door. A young woman dressed in black and white asked
me if I had made an appointment. I hadn't, and she ushered us to a table near
the back of the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, no, no, Elspeth. That's
John LeGrand. We do not give him a table near the bathroom." It was Ally,
rolling her wheel chair toward us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ally," I said and gave
her a peck on the cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"John. I haven't seen you in
at least two weeks. Have you learned to cook or something? Maybe you found
someone who can cook for you?" She looked up at Linda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't look at me," Linda
complained. "I have trouble cooking toast."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ally" I said. "This
is Linda Ledoux."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hi, honey. I've been trying
to get this man married off for ages. He's so picky, I don't know if he'll ever
find someone."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We both laughed nervously over that
one. I ordered a bottle of wine, and we sipped wine and talked before dinner
arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You said you had a report to
give me, Mr. LeGrand."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's not much of one, but I
did check you out at the hospital. Yes, you had a baby boy and yes, he was
given up for adoption."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You do good work, Mr.
LeGrand—oh, wait, didn't I tell you all that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She was not only good-looking. She
was sharp too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"All right, you can be
sarcastic if you want. I'm reasonably sure the Our Lady of Mercy nuns handled
the adoption. You probably signed a paper giving up custody of the child, or
your parents might have signed such a document, I guess."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't remember signing
anything, but I vaguely remember there being a nun in the birthing room. I
thought she was one of the nurses."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah, they're Johnny on the
spot. Anyway, I talked to Sister Mary Elizabeth, and she said, 'absolutely not'—I
could not have access to any information on your son. Apparently, it's company
policy, but we pretty much knew that, didn't we?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Linda nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I guess we did. That's
not very encouraging news, John. Is there anything else you can do?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"A cop, a detective with the
Louisiana State Police, told me once that problems were like diamonds—every
time you turn it a little, you get a different reflection. I've never forgotten
that. If you're going to solve a problem, you have to look at it from every
angle. I looked at your problem from the hospital angle and didn't see anything
useful. I looked at it from the nun's point of view and didn't find anything
useful, so now, I need to look at it from another point of view."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What's left, John?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Lots. For example, I could
examine it from your point of view, from the boy's point of view or from the
adoptive parents' point of view. That's just for starters."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"So which one is it going to
be?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I think I need to give the
adoptive parents a chance to tell me something."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But you don't know who they
are."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you're right, but I
know what they are. They're parents and parents have many things in common."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Linda shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You're amazing." Then
the food came, and we did very little talking. With Ally's food, you eat, and
you savor the flavor. You don't waste time talking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I dropped her off at the beauty
salon, but before she slid into her car, I kissed her. It wasn't exactly the
dream kiss I envisioned, but it would do for starters. She seemed a little
surprised, but she didn't stop me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What was that for?" she
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Something I've wanted to do
since before I met you. Let's just say I'm finishing a dream."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You baffle me, John LeGrand."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The main Ellisonville library was
located on a side street in a Victorian house once owned by an obscenely rich
old woman who donated it to the city designating it as a library in her will. Mrs.
Miller, who many people believed was older than the building, sat behind the checkout
counter and gave me a hard look over her reading glasses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I hated to do it, but I needed her
help, so I walked to the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. LeGrand," she said
in her raspy voice. "What can we do for you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I need to scan some articles
from the <i>Ellisonville Gazette</i>, Mrs.
Miller, from about ten years ago."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You have three options."
She pulled off her reading glasses and looked me in the eyes. Her eyes were
surprisingly clear and blue, for her age. "You might be able to find a
paper copy at the newspaper office, but ten years is a long time, and paper
tends not to hold up that long. Your second option is to use our microfiche."
I wasn't familiar with microfiche, and she must have read my thoughts. "Microfiche
is simply a picture of the newspaper on a grid system that you manipulate to
the page and article you want." That sounded a bit time consuming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "What's my third option, Mrs. Miller?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Your third option is to
utilize the newspaper's data base online. You type in a search word and a date,
and it takes you to the all the articles with the search string in that date."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That sounds like the one for
me. How do I access this data base?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She shuffled from behind the checkout
counter and led me to a computer station. She actually pulled out a chair for
me to sit in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You simply click on the <i>Ellisonville Gazette </i>icon, and it will
take you to a search page. Then you type in your search string, and the computer
screen will reveal a series of linked sites. They're arranged in descending
order—the ones that are closest to your string will be on top."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you, Mrs. Miller. You've
been very helpful."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's my job, Mr. LeGrand,"
she said and shuffled back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I typed in "baby announcements"
for ten years earlier on the day that Linda had her child. Then on second thought,
I copied down the names of all the parents of children born in that week. I was
counting on parents being parents whether they were adoptive parents or birth
parents. There were no births listed on that day, so I sucked in my pride and
trucked over to Mrs. Miller.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What is it now, Mr. LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm looking for a birth that
occurred ten years ago on a specific day, but none are listed in the newspaper."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Was it a Sunday?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, ma'am. The day listed on
the paper was a Tuesday."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The <i>Gazette </i>only lists births and marriages on Sundays in their <i>Family Section</i>."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, I never read that
section."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Obviously not." She did
not grin when she said this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I trudged on back to the computer
and looked up the Sunday paper for that week. There were five listings with
pictures. Most of the mothers were in their early twenties, it seemed. Two of
them looked slightly older. There were two other listings but without pictures.
All of the entries were worded the same except for one. The common wording went
along those lines: <i>John and Jane Doucet
of Ellisonville announce the birth of their daughter Beverly Ann Doucet on June
27, 1999 at 5 p.m. at Ellison Parish Regional Hospital.</i> The one worded
differently went like this: <i>Robert and Judy
Vidrine of Ellisonville announce the arrival of their son Allen Vidrine.</i> The
difference was minimal at most, but at least it was a clue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The picture was a grainy black and
white of a young couple in their thirties, I guessed, sitting shoulder to
shoulder staring at an infant in the crook of the mother's arms. The age was
right. The date was right. I decided to go with my gut instinct on this one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I typed in Robert Vidrine's name in
the database and got more hits than could fit on one page. Apparently, there
were many Robert Vidrines in Ellison Parish. I went back to the birth
announcement to see if I could find something that would cut down on the number
of hits. There was nothing else, but I had a face and a name, so I started
clicking on links one by one. On the fifteenth article I found, the new
father's face stared back at me. It was a picture of a group of Lids & More
workers at a company party. Robert stood third from the left. The article stated
that the Lids & More factory had opened two years before the boy was born. The
factory made lids for plastic containers. The article was dated April 21, 2001.
I typed in Robert Vidrine's name this time with Lids & More and got five
hits. The most interesting one was where he'd been promoted and transferred to
their offices in Lafayette. Apparently, Robert had moved on up to management. Now,
I needed to go to Lafayette. This was where I would start burning Linda's
expense money. I hoped that my luck would hold, and I would find my man, if he
was my man, quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't tell Linda where I was
going. I left a message on her cell phone telling her that the search was
taking me out of town, and I would be back as soon as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Lids & More office was down
a little tree-lined street off Verot School Road. I parked in the parking lot
and entered the front door. A secretary seated at a desk greeted me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Can I help you?" she asked,
pleasantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I'd like to speak with
Mr. Robert Vidrine."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Can I ask you what it's in
reference to?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew that companies liked to
screen their visitors, but I had hoped a company as small as Lids & More
might not. I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I believe I might have dinged
his car out in the parking lot. Do you know if he owns a red Mercedes?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"She smiled—almost laughed. Oh
no, Mr. Vidrine drives a much more conservative car. He drives a dark colored
Cadillac."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Really? Is it one of those
newer models with the taillights inside the taillights? I just don't like the
looks of them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This time she did laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. Vidrine's car is a
classic with the tail fins and everything. It's his baby."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm sorry for having taken
your time."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. Beaufort."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Pardon me?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. Beaufort drives the red
Mercedes. He's busy right now with a customer. Maybe you'd like to leave your
name and number?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah, that's a good idea. My
name is John Fontenot, and here's my phone number." I wrote the first
numbers that came into my head on a notepad and handed it to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She smiled and thanked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was no problem at all finding
Robert Vidrine's Cad. There was nothing even close to it in the parking lot. I
parked my '87 Dodge Ram Van on the far edge of the lot and waited. I didn't
have to wait long. At twelve noon, Robert Vidrine, looking very professional in
a dark suit, walked up to the car and unlocked it. Hello, Mr. Robert Vidrine. He
backed out of the space and drove out. I followed him. He took Verot School
Road to Pinhook, stopped at a fast food place, and drove to Broussard, just
south of Lafayette. He pulled into a quiet neighborhood and parked at a two-story
plantation style house. I was figuring by now that Lids & More paid their
executives well. I slid my van in front of a house that looked empty. I wouldn't
be able to stay inconspicuous for long. My van simply did not match the
neighborhood. If I was going to do any surveillance, it would have to be in a
rental car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Robert Vidrine climbed out of his
Cad carrying a bag of fast food with him and Judy Vidrine, a nice looking blonde-haired
woman, met him at the front door. She looked to be about in her mid-forties. Robert
looked to be in his mid to late forties. They pecked and entered the house
together. The kid was probably at school. I needed a picture of him, but I
couldn't just walk up to the front door and ask for a picture. I couldn't
waylay the kid either and take a picture. The cops would probably throw me in
jail as a degenerate. I left the Vidrine's neighborhood and drove to a car
rental place I had seen on Pinhook. I picked out a nondescript Chevrolet and
paid the man for a one-day rental. He gave me the keys and one of his business
cards. I thanked him and drove to the first copy shop I could find. The rental
car dealer had given me an idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman at Bud's Copy Palace could
not understand why I only needed one sheet of business cards, but she helped me
anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What do you want on it?"
She asked, after I told her that I was in Lafayette for a job interview, and I
had forgotten to bring my cards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I want my name on it," I
said. "John LeGrand." Normally, I would have used an alias, but I was
afraid Mrs. Vidrine might ask for identification. Parents were very touchy when
it came to their kids, and I wanted to be prepared for anything she might throw
at me. "Under that, place my title, Executive for Advertising. Then add the
name of the company: World Marketing Systems Inc., 2425 S. Foible Avenue, Los
Angeles, CA 90071. Do you think you could find a clip art or something of a
movie camera and place it on the right side of the card?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What color do you want the
font, Mr. LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Is silver possible?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was. She used silver for the
font and a metallic blue color for the camera clip art. Overall, it looked very
professional. I left there completely satisfied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I drove to the public library and
used one of their computers to get online. I found a list of talent agents and
printed it. I stopped at an office shop, picked up a fifty-cent folder, and
placed the list in it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I bought a fast food sandwich and
drove to the Vidrine neighborhood. I parked about four or five houses down from
the Vidrine's place and monitored the action there in my rearview mirror. The
Cadillac was no longer in the driveway. At about two forty five P.M., Mrs.
Vidrine backed a blue Mazda out of the garage and headed north on the street. I
assumed she was going to get the kid, so I didn't follow her. Thirty minutes later,
she pulled into the garage and closed it. I still didn't see the kid, so I had
to assume she had him with her. I would give them about a half hour to settle
down. Then I would swing into action.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">At four o'clock, I drove around the
block and parked in front of the Vidrine house. I grabbed my digital camera and
walked up to their front door. The woman showed up a few seconds after I rang
the doorbell. She eyed me suspiciously and checked out my car over my shoulder.
The car seemed to satisfy her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Can I help you?" It was
a nice voice. I could only just detect the slight nasal twang that I usually
associate with the Cajun dialect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am," I said
trying very hard to get rid of my Cajun twang. "My name is John LeGrand
with World Marketing Systems Inc."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"If you're trying to sell
something," she said cutting me off. "I'm not interested in the least
bit."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, ma'am," I said
quickly. "I'm not selling anything. If you'd give me just one minute of your
time, I'll explain why I'm here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go ahead," she said and
smiled. "You've got one minute." She glanced at her watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I offered her one of my cards, and
she glanced at it while I tried to explain why I was standing on her front stoop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm with World Marketing
Systems Inc., Mrs. Vidrine. I'm the executive in charge of advertising. What
that means is I find people to appear in our commercials and ads that we place worldwide.
We're based in California, but executives like me will often work certain areas
of the United States, depending on our needs." I paused for a moment to
see if she had any questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go on," she said. "You
have fifteen seconds left."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Your son's name was given to
us as a possible fit for one of our commercials. All I need is to talk to the
two of you for five minutes, and to take a picture of him if you are
comfortable with that. If not, I can send a camera crew out here in a month or
so to take a few shots of him. Of course, that would delay everything, but I am
aware of how sensitive all of this is."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay," she said. "Times
up. What do you need to know from me?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Has your son done any acting
in the past?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, no. None at all."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Then I take it he doesn't
have an agent, yet?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, we don't."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ma'am, this is a list of
talent agents. You are quite welcomed to go online and check them out. We
suggest that if we decide to use your child in our commercials, you seek the
services of one of them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you." She took the
folder from me and opened it. I was certain I had her hooked. "There are
quite a few of them in here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am. We want you to be
absolutely sure that World Marketing is above board."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come in," she said and
held the door opened for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you," I said and
entered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She led me to a living room couch
and indicated that I should sit. The boy was on the floor watching a cartoon. He
glanced over his shoulder at me, but paid me no other attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Who recommended our son to
your organization, Mr. LeGrand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I have no idea, ma'am. We
will, that is, World Marketing will, send out a questionnaire, usually to
public and private school teachers, art, drama, and literature teachers mostly,
asking them to recommend one of their students as possible actors for our
commercials and ads. When we get one, we try to follow up, which is what I'm doing."
I smiled at her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Probably Mrs. Aucoin, his
drama teacher." She nodded. "I'll bet it was her."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know ma'am. The
company does not provide us with that information."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You said you need a picture
of my son?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am. If it makes you
feel more comfortable, you can pose in the picture with him." I figured I
could always edit her out of the shot later. "Some parents are reluctant
to let their children pose alone for a stranger."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you certainly look
legitimate enough." She paused. "I'm a little embarrassed to ask, but
could you show me an id?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why, of course, ma'am. Would
my Louisiana driver's license suffice?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, of course." I
handed her the license, and she read it carefully. When I saw the little worry
frown start to form on her brow, I decided I needed to explain why I had a
Louisiana license. I reached for the card, and she handed it to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I've been in Louisiana for
close to a year now, ma'am. I procured a Louisiana driver's license because it
makes things so much easier, especially when I use my credit cards. You'd be
surprised how many of these Cajuns, will not accept my California license. I'll
be in Louisiana at least another three of four months, so as you can see, it is
worth the effort to pick up a license here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, of course." She
turned to the boy. "Billy," she said, and the boy looked over his
shoulder at her. "This man would like to take a picture of you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Aw, Mom. What for?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It can wait for a commercial
if that would make things easier."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It just might," she said
to me and then turned to the boy. "His company is thinking about putting
you in one of their commercials."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He sat up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Really?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Uh, huh," I said. "It's
not a guarantee, of course. We need a picture of you, and if the executives in
California think you're a good match for our present batch of commercials, they'll
call your mom."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You gonna take a picture of
me right here?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How about we place you
against a blank wall. That way there'll be nothing to distract from the picture.
I found an empty wall in their hallway and stood him against it. Then I took
the picture. I tried to imagine this as Linda's child, but he looked nothing
like her. His hair was straight and blond, his skin was ruddy, and he had blue
eyes. After I was done with the picture, he returned to his cartoon, and Mrs.
Vidrine led me to the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you so much, Mrs.
Vidrine, for letting me into your home. I will send this picture off to my
company as soon as I get to my motel; however, I have to tell you, they are
notoriously slow. It might be weeks before you hear anything from them, so you'll
need to be patient."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I will be, Mr. LeGrand, and
thank you very much."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was a little worried that if she
didn't hear from the company, she might involve the police. Scams were common
place, and this was definitely a scam, but all she had was a fake card with a
fake address and telephone number. Of course, my name was on it, but I doubted
that the Lafayette police would think to look in Ellisonville for a John
LeGrand. If they did, I would just deny it, and they would figure it was just
coincidence that the scammer chose my name to place on the card. After all, no
self-respecting criminal would use his own name and give it to his victim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I climbed into my rental car,
picked up my van, and drove back to Ellisonville that evening. I knew that
Linda would want me to call her right away, but I didn't. I had some very hard
choices to make. First off, I wasn't positive that this was her kid. That
worried me a little. However, assuming it was, I had to decide what to say if
she wanted to see the boy in the flesh or even meet with him. After seeing the
boy in his environment, I had come to see things much like Sister Mary
Elizabeth saw them. The boy was happy, comfortable, and probably not aware of
his birth mother. Introducing the two would only confuse him or maybe even
worse. I was taking a chance just showing her the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I called her the next morning at
the beauty shop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Can you take a break? I have
something to show you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'll be right there."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ten minutes later, she parked in my
driveway and knocked on my door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come into my office," I
said and led her there. I sat down at my desk and slid the printed picture of
her child across the desk. She picked up the picture and stared at it. The
tears rolled down her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"He looks just like his
father," she said in a choked voice. "He was handsome, too."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She laid the picture in her lap and
focused on me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I want to see him in the
flesh, John?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew this was coming, and I
dreaded giving her my answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I can't let you do that,
Linda?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I hired you to find my child
for me. Where is he?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I found him, Linda, but I can't
let you know where he is."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Damn it, John. You have too. I
paid you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"If you remember, you promised
that you would not meet with the child or try to see him in person. I'll give
you every penny back if you want, but I am not going to tell you where he is. He's
happy. He has two loving parents who are taking excellent care of him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I won't talk to him, John. I
just want to see him in the flesh."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, Linda. You wouldn't be
able to stop yourself. Seeing you and finding out about you could completely
upset his world. You wouldn't want to do that to him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Please, John. Please. This…"
She nodded at the picture, "just makes the pain worse. Please tell me
where he is."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You don't know how sorry I
am, Linda, but I can't. You'll just have to wait another ten years when he's an
adult and maybe then, you two can get acquainted. You'll still be a young
woman."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ten years is an eternity, and
you know it. I can't wait another eternity to find my missing body part. Please
John. I'm begging you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I hung my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I can't," I whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"May you rot in hell,"
she spat and walked out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat at my desk for a long time. I
should never have taken the case. It was obvious from the very beginning that
it was a lose/lose situation. If I refused to take the case, I would never have
gotten to know my dream girl. If I took the case, I would never be able to kiss
her again. I slammed my desk drawer shut and grabbed a beer from my
refrigerator. It was going to be a long night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">She
stands on the dance floor and moves seductively to the slow beat. Her lips
move, but I can't hear what she is saying over the loud music. She holds her
arms out to me, and I walk forward parting the sea of dancers before me, but I
can't seem to reach her. Whenever I get close to her, she moves back, and I
have to fight the dancers again. The music stops, and I can hear what she is
saying. "Kiss me," she says repeatedly. "I can't," I
complain. I reach for her, but she turns into the ten-year-old boy she gave up,
and he's crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'll never know my
momma," he cries. "I'm sorry," I cry also. "I'm so sorry."
The music starts again, and the beat is frenzied and the dancers knock me back
until I can no longer see the boy. Sister Mary Elizabeth appears before me and does
the Boogaloo. She laughs at me and shouts over the music, "It's hell to do
the right thing, isn't it?"<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I woke up to wet sheets and my
digital radio blaring Eddie Floyd's "Knock on Wood." I turned the
alarm off and got up to face a gray, empty day. I suspected it would be a while
before the sun shone again.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-25561828510234226022017-12-04T17:45:00.001-08:002017-12-04T17:45:52.010-08:00Sketch I: The Carpenter Dies for an Idea<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wrote this as part of a much longer work during the early
'70s. It's an absurd work, what the carpenter would call a gimmick. None of it
is digitalized, and I'm spending some of my writing time typing it into the
computer. My plan is to blog it as I go along. It may not be in the same order
I originally planned it. I hope you enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sketch I: The Carpenter
Dies for an Idea<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">A carpenter and his helper sit under the shade
of an old magnolia, occasionally swatting at flies and mosquitoes. They pull
their lunches from brown paper sacks and watch as a line of cars follow a
hearse onto the oyster shell lane that snakes through Our Lady of the Rock
Cemetery. The carpenter is an artist who does construction work to sustain
himself and his family. His artwork is good, but he is better known for his
woodwork. The helper is a young college student at the university. He wants to
be a writer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">The carpenter bites into his tuna fish
sandwich and offers half to his helper, who accepts it and offers half a peanut
butter sandwich in return. They eat in silence and watch as the hearse pulls
off the lane and backs up to an opened gravesite next to a large marble
headstone. A green tarpaulin with OUR LADY OF THE ROCK stenciled on it in
bright white letters shades the mourners. The dust settles, and a man dressed
in a dark suit jumps out of the hearse and swings open the back door. Shortly,
six men, also dressed in dark suits, join him, pull a gleaming copper casket
out, and lay it next to the burial site.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Sure is a pretty day to have to be
buried. Seems to me they could have picked a nastier day." The carpenter
takes a bite from his sandwich and wipes his mouth with his forearm. Several
crumbs stay stuck in his grayish whiskers. "Me, when I go, I want to be
buried on the nastiest day they can find. I'm going to make it a requirement in
my will if I ever write one."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">The helper elbows the carpenter and points.
Two men push and shove each other for the last remaining spot of shade. A huge woman,
as wide as the two men together, steps in front of them and takes it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Now, there's a scene you don't see too
often. They should be thankful they can feel the sunshine. I would guess that
the person in that coffin wouldn't mind at all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You think it's a man they're
burying."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Doesn't matter, really. Man, or woman,
it's awful shady in that casket." The carpenter grins at his own joke and takes
the last bite of his tuna fish sandwich. They watch as a priest separates from
the crowd and sprinkles holy water over the casket. Someone cries out, and the
two men look at each other as the sound echoes off the walls of the old barn
behind them. The barn stands about fifty feet away. They are turning it into a
dinner theatre.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Sounds like someone there is going to
miss whoever is dead," the carpenter says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Sounded like a woman's cry."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Hard to tell. Could've been a man."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Did you ever wonder what it is like to
die?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I'm an artist. The unknown is always a
fascination. You're a writer. Don't you wonder about death?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I've read what others have written about
dying, but when it comes to mine, it's different somehow."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">The carpenter grins and bites into his half of
the peanut butter sandwich.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"The way I see it, either it's going to
be beautiful like they say heaven is, ugly like they say hell is, or just
nothing like nobody says it is. I've tried to paint all three."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"But have you ever thought about your own
death? Every time I think about mine, I get confused and frightened." The
helper pauses, searching for his words. "I don't know why. I can't talk
about it. I can't write about it. It's just too frightening, I guess. Maybe I'm
too far away from death."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You're sitting in the middle of
it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"They're all strangers."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You're the writer. Get to know
them."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"How?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I've had two heart attacks. The doctor
told me that my third one may be my final one. I come here and read a name off
a tombstone and go home and paint what he or she looks like. It helps me to
understand a little better."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Understand what?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Them. Myself. Death."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Aren't you afraid of death?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Not afraid. Reluctant."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Why do you continue to work if it's
risky for you?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Someone has to pay the doctor. The
carpenter grins at his helper and swipes at a mosquito. The two are silent.
Sounds of the burial drift to them, but they cannot hear enough to understand
anything. "I don't want to die, but I will whether I sit at home or
whether I turn old barns into theatres. It's a fact."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Couldn't you stay home and paint?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, I could, but people don't buy my
paintings. My family has to eat."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Why don't they buy your paintings?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I paint stories, not gimmicks. Patrons
want gimmicks, beautiful landscapes, modernism, impressionism, cubism, for
god's sake. I paint faces, dead faces, decomposed faces, deformed faces."
The carpenter stands and brushes himself off. He stares over the tombstones
toward the burial. "Patrons are good people, but if art gets too close to
the truth, they don't like it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Why not?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"They don't understand truth. They only
understand gimmicks."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"So, why don't you paint gimmicks?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I am an artist. I have two
responsibilities: truth and life."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I don't understand."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Death is art. Art is truth."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I still don't understand."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Study on it, and if you're an artist,
you'll understand."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">The helper stands next to the carpenter. They
watch as the priest signals the man in the dark suit to lower the casket into
the ground. They can just hear the hum of a little motor as it strains against
its load.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I like to think that dying is a nice
feeling, like floating."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Death is nothing." They hear the
same cry they had heard earlier. The carpenter waits until the echo dies. "Or
maybe ugly, like they say hell is."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">The priest says a few final words, and the
mourners, slump-shouldered and grieving, slowly make their way to their cars.
Once everyone has gone, and the dust has settled, two khaki-clad gravediggers
exit a battered flatbed truck, and start shoveling dirt over the casket.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I wonder who it is?" the helper
asks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Why don't we walk over there and get
acquainted."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">They walk toward the gravesite. The two
gravediggers stop their work, lean on their shovels, as they make their way
through the maze of tombs. The carpenter reads the name off the headstone, once
they reach the burial site.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Why that's Judge Abernethy. He owns that
building we're renovating. How's that for coincidence?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">The helper nods, picks up a handful of dirt,
and drops it over the casket.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="m387923139983790621gmail-msonormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, living is
nice, but dying's a must."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"What's that all about?" the
carpenter asks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I used to sing that as a kid when
holding the jump rope for my sister and her girlfriends. I don't remember the
rest of it, though." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The short, dark-haired gravedigger says as
he joins them, "I've got a better one than that. Let's see. It goes, Ashes
to ashes, dust to dust, life is precious, when in life we trust."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Musta been pretty hard to jump rope
to that one," the second gravedigger says. "I got one even better
than that. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, can't help but go, when you start to
rust."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Those are good verses," the
carpenter says. "I know a complete one, but I don't think I can recite it
all without a rope to jump over."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Got one in the pickup," the
first gravedigger says and pulls a rope from the old flatbed. He hands one end
to the second gravedigger, and they spin it in long looping arcs. The carpenter
hitches his trousers and jumps in<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Ashes to ashes,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dust to dust,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dead man lives<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In starry dust.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Starry, starry,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jump the rope.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">A live man's hope<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Is a dead man's dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Starry, starry,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jump the rope<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">To reach the end,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You must begin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Starry, starry,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jump the rope.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Men do dream<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of dead man's scheme.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Starry, starry,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jump the rope.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">To be the master<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You must jump faster,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Faster, faster, faster.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ashes to ashes,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dust to dust.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dead man lives<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In starry dust."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The two gravediggers work the rope faster
and faster until the carpenter can no longer keep up and jumps out. Breathless
and clutching his chest, he staggers to a shady spot and sits leaning against
Judge Abernethy's headstone. Worried, the helper joins him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Are you all right?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You want to be a writer?" the
carpenter asks in a breathless whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Study on it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"What?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Here's your story. Study it. Write it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Who? Write about who?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The carpenter does not hear him. He has
just suffered his third and final heart attack.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Is he dead?" the short
gravedigger asks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The helper nods.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Damn shame, but he could sure jump
rope."</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">The helper looks around, but all he sees
are graves and tombstones.</span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-37590890511156766432017-11-28T10:49:00.000-08:002017-11-28T10:57:59.538-08:00The Miracle<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Octavia Lafleur had a
miserable life. Her father died when she was only three years old. Her mother
remarried less than a year later. Her stepfather sexually abused her when she
was eight. At fourteen, she had her first sexual experience with a boy. Her
mother died when she was fifteen. She married an alcoholic oilfield worker when
she was seventeen, and from then on, rode a roller coaster of alcohol abuse,
prostitution, and homelessness. Then, when her life was at its lowest point,
she met Snook, an illiterate helper at a local grocery store, and her life
changed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She needed a place to
stay, and Snook longed to learn how to read and write, so she followed him to
his remote shack in the country and moved in. At first, she figured that her
arrangement with him would include sex, but to her surprise, he didn't seem to
be interested in that. As Snook learned to read and write, Octavia realized
that he was not as simple as she first thought. She was enjoying her new life
with him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Then a miracle
happened, and it turned her world upside down again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "The
Miracle" is a long short story that follows the life of a woman from her
earliest memories to the miraculous ending. Here is the beginning:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> It was a miserably
cold Louisiana day. Low dark clouds surged in from the north, pushing ahead of
them a frigid wind that bent trees and rattled tin roofs. A mix of rain and ice
coated everything in its path causing trees to rattle like skeletons. The temperature
was just at freezing, but the wind and the icy rain made it feel much colder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Octavia Lafleur sat
on her front porch and rocked back and forth oblivious to the cold. She stared
past the frozen fallowed fields, past the serpentine lane that led from Snook's
shack to the graveled road, past everything to a point on the horizon where
dark clouds met the frozen land, looking altogether like a giant black hole
sucking everything it touched, houses, trees, and fields, into its dark
interior.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The cold penetrated
the thin shirt she wore, but she felt nothing, her heart as cold as the wintry
wind cutting through her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> I hope you
appreciate and enjoy "The Miracle." It is a story dear to my heart
for it loosely mirrors the journey someone dear to me followed and contains an
ending that it might have </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;">taken.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://goo.gl/NDdc5T" target="_blank"><img alt=" The Miracle" border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="314" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GvuxiVoKKxo/Wh2vDnwsXtI/AAAAAAAAARY/QMKeijkV-XMi3HAkf53iomQx0GpUus5ggCLcBGAs/s320/The%2BMiracle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-69725825351021818762017-11-24T17:09:00.000-08:002017-11-24T17:09:38.848-08:00The Shepard<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy this short
story as much as I did writing it. I overheard a conversation once, where a
person said that he was not against someone rescuing animals, but there had to
be a limit. "My domicile is filled with miscreant mutts and frenzied felines,"
he said, and I took the story from there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Shepard<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Elizabeth leaned over the stove stirring scrambled eggs and
prattling on about something. I sat at the counter and cupped my mug of hot
coffee trying to warm my cold hands. I glanced at the atomic clock over the
refrigerator: seventy-eight degrees outside, sixty-five degrees inside. If it
was hot outside, Elizabeth kept it cold inside. If it was frigid outside,
Elizabeth kept it burning inside. She controlled the thermostat, and I was
never comfortable in my own domicile. As Mr. Bagnet once said, "Whatever
the old girl says do—do it!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Melissa said that it was gentle as a Labrador."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I looked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "What was gentle as a Lab, Lizzie?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> As usual, I had
not been listening to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She picked up the pan and scraped scrambled eggs onto a
plate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Honestly, Robert. You never listen to me anymore."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Never Bob, or Bobbie, or Bert, or even Robbie. Always
Robert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Of course, I listen to you. Occasionally however, I
miss a beat."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She sighed, slid the plate in front of me, and dropped two
slices of wheat bread into the toaster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I hated wheat bread, but that made no difference to
Elizabeth. Someone told her that all the best people ate wheat bread, so she
never bought anything else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "And when Melissa told me that, I decided it was the
only humane thing to do." She glanced over her shoulder at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I knew that expression. She had done something or said
something with which she expected me to disagree. She gave me the same look
when she invited her mother to stay with us without discussing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Robert," she had said, not looking at
me. "I've asked my mother to stay with us. She's old and frail and needs
my help." Then she glanced over her shoulder at me expecting dissension. I
did not disappoint her, but it made no difference. Irene moved in with us and
stayed for five years, three months, and four days before succumbing to
pneumonia and dying. As horrid as it may sound, I was happy to be rid of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Humane? What's humane, Lizzie?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Honestly, Robert. To take in the dog, of
course."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: large;"> So that was it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Elizabeth took in strays. After her mother died, she became
involved with a pet rescue group in town, and before I had a chance to protest,
she had taken in two cats and a Chihuahua. I did not mind the cats too much,
but the Chihuahua had something wrong with him. He mounted everything in sight:
the cats, my shoes, couch pillows, visitors' legs. Elizabeth took him to a pet
psychologist, and the incorrigible little mutt mounted the psychologist's leg. No
wonder the owners abandoned him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Fortunately, the Chihuahua did not last long. When Elizabeth
took in a male German Shepard, the Chihuahua immediately tried to mount it. Apparently,
the Shepard did not appreciate the attention at all. He snarled, clamped his fangs
around the little fornicator's neck, and with one mighty shake, broke it. Elizabeth
consigned him to the backyard after that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The Shepard and I became fast friends. I enjoyed the manner
in which he stretched out next to my feet and never bothered me for anything. I
took to giving him a rawhide bone whenever we shared the backyard. I never
assigned him a name—he was the only one of Elizabeth's dogs that I took out for
an occasional walk, the only one I gave a treat to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> We had three dogs, including the Shepard, now, and two more
cats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Not another dog, Lizzie."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She pulled the bread slices out of the toaster, buttered, and
placed them on my plate. I took a nibble and grimaced—as I expected, cardboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "This one will be an outdoor dog, Robert. He won't be a
bother. We'll keep him in the backyard."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But what about the Shepard?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "They'll get along great. You'll see."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I spent four thousand dollars, a fortune on my salary, to fence
in the backyard, but she always had a reason for the animals to stay indoors.
Finally, I gave up, planted flowers, shrubs, and other plantae, and made the
backyard my private sanctuary from Elizabeth's domestic animal shelter. The
Shepard and I spent many a pleasant afternoon there, me, reading a literary
tome, he, chewing on a rawhide bone, both of us comfortable with each other's
company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> He did not like Elizabeth's cast-offs either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "When are we getting this victim of human perversity?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Honestly, Robert. You could be a little more
sympathetic."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "My sympathy is not limitless, Lizzie. When do we adopt
this mistreated mutt?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Sometime this morning. Melissa will bring him by
before she goes to work."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I concentrated on my scrambled eggs and scowled my response.
Elizabeth fed the four cats and took the three dogs out for their daily walk
but not the Shepard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> It never occurred to me to ask what kind of dog she had
adopted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I worked as a Data Administrator for the public library. I
had a master's degree in literature and a PhD with a focus on Victorian Fiction,
especially Dickens, but I had a mild case of anthropophobia, and all you could do
with such a degree was stand in front of a classroom filled with students
focusing on your every word, staring at your every move. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now, I spent most of
my days in front of a computer screen either entering or manipulating data.
There was down time; however, and usually, I spent it daydreaming about a home
where privacy and quiet were sacrosanct. In fact, I considered my little work space
a refuge from Elizabeth and her raucous and obnoxious adopted animals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I met Elizabeth one cold February day on the campus of the
University of Minnesota. I was on my way to a Shakespeare class; she was
sitting on her posterior on an icy sidewalk. I offered her a hand up, and she
took it. After that, we made our way to a small coffee shop nearby. It did not
take long at all before we were living together. Two months later, we married.
The marriage was what I wanted, I told myself. I was on the upside of
twenty-five headed toward thirty. I needed to settle down, start a family, become
an adult.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Moreover, I was genuinely in love with Elizabeth. She was educated—a
Bachelor of Science degree. She was beautiful, tall, and shapely with
shoulder-length brown hair that framed a caramel-colored face, two light-brown
eyes that could gaze into yours with the promise of innumerable pleasures, and
two invitingly plump lips, usually painted red, that invited intimacy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Unfortunately, two months had not been enough time to acquaint
myself with Elizabeth's idiosyncrasies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> At first, I admired Elizabeth's compassion for animals, but
I quickly learned that it was a curse. During our first year of cohabitation, she
took in an orphaned parrot, a bitter little bird that only knew one word, shit,
except coming out of its beak, it sounded more like shee-it. I figured I could
live with that obscenity. After all, birds were docile, caged, and neat. I was
wrong on all counts. He was none of those things. Elizabeth would let it fly
loose around the house, and it would wing around saying shee-it, demonstrating
what he meant by defecating over everything: floors, tables, clothes—nothing
was safe. Still, I tried to befriend the obscene little mimicker, but every
time I tried to touch him, he would stab at me with his razor-sharp beak and
draw blood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I did a little research on parrots, and found out that they
could live eighty years. I was more likely to die before him, so there was only
one thing to do. I would have to eliminate him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Unfortunately, I did not have
it in me to kill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> However, the gods must have been on my side. One day, on my
way out the front door, he shot by me and flew off into the wide blue yonder
never to be heard from again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Shee-it," I said to his departing form. "Beware
of the indifferent universe," I added and prepared myself to celebrate my newfound
peace and quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> If only it had been so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After a few months of mourning, Elizabeth adopted her mother.
a sharped-tongued septuagenarian who habitually napped and snored in front of a
blaring television, a pusillanimous puppy she christened Plucky who whined
incessantly, and a malevolent cat that used his sharp claws as deadly weapons.
Then her mother died and our domicile became a sanctuary for every abandoned animal
that appeared on the Humane Society's doorsteps. If nobody wanted the scalawag,
fear not, Elizabeth would take it in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now, she was adopting another cast-off canine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Why don't you divorce her?" Caroline asked, once
I told her about Elizabeth's newest adoption. She was a thirty-something who
worked with me and with whom. I often shared some of Elizabeth's atrocities. "You
have no children, do you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Would I bring children into that zoo?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "So, divorce her."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I don't like Elizabeth, but I did not marry her serendipitously.
I entered into our relationship voluntarily. I take my marriage vows seriously."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Seems to me, you're taking a lot of shit too."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I acknowledged her point with a nod. What could I do? My
life with Elizabeth had become habit. Like the smoker who knows cigarettes will
kill him, but cannot stop, I did not have the will to rid myself of her.
Perhaps, I realized then, I was just as tenderhearted as she was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I arrived home after work that afternoon and found no one home
to greet me, except for the usual menagerie of miscreants. Apparently,
Elizabeth was on some mission to save another animal somewhere, so I grabbed my
Dickens, my folding chair and a treat for the Shepard, and prepared to spend a
pleasant couple of hours outside reading and enjoying the tranquility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> However, that was not to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The Shepard lay on the back-deck bleeding, and an enormous Rottweiler
stood over him, his proboscis covered red with blood. I started to open the
patio door, but the animal snarled at me, displaying an impressive set of
blood-soaked fangs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I dialed 911 and told the individual on the other end that I
had an enraged dog on my back deck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "What do you mean, sir?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I mean that there is a vicious Rottweiler feasting on
my dog on the back deck. When I tried to go out, he growled at me, and exposed
his bloody fangs."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Don't go out there, sir. I'll send someone over."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Five minutes after I called 911, Elizabeth arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "What is it, Robert?" she asked, after noticing my
anxious countenance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Your poor miserable mongrel just killed the Shepard
and is currently making a meal of him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "What?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Just then, the doorbell dinged, and I answered it. Two
officers stood on the stoop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Someone just called saying that there was a rabid dog
on his back deck?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "This way, gentlemen," I said and led them to the
patio door where Elizabeth stood gawking at the scene outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The two officers stared at each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Only one thing to do," the smaller of the two
said. "We'll have to put him down."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "No," Elizabeth screamed. "You will not kill
that poor animal."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> We all gaped at her in disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Ma'am," the officer said. "The animal is
eating your other dog."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I don't care about the Shepard. He's Robert's dog."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gave Elizabeth a menacing glare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Shee-it," I said mimicking the parrot. Where was
the compassion now? Where was the tender heart?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I suggest you officers pop-a-cap in that bloodthirsty
beast's head," I told the two constables and disappeared into my bedroom,
packed a suitcase, and walked out of my residence just as one of the policemen discharged
his weapon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> At this point, I hoped it was Elizabeth he had dispatched.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-38481567509242633642017-11-09T14:36:00.001-08:002017-11-09T14:36:50.885-08:00Crawfish Redux--1960<div style="background: white; border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: none; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is a piece of a work in progress that
appeared in <i>The Pittsburg Quarterly
Online </i>in 1998. It is a work of fiction based on a Native American creation
story that maintains a crawfish created man. I took some liberties with it, but
it stays fairly true to the myth. The main character of the work is nicknamed
Crawfish because he came out of his mother's womb backwards, as crawfish tend
to do when threatened. I hope you enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Crawfish
Redux—1960<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He appeared one day; an ancient American Indian dressed in
tattered khakis, no shoes, and long dark hair, liberally sprinkled with grey,
tied loosely behind his head with a leather thong. No one knew where he came
from, or where he headed. He walked through Serpentville, his walking stick
beating time on the hot, soggy blacktop road. No one would have noticed him if
he hadn’t looked so much like an Indian. The children ran after him shooting
questions at his back: “Who are you? Where do you come from? Where are you
going? Are you really an Indian? Are you a chief?” He didn’t answer. Grownups
stepped out of houses, stores, saloons. They asked him questions, the same ones
the kids asked. He ignored them too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He walked down Main Street, turned right on the Ellisonville
blacktop and did not stop until he reached the Bayou Serpent bridge about a
quarter mile out of town. He crossed the barbed wire fence that separated the
road from the bayou and hiked along the waterway until he reached a mound about
a mile or two from the road. He used his walking stick to clear away a path for
himself through the briar bushes and sat cross-legged on the center of the
mound. There he hummed softly to himself and ignored the questions as the kids
ran, danced, and hopped around him. “What are you doing? Is that an Indian song
you humming? Are you a real Indian? What are you doing?” they chirruped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Jonel Pipe, the sheriff’s deputy, showed up around sunset and
told the old man to move on. The Indian hummed softly, didn’t even look up.
Jonel grabbed his left arm and tugged on it. He groaned, and the deputy
backed off. After all, he did not want to hurt him. Jonel crossed his arms and
stared hard at the Indian. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” When the man
didn’t answer, the deputy shook his head and left. It was a free country, and
he wasn’t hurting anything. Still there was something disconcerting about the
scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The sun rose and set three times, and still, the old Indian
didn’t move. A hawk circled overhead. Far
off, a crop duster flew over a cotton field. He stood, wobbled a
bit, and regained his balance. He lifted his arms up to the sky and faced the
kids playing nearby—they had grown tired of waiting for him to do something,
but they were afraid not to be there in case he did, so they showed up each
day. They stopped what they were doing when he stood, scurried up the mound and
gathered at his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The Great Spirit,” the old Indian said in a raspy voice that
sounded like the wind through the briar bushes, “had no eyes or ears, but she
heard and saw all that went on around her. Water covered Mother Earth. The
Great Spirit made fish and shellfish to fill her waters. Then she told Crawfish
to go to the bottom and mate with Mother Earth. Crawfish did and pulled up some
of Mother Earth to make a home for their offspring. Crawfish named their
progeny Chitimacha, and he lived on the home created by Mother Earth
and Crawfish. The Great Spirit gave Chitimacha laws to live by, and all was
well on the new earth for a while, but Chitimacha has a short memory, and soon,
he forgot all the laws, and the new earth fell into chaos. The Great Spirit
thought and thought and gave Chitimacha women and tobacco, and these made
Chitimacha very happy, but Chitimacha made slaves of his women and became slave
to his tobacco and demanded the Great Spirit give him more. The Great Spirit
gave him animals and arrows to slay the animals, and these made Chitimacha very
happy, but it wasn’t very long before Chitimacha grew tired of those and
demanded the Great Spirit give him more. The Great Spirit gave Chitimacha
knowledge of Mother Earth and taught him how to grow crops upon her. This made
Chitimacha very happy, and he feasted on the fruits of Mother Earth, but soon,
Chitimacha wanted more and once again, called on the Great Spirit to give him
more. The Great Spirit gave Chitimacha the four directions. To the north, she
gave Chitimacha the cold. To the south, she gave Chitimacha warmth and
moisture. To the west, she gave Chitimacha great beasts to hunt and eat. To the
east, she gave Chitimacha the white man. Chitimacha was very happy. When the
cold of the north came down, it cooled and refreshed him. The warmth of the
south nurtured his crops. The great beasts of the west fed and clothed his
families. The white man from the east introduced him to a new Great Spirit who
promised an even better world for Chitimacha. The white man taught Chitimacha
to forsake Mother Earth and embrace their Great White Spirit. Chitimacha was
very happy. He took from the Mother Earth and gave nothing back. This is not
the true world, the white man told him. It is only a stopping place. Chitimacha
drank in the white man’s words as eagerly as he drank the white man’s alcohol,
but one day, Chitimacha saw that not all was well. Mother Earth was slowly
dying. The rivers and bayous were barren. Farms and cities were replacing the
woods and forests. Smoke from the white man’s automobiles and factories
poisoned the air. Chitimacha demanded the Great Spirit make it right again. The
Great Spirit had no ears or eyes, but she saw and heard all that went on, and
she wept for Chitimacha.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The old Indian stared up into the sky at a crop duster
circling overhead. Then he watched as a green tractor inched its way across a
cotton field. He finally let his gaze rest on the curious children around him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Please,” he said and fell back. He died, his wise and aged
eyes staring lifelessly at the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In life, the old Indian was a curiosity for the children. In
death, he was frightening, and they ran away from his lifeless body. None of
them understood the old Indian’s request at the end, except one.</span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">He shook a tiny fist at the sky as he ran
with the others to tell the grownups what he had learned.</span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-78441310313539545222017-11-05T06:49:00.000-08:002017-11-05T06:49:29.748-08:00The 2-Headed Calf<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: normal; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As
a young boy, fourteen or fifteen, I had the opportunity to watch a veterinarian
deliver a calf. The delivery went along the same line as my story except the
calf was normal and alive. It was an extraordinary experience eclipsed only by
my daughter's home birth. I took the memory and created this scene from a work
in progress that probably will never see the light of day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The
2-headed Calf—1969<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The pregnant Guernsey
milk cow belonging to JJ's father was overdue to drop her calf, and he sent for
Dr. Veillion, the old veterinarian from Ellisonville. JJ called me to see if I
wanted to see the cow deliver her calf. Although I lived in a farm community, I
had never seen anything like that before. I was curious, so I jumped on my old Schwinn
and peddled over to his father's farm about three miles down the Isaacton
graveled road. I found them in Mr. Labbé's enormous and old cypress barn. I left
my bike at the fence, climbed over the metal gate, and joined them. The barn
was dark and smelled strongly of manure and hay. I stood next to JJ and watched
as his father and Dr. Veillion examined the cow. In the next stall, a chicken
perched on top of a poison drum and watched us, cocking her head sideways
occasionally. The cow lay on her right side and seemed to be struggling to give
birth. A yellowish sac hung from her back end. She lifted her head, eyed us
with her dark eyes, and cried out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What's the
matter with her?" I asked Dr. Veillion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's her
water sac hanging from her vulva," he answered. "She's having trouble
pushing the calf out." He reached into his black medical bag. "Looks
like I'll have to give Mother Nature a hand." He slid on a pair of
enormous black rubber gloves that covered his hands and arms almost to his
shoulders. Then he rubbed a lubricant over both gloves and entered the stall
with the cow. She turned her head toward him, and he slowly made his way around
until he stood behind her. "That's all right, baby," he soothed. "I'm
just going to give you a little helping hand getting that baby out of there."
The cow shook her enormous head and shifted a little. Dr. Veillion lifted her
tail and slowly slid his right hand inside her vulva up past his elbow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I glanced at JJ,
and he grinned at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You said
you wanted to see," he whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The calf
is coming out backwards," Dr. Veillion called out. "That's usually
not a problem. I'm just going to reposition it a little until I can get his
legs out. Jeb. There's no movement in there, so I suspect the calf might be
dead." He glanced at Mr. Labbé. "I'm going to need some help pulling,
so come in here and join me." After some tugging, a pair of small hooves and
fetlocks appeared. Dr. Veillion grunted and pulled harder using both hands. JJ's
father grabbed a hoof and helped."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's too
slippery," Dr. Veillion said. "Get me a sturdy rope, and we'll pull
it out that way."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Labbé nodded
at JJ, who grabbed a rope and handed it to the old veterinarian. He secured it
over the calf's fetlocks and again, just above the hooves. The two men pulled.
The cow's stomach contracted as she pushed. After a few minutes, the calf's
body appeared. The two pulled harder, and the rest of the calf dropped out in a
spurt of blood, water, and mucous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We stared in
bewilderment at the little animal lying in the fresh hay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It had two
heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't that
beat all," Dr. Veillion said. "I've heard about this happening, but I've
never seen it before."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What the
hell is it?" JJ's father asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"A calf,"
Dr. Veillion said. "The strangest damn calf I've ever seen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Is it
alive?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nope. It
never had a chance."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The cow slowly
licked her dead calf clean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Will my Guernsey
be all right?" Mr. Labbé asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"She should
be fine, Jeb. I'll stick around a bit until she delivers the placenta. It
shouldn't take long."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What am I
going to do with a dead two-headed calf?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The old
veterinarian shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you
could bury it, or you can have it stuffed. Some museum, or something like that,
might want it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once the cow
stood and delivered her placenta, Dr. Veillion left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">JJ's father placed
the calf in a freezer and called Sonny Landrieu, a taxidermist he knew in
Ellisonville. Three weeks later, he picked up the mount, and JJ called me over
to see it. His father had set it into a scene that he created in the corner of
his living room, a manger where the two-headed calf stood next to a bale of hay,
an empty bucket, and a feed trough with grain in it. One head faced the viewer,
it's dark glass eyes blank. The other head leaned over the trough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What do
you think, boy?" Mr. Labbé asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't know
how to answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Strange,"
I said, finally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Would you
pay to see something like that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't
know," Mr. Labbé.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, I
got me a two-headed calf. Ain't no sense letting it rot in the ground when I
can make money off him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Later, he called
the <i>Ellisonville Gazette,</i> and they sent a photographer over. The
headline read, "Serpentville Farmer Preserves 2-Headed Calf." He placed
a sign on the roadside next to his driveway. "SEE A TWO-HEADED CALF. $1.00
PER PERSON," it read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: normal; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He had visitors
from as far off as Arkansas and Mississippi.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-46454576814183236462017-10-27T08:16:00.001-07:002017-10-27T08:16:58.041-07:00A Colder than Normal Winter<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">I never know what will spark my
imagination. Many years ago, while driving through Arkansas on a cold icy day,
I saw a young boy trudge over a fallow field, heading toward a shack with a
single, lighted window cutting through the approaching dusk. He carried a small
paper sack in his right hand. The scene reminded me of an Emil Nolde landscape,
intense and emotional, or the feeling I experienced when I first saw Andrew
Wyath's <i>Christina's World.</i> This is
what came out of what I witnessed that day. I tried to capture the fear and
guilt I felt when my father died of cancer. I was about that boy's age.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">A Colder than Normal Winter<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">The
dying sun dangles like an orange sore, scabrous and purulent. Dark clouds, pregnant
with the threat of a winter storm, roil over the northern horizon like a
disease, slowly devouring the sun’s feeble light and the icy blue sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">The
dark shadow of a boy, carrying a small sack filled with medicine for his father,
crosses a fallow field. His breath pulses from him in small white storm clouds.
The cold stabs through him, and his legs, like bellows, stoke the fires in his
chest, but he feels none of that. The fear in his mind numbs him, binds him to
the shack across the field where he knows his father, the certainty of death
slowly working its way through his emaciated body, stares through a frosted window
and waits for him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">The
boy throws himself upon the barren ground—tries to erase the image of the
cancer eating his father’s insides like white-hot flames devouring paper. He
knows that death is an awful process that does not discriminate between good
and evil, but he cannot imagine life without his father. Even the thought of
his expiration creates a chasm of loss and yearning in his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">He
has seen him cough, bring up blood, red and hot enough to melt ice. He rises
and trudges home toward the lighted window that holds his father’s wasted shadow
and new responsibilities, the fear of failing him during his last few days,
heavy on his shoulders.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">How
does one change the weather, disperse the clouds building behind him that
promise more icy winds and a colder than normal winter?</span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-65372712575892278692017-10-21T13:15:00.001-07:002017-10-21T13:15:10.803-07:00My First Paid Publication<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The letter arrived in the mail just as I was
going to take a shower. The mail carrier dropped the mail in the mailbox. I
opened the front door a crack, stuck my arm out, and picked up the mixture of
junk mail and bills. The business-size envelope stood out. The address was the
same one I typed on my old Royal manual. Stamped in black on the upper left-hand
corner was <i>The Southern Review</i> return address. The fifteen-cent
"Star Spangled Banner" stamp I had licked and placed on the envelope
sat proudly on the upper right corner. I threw the junk mail in the trash and
sat at my kitchen table, placing the envelope face up. I examined the postmark.
I could only make out three digits of the zip code, a huge PM in the center of
the postmark, and nothing of the date was legible. I stood, walked to the
refrigerator, grabbed a beer, a sharp knife, and returned to the envelope. I
placed the knife blade under the flap and slit it opened, but I didn't pull out
the single sheet inside. Instead, I took a long pull from the beer and prayed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Please, God, let this be an
acceptance."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was a graduate student at the University of
Southwestern Louisiana (USL), now known as the University Louisiana, Lafayette
(ULL). I had written a collection of short stories set in a small Cajun
community to use as my creative thesis, and was trying to get a few stories
published to give my work some credibility. Ernest Gaines, my writing teacher,
had introduced me to his agent a few months earlier, and she had asked me to
send her some of my work, so I sent her six stories and a stamped,
self-addressed, envelope in case she needed to send them, or some suggestions,
back to me. To my surprise, she sent me a brief note saying that she had
submitted three of the stories to <i>The Southern Review</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">This letter was the magazine's response.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I finished my beer and opened another. All my
dreams, my hopes, lay in that nine and a half by four-inch envelope, and never
in my life had I been so afraid to open a letter. I lit up a cigarette, took a
few puffs, drank some more beer, and picked up the envelope. I smelled it. I
turned it over—turned it over again and pulled out the neatly folded paper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">At the age of fifteen, I sent a story to a pulp
magazine—I don't even remember the name. When the reply came, I could barely
contain my excitement. I ripped open the envelope, pulled out a slip of paper,
and read the mimeographed response: "Thank you for your submission. We're
sorry, but your story does not meet our needs at this time." I was
heartbroken, angry, and resolved never to send out my work again until I had learned
to be a "real" writer. So, here I was, fifteen years older, and
steeling myself for the same disappointment I'd felt as a young boy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I finished my cigarette, crushed it out in the
ashtray, and picked up the folded letter. I lifted a corner and a slip of paper
fell out. It was a check made out to me for one hundred dollars. I stared at it
for a full minute before I realized that <i>The
Southern Review</i> had accepted one of my stories and were paying me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I unfolded the letter and read it. The magazine
had accepted three of my works, and they were scheduled to appear in the winter
1984 edition. Editor Lewis P. Simpson's signature appeared at the bottom. I
grabbed the letter and the check, ran out to the backyard of my duplex, and
yelled as loudly as I could, "I'm a writer. I'm a paid writer." My
neighbors must have thought I was drunk or mad, but I didn't care. I was a real
writer, a paid writer.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">That was many years ago, and I've had many
stories published since then, some paid, some not, but none of them came close
to the exhilaration I felt that day. The money has long been spent and the
letter lost in the passage of time, but the memory is etched in my mind.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">_______________________________________</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">You can read the three stories in my collection, <a href="https://goo.gl/nrSVSo" target="_blank">Lighted Windows</a>.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-73280468505340948652017-10-15T07:46:00.002-07:002017-10-15T07:46:47.965-07:00The Half-Acre<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The half-acre belonged to my
father. He had to share the rest of the crops with <i>Monsieur </i>Bijeaux, but
whatever came out of the half-acre was his to keep. Always, it seemed the patch
produced the prettiest, the greenest plants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Because it's more mine than
the rest of the field," my father explained when I asked him about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You take care of it
more?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Non,</i> <i>mon fils</i>.
I'm a fair man. All my crops get the same attention. It wouldn't be fair to
Clifton if I ignored his crops for mine. It's just I take care of the half-acre
a little different, I guess, and the plants know it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How?" My father peered
into my eyes. I studied his pale blue eyes set deep in his sun-toughened face
in return and sat up straighter, trying to look older.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I never wanted to answer to
any man. This half-acre is probably the closest I'll ever get to owning my own
land. When something belongs to you, you treat it different."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How?" My father frowned
and his eyes traveled over me to the field beyond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know if you're old enough
to understand. It's like wishes and dreams. You treat them different."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir," I said, and he
seemed relieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He pulled weeds in the half-acre
when I brought him the note from <i>Madame</i> Garré, my first-grade teacher.
He straightened and leaned against his hoe when he saw me coming. He looked
like part of the field in his sun-bleached khakis and brown skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I got a note from <i>Madame</i>
Garré," I yelled, skipping from row to row, careful not damage the young
sweet potato plants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What's that you said?"
he asked once we were within talking distance of each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I got a note from <i>Madame</i>
Garré. Momma said I had to show it to you." I held the piece of paper
before him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What does it say?" I
unfolded the paper and pretended to read it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Momma says, it says that
you're supposed to go meet with <i>Madame</i> Garré tomorrow afternoon, after
school."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Does the note say why?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nosir."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you know why?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nosir. Unless it's because I
don't talk <i>américain</i>." My father registered surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You talk <i>américain</i>. Me
and your momma, we showed you how."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Madame</i> Garré says not
good enough, and she says I don't understand good enough, neither."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What don't you
understand?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Not much. She talks too
fast."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, we'll see tomorrow, I
guess." He wiped his forehead with his bandanna and started hoeing again.
I ran ahead of him pulling out the bigger weeds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I met him in front of the school
the next afternoon. He looked exhausted in his sweat-stained khaki shirt and
straw hat. He had walked from our farm, over seven miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Where's this teacher of
yours?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"In room twelve."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Take me there."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir." I led him
through the hallway past rows of doors with bold numbers painted on them to a
room at the end. Now and again, I would look back at my father. He looked out
of place in my school, as a weed does in a recently hoed field. When we arrived
at the room, he stopped, took a deep breath, pulled off his old straw hat, and
held it before his chest. <i>Madame</i> Garré sat at her desk grading papers.
She looked up when she heard us enter. My father walked up the middle aisle
between the rows of desks and stood directly in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good afternoon, Mr. Leclerc.
I'd asked you to sit, but I'm afraid the only extra chairs are desks, and as
you can see, they're too small for you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Madame</i> Garré had a clear
strong voice, and although I did not always understand what she said, her voice
did demand respect and attention. She spoke American, and my father leaned
forward a little to understand her better. He looked around nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Merci mais</i>…"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Madame</i> Garré interrupted him
with a wave of her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. Leclerc, I'm going to
come right to the point," she said slowly. "Your son does not have a
chance of passing the first grade. Do you understand, Mr. Leclerc? Do you speak
English?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Some. I can't read or write,
though."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you understand me?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Enough, I guess. I understand
you pretty much if you talk slow."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How about Mrs. Leclerc? Does
she speak English?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am. She can read it
and write it, too. She went all the way to the sixth grade."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My father said this with pride. He
was proud of my mother's ability to read and write. He often asked her to read
to him from the bible, and he would sit before her and marvel over how she
translated words into a story. It always seemed to amaze him, and he always
gave her a special look whenever she read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's good. Maybe you can
get her to help your son. He needs it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My father placed a callused hand on
my shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"My boy is not dumb."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, he isn't, Mr. Leclerc. He
simply does not speak English very well and understands precious little of it.
Do either you or your wife speak English with your son at home?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My father straightened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well no, not much leastways.
We don't talk much <i>américain</i>, and we haven't got much use for it. We're
Cajun and that's what we talk. It's easier."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. Leclerc, you're a
farmer." My father nodded. "Just try to think of me as a farmer, too.
My field is the classroom. My crops are all the young children who pass my
class and go on to finish high school and beyond to live productive lives as
educated Americans. I'm a good farmer, but even the best farmers need
help."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My father nodded again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's true," he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I need you to speak English
in front of the boy. He has to forget his French heritage, or he'll never
succeed. He'll never become an assimilated American."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Forget that he's a Cajun?
Forget how to talk Cajun? But it belongs to him, that. It's a part of him. How
else is he going to get along in the world?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What world, Mr. Leclerc?
Yours?" <i>Madame </i>Garré shook her head sadly. "I don't mean to be
impertinent, but your son will never make it in the real world unless he learns
how to communicate in a civilized tongue." She looked straight at my
father as if she were deciding what to say next. He met her gaze and nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go on," he said. "I
don't understand all these words, but I think I know what you getting at."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you want your son to turn
out like you, Mr. Leclerc, illiterate, unable to read or write?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My father placed his old straw hat
on his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you, <i>Madame</i>.
I'll do what I got to do." He turned and motioned me to follow. When we
were out of the school building, he turned and gently squeezed my shoulders. He
spoke American, slow and hesitant, to make sure I understood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't expect you're going
to pass this year, but I expect you will next year."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir," I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He and my mother stopped speaking
to me in Cajun, but it was too late, and as he predicted, I failed the first
grade. I took it over the next year, and it was easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I understood <i>Madame</i> Garré
much better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I skipped across the rows waving my
report card, yelling, "I passed" over and over again. Twice, I
dropped the Mason jar I carried, half filled with Momma's dark coffee. My
father waited for me under the shade of the two magnolias at the far end of the
half-acre. The two mules, Sarah and Susie, waited patiently before the plow,
absently swatting at the flies with their tails. I gave my father his coffee,
and he cleaned the dirt from the jar and opened it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What's got you all
excited?" he asked before sipping the coffee. I showed him the report card
with "Passed to the second grade" written in <i>Madame</i> Garré's
hand across the bottom of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What does it say?" he
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I read it to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I passed," I said,
pleased with the look he gave me—the same special look he gave my mother when
she read to him. He wiped his mouth with his forearm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Mon fils</i>, I'm real
proud of you. You're doing real well in school, and you can talk <i>américain</i>
as good as that teacher of yours."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's because you and Momma
hardly talk Cajun to me anymore. I still know how."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You know a lot of things. You
can read from a book and write words down on a piece of paper. Someday you're
going to be able to pass as a <i>américain. Madame</i> Garré was right. There
isn't just one world." He sipped his coffee again and sat in his spot
among the magnolia roots spreading across the ground. I sat in the dust in
front of him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"This is my world." He
indicated the field with his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The half-acre?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes. In a way, but I meant
more than this little patch of land. I meant everything."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The house and
everything?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Everything, <i>mon fils</i>.
The house, the mules, the fields, and the half-acre, too. Everything you see
and more." He picked up a stick and silently drew in the dust at our feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you know how I plant this
half acre?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir. You plow up the land
and then plant the seeds."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's right. This year I'm
planting sweet potatoes. I find the best seedlings I can get a hold of and
start me a nice seedbed. Then I prepare the soil real well. The more you work the
soil, the better chance your crop'll have." As he talked, my father drew
in the dust. He drew a small square for the seedbed and then a larger rectangle
with lines running the length of it for the half-acre. "After a month or
so, I'm ready to plant the seedlings into the field. I give them plenty water
to start them and take care of them when they start to take. I do everything I
can for them and if I'm lucky, I'll get me some good healthy plants when it's
time for harvest."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir," I said, studying
the drawings in the dust as carefully as I studied <i>Madame</i> Garré's
blackboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sometimes I'll get almost
perfect potatoes out of that dirt, and it's a pleasure to dig out one dark
brown number one potato after another. Sometimes, I'm not so lucky." He
removed his straw hat and wiped his forehead with the old bandanna he carried
in his back pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"This is my world. I plant
things, they come up, and sometimes they don't. It's a hard world, but it's not
a bad one." He replaced the bandanna and picked up the stick again. He
drew a circle around the half acre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But I didn't choose it. It
was all I could do. Someday, you’re going to get to choose."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Choose what?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He pointed to the drawing in the
dust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You're going to choose what
world to live in. This one." He poked the stick into the drawing. "Or
the other one, the one your teacher talked about."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"When?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Someday, when you know enough
to choose. You're going to have the chance I never got. You're going to choose
the world you want to live in." My father reached down and erased the
drawings. Then he drew another half-acre and put an "x" in it. He
looked at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm giving you the half-acre.
It's the only part of me that I don't have to share with another man. That and
what I am. I hope you do it right." I did not know what to say, so I
watched him carefully retrace his "x" in the dust. When he was done,
he spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'll help you, but it's your
half-acre."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was not the money he received
for the crops that he gave me. I understood that. It had something to do with
dreams and wishes. I knew I would understand later, but first, I would have to
decide what to plant in the half-acre. Then I would have to work the crops and
harvest them, and one day, when I was ready, I would have to decide whether to
plant the half-acre at all. I wanted him to know I understood what he was
trying to teach me, but I could not find the words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">"</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Merci</span></i><span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">," I said
finally, and he reached over and hugged me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">This story appeared in The Southern Review and is part of my <a href="https://goo.gl/nrSVSo" target="_blank">Lighted Windows</a> collection.It is fiction, of course, but I did fail the first grade because my parents never spoke English in the household. After that, they started speaking English to me. I struggled with school until high school, when I blossomed. (My grades did not reflect this blossoming, but my teachers recognized my abilities and worked with me.) Hope you enjoy the story.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-59461563168272859522017-10-06T08:18:00.002-07:002017-10-06T08:18:48.871-07:00Over the Gymnasium Floor<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.0pt; mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Viola loved to play basketball, liked figuring angle and distance
to the goal, liked floating through the air, liked feeling the ball perched on
her outstretched hand, liked falling back down to the clean gymnasium floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ricky the janitor liked opera, a sound bigger than gymnasium walls,
liked to sing along with his jam box, as he muscled a dust mop from one goal to
another over the unswept gymnasium floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Viola believed basketball grander, more graceful, than anything
she could imagine until she heard Ricky belt out "Figaro," the notes rising
higher than she had ever gone, floating gracefully to the clean gymnasium floor.
She would anchor the basketball on her hip, listen to Ricky crescendo and diminuendo,
lifting her past the rims, and gently bring her down when the last note bounced
off the clean gymnasium floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 200%; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in; tab-stops: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Viola shot
basketballs and Ricky pushed brooms to the sound of operas until one day, they
marched to the strings of Mendelssohn and came together under the basketball
goal, their feet barely touching the clean gymnasium floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-hyphenate: none; tab-stops: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This little ditty came to me when I was in college. I sat in the
bleachers and watched as a janitor pushed a broom over the gymnasium floor, opera
sounds shooting out from his boombox and echoing throughout the building. A
young, high school girl practiced her shooting, stopping occasionally to watch the janitor.
It was a bizarre scene that has stayed with me all these years. I thought I would share.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-69096501745571816002017-09-29T10:45:00.000-07:002017-09-29T10:45:11.909-07:00The Junior Detectives<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I met Calvin behind Joe's Saloon next to his
trailer of empty beer cans and bottles. Calvin sat on the trailer tongue and
absently shooed the flies away from his head. The sun burned hot and heightened
the smell of stale alcohol.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did you get it?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It came in this morning's mail."
He fished out a crumpled white paper from his jean pocket and dangled it in
front of my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mine came in, too. What does yours say?"
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Calvin smoothed out the letter across his
thigh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"'Dear Junior Detective, by accepting
this badge, you swear to uphold the laws of the great country of the United
States of America, the great state of Louisiana, and the great parish of
Ellison. You have volunteered and been accepted to act as the eyes and ears of
the sheriff of Ellison Parish. Your duties are to report to me, or any of my
representatives, anyone found to be breaking those laws. Thank you and congratulations.'
It's signed by Sheriff Franklin."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Mine says the same thing. What'd you
do with your badge?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"In my back pocket," Calvin said
slapping his back pocket. "I don't have a wallet to put it in yet like
they do on TV." Calvin pulled out his badge and held it in the palm of his
hand. "I'm going to get me a wallet, though. First chance I get."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Me, too." I pulled the thin
chrome badge from the red bandanna I fished from my jean pocket and showed it
to Calvin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The badge was a five-point star. Across
each point, printed in Latin were the words <i>veritas,
honestas, legis, fortes,</i> and<i> equitas.</i>
The Louisiana state seal, a mother pelican with wings outstretched feeding her
brood, sat in the middle. Over the seal were the words "Ellison Parish."
Beneath it were the words "Junior Detective."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The cotton gin was a huge wood and tin
building housing great big gears, cogs, blades, teeth, fans, belts, and motors
that separated the seeds, cleaned, and bailed the cotton using burlap and steel
coils. It was noisy and dusty, and the men constantly shouted instructions to
each other. Pete LaSache, the man Calvin and I had come to visit, worked on the
loading platform where it wasn't as noisy. He carted and stacked the baled
cotton onto the platform ready to load on the big trucks that hauled them off
to bigger cities. Pete was a thin man dressed in saggy khaki pants, khaki
shirt, and worn work boots. A John Deere cap, slightly askew, covered his
balding head. He motioned us to sit on an overturned bale and sat across from
us in an old slat-bottomed chair that he propped against another bale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ya'll going to the Fourth of July
Barbeque and Jambalaya Cook-off at the school?" he asked, as soon as he
settled himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yessir," I said. "We're going to
help Deputy Pipe park cars."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"He's going to pay us," Calvin
added.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pete nodded, pulled out a sack of Bull
Durham from the pocket of his khaki shirt, and shook a few grains of tobacco on
a small rectangle of white paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I hear the Knights of Columbus are
going to donate all the profits they make to buy Christmas presents for all the
children in Ellison Parish whose momma and daddies are on welfare. Kind of
strange to be thinking about Christmas in July, but it's a real good idea."
He paused to light his cigarette. "Reminds me of a story I heard once
about Christmas in July."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pete always had a story to tell, and
usually, I loved to listen to him talk, but I was afraid he'd break into a
story before we could show him our badges, so I interrupted him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We're sheriff's deputies," I
said and unwrapped my badge. Calvin flashed his badge as they did on television.
He had bought a wallet for it, and he snapped it shut with a satisfying slap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, look at that. You boys are sheriff
deputies, huh? I got something you boys might be able to solve."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Both Calvin and I leaned forward. This
could be out first case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Someone stole Hank's bull," he
said, once he lit his cigarette. He worked for Hank Fontenot at the cotton gin.
"Happened yesterday. Found out this morning."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Big deal," Calvin said. "Who
cares about a bull?" He patted his back pocket. "We're looking for a
real case, like a murder or something. You know about any murders?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Non</i>,
don't recollect any murders happening recently, but Clarence is a prize bull
and worth a whole lot of money." Blue smoke escaped from his nose and
mouth. "Hank used him for breeding purposes. Brought in a whole lot of
money for him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How much is he worth?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hate to be pinned down like that, but
I'd say that bull must be worth at least a couple of thousand dollars."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Wow," Calvin and I said
together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What did <i>Monsieur</i> Hank do?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What he could do. He called Jonel."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Deputy Pipe?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The same one." Pete grinned,
exposing a few rotten and smoke-stained teeth. "Jonel nosed around all
morning, but didn't come up with anything. Hank said that he'd have to call in
the state police if the sheriff's people didn't find anything."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We're sheriff's people."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Seems I recall you boys telling me that.
Real nice badges." He ground his half-smoked cigarette under his boot heel
and pulled out his Bull Durham sack again. "Course a badge doesn't
necessarily make a lawman."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why not?" Calvin asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What does?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"This up here does." He tapped
his head. "And here." He tapped his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Then how come Jonel Pipe is a
deputy?" Calvin asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pete grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's a good question, Calvin. Jonel
might not be the smartest deputy around, but he's fair. Sometimes that's more
important than just brains. But I don't think people give Jonel all the credit
he deserves."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I think somebody kidnapped Clarence,"
Calvin blurted out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pete licked his cigarette, popped it into
his mouth, and smiled around it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I jumped up from my bale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why don't we solve it, Calvin? We
could go talk to <i>Monsieur</i> Hank."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't you boys tell anybody where
you got your information." Pete lit his cigarette. "I don't want Hank
thinking I sent you boys over there."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, sir," I said, over my
shoulder. "You're going to be our secret informer."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Calvin was already on the blacktop road. I
ran and caught up with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoCaption" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hank Fontenot lived in a large white house
on the Serpentville blacktop, just outside the town. My mother called his house
"the Serpentville Plantation" because it resembled some pictures she
had once seen of antebellum homes with their columned porches. Calvin and I
walked up the pine tree-lined driveway and climbed up the gallery steps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knocked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Madame</i> Fontenot came to the door. She wore a
loose-fitting cotton dress with an apron draped over it. She was around forty
and usually looked much younger than that, but she seemed older, as if she hadn't
been getting enough sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes?" she asked, a frown
creasing her forehead. Calvin poked me with his elbow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am, we're junior detectives
working for Sheriff Franklin." I pulled out my badge, took it out of the bandanna,
and showed it to her. Calvin flashed his at her. "We heard that somebody
stole Clarence."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How did you get your information, boys?
We only found out yesterday." Calvin tried to answer, but I interrupted
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We can't tell you that, ma'am. Junior
detectives shouldn't reveal their sources."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, I understand." She
hesitated a while before opening the screen door and leading us through a cool
hall into her slightly warmer kitchen. She sat us at a rough wooden table. The
table and the cowhide chairs looked much like the table and chairs at my house,
but somehow, they seemed more elegant in her kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Since you boys already know about
it, I guess I can tell you what I know. It won't be much." I pulled out
the pencil nub I kept in my front pocket and the tattered notebook I kept in my
back pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know much. Around five
thirty yesterday morning, Hank came running in here yelling something about
Clarence missing." She stopped. "Am I going too fast for you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, ma'am," I said. "Were
there any clues?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No. Hank didn't say anything about
clues." She walked to a window facing the rear of the house. "Why don't
you go talk to him? He's out back, next to the barn. I'm sure he wouldn't mind
at all."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"If you don't think he'll mind, we
will."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No. of course not, boys. Here."
She walked to a pantry and opened a small door. She moved a small pair of
rubber boots aside and walked in. "I have some cookies in here somewhere.
You can take some of them with you." She reached into a jar and came out
with a handful of oatmeal cookies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She gave us each a few cookies and let us
out through the back door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hank leaned against a wooden pen connected
to his barn, a shiny new tin roof over rough cypress boards that weather had
not aged, yet. Several cows, all Black Anguses, stood in the shade of an oak
tree just beyond the barn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We're junior detectives, <i>Monsieur</i> Hank," I said, once we
were near him. "Can we talk to you about Clarence?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Madame</i>
Fontenot said you wouldn't mind if we talked to you about Clarence."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't feel like talking, boys."
He turned his back to us and looked off into the distance. I noticed several
sets of tracks, human and animal, in the dust leading off in the same
direction. They disappeared just beyond the pasture gate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"We're junior detectives working for
Sheriff Franklin," I said. "Maybe we can help you find out who took
Clarence." He turned, faced me, and smiled briefly. He had even white
teeth, and he wore his white cowboy hat at an angle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I have a school board meeting in an
hour or so." He adjusted his tie under his blue coveralls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Monsieur</i>
Hank, I really think we could help you get Clarence back." I looked at
Calvin, but he was chewing on a cookie and staring in the direction of town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How?" He pushed himself away
from the fence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Suppose it was a kid that stole your
bull? Don't you think we would have an easier time finding out who did it?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You know, maybe you have something
there. What do you want to know?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Are those the tracks?" I
pointed out the set of small footprints I had seen earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sure are. Looks like small feet, and
they lead off into the west there, into my pasture." He leaned against the
fence. I pulled out my notebook and pencil. "I had my man check out the
fence, but he didn't find any holes or anything."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Maybe he jumped the fence,"
Calvin said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No way. That bull couldn't jump over
an ant hill, he was so big."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did you check the pasture, <i>Monsieur</i> Hank?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sure did. Every inch, but there's no
place where he could hide. It's like he disappeared into thin air." He turned
and stared off into the distance again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you mind if we look around, sir?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No. Go ahead. Look all you want."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I walked around the outside of the pen. I
didn't notice anything out of place until I reached the gate leading into one
of the barn stalls. In the soft manure was a footprint identical to the ones in
the pen. I turned to Mr. Hank and pointed it out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did anybody go inside the pen this
morning?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No. Jonel didn't want anybody to
mess up the footprints. He said he might want to take a plaster cast of them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did anybody notice the one in the
manure?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That one by the gate? Yeah, Jonel
saw it. Said it was the way the thief got in. Figures he left with Clarence
through that gate over there where the other footprints lead."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I motioned Calvin that I was ready to
leave and walked over to Mr. Hank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I guess we're going to go now. We'll
let you know if we find out anything."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">'Okay, boys," he said with his back
to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I caught up with Calvin and stopped him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I think I know who did it, Calvin."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Who?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I want some more cookies before I
tell you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But you didn't eat yours."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It doesn't matter. I want some more
cookies. Get me some, and I'll tell you who did it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Calvin thought it over a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay. But how?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why don't you just ask <i>Madame</i> Fontenot for some?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, okay."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Calvin knocked on the backdoor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Madame</i> Fontenot appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did Hank help you boys?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am," I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well that's good. What can I do for
you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I just wanted to know if you'd let me
have a few more of those cookies," Calvin spoke up. "They were so
good, I ate all of mine."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I guess I can scrape up a few more."
She disappeared behind the screen door. I shoved Calvin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go in," I whispered. "Go
in."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He walked in, and I slid in behind him. <i>Madame</i> Fontenot stood before the opened
pantry. I stood behind her and peered inside. In the corner, where she had
moved them earlier, stood a pair of small rubber boots. One of them had manure
stuck to the soles. She bumped into me when she turned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Excuse me, ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's all right. I didn't know you
had walked in. You're very quiet."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She gave Calvin a few cookies, and he
stuffed them into his pants pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"There you go," she said and
offered me a handful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Who fed Clarence, ma'am?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why Hank always did."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Didn't you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No. Why?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No reason. Did you like Clarence?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She gazed at me for a moment. She seemed
startled by the question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I really never thought about it. Hank
treated him as if he was a human being. I suppose I always thought of him as an
animal like all the other ones out there." She nodded toward the barn with
her head. "I'm sorry Hank feels so bad about that animal's disappearance."
She shut the pantry and let us out through the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you for your help, <i>Madame</i> Fontenot," I said, once we
were on the gallery. She stood behind the screen door and nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No problem."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Who did it?" Calvin asked, as
soon as we were out of earshot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"She did."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why would she steal her own bull?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It isn't hers, though. It's <i>Monsieur</i> Hank's."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How do you know it's her?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The boots in her pantry. Small
rubber boots with manure stuck to one of them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why would she steal her own bull?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know why."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How do we find out for sure?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know." We turned onto
the blacktop toward Serpentville. "Maybe we should talk to Pete again."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why him? He's just going to tell us
a story."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah, I know, but sometimes his
stories tell us things."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"If you want to waste your time
listening to Pete, go ahead. I'm going home. This isn't fun anymore."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We walked together in silence until we
reached the cotton gin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pete was carting a bale next to a stack on
the far end of the platform when I walked up. When he saw me, he lowered the
bale and started rolling a cigarette. He motioned me over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did you get to talk to Hank?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir, we did, and I think I know
who stole Clarence, too."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He licked his cigarette and stuck it in
his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"And who's that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Madame
</i>Fontenot."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He seemed surprised. He struck a match,
put the flame to his cigarette, took a pull from it, and inhaled deeply before
replying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"And what makes you think that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The footprints in the pen and the
boots in her pantry with manure on one of them are the same size."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Maybe she had to feed Clarence and
got some of it on her boots that way."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, sir, I asked her, and she said
she never fed Clarence."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He seemed to consider what I told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's fine junior detective work. Maybe
I should tell you the story about Alphonse Thibodeaux. He stole, too."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat on a bale and looked up at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"This happened when Serpentville was
still on the banks of Bayou Serpent and was still called O'Reilly after the guy
who let the Cajuns into Louisiana, so you know it was a long time ago." He
ground his cigarette and reached for his Bull Durham sack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nobody had much in those days, and
those who did were expected to share with those who didn't." He lit his
cigarette and allowed the smoke to trickle out of his nostrils. "Pierre
Thibodeaux had and didn't share. Alphonse got to thinking that it wasn't fair
that his brother should have so much and not want to share with his neighbors,
so he stole a pig from him, butchered it, and invited the whole town to a <i>boucherie</i>."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Didn't Pierre notice that he had a
pig missing?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You darn right he did, and he was madder
than a hornet, too. There was nothing he could do, though."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Did he suspect his brother?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sure did. but like I said, there was
nothing he could do."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Why not?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Because he ate up all the evidence
along with the rest of the town." He laughed. "That's why. Pierre
suspected Alphonse, but what could he do? There weren't any witnesses, and if
there were, they wouldn't have said a word. They were hungry."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But didn't Alphonse break the law, <i>Monsieur</i> Pete?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That he did, boy. That he did. It
isn't right to break the law by stealing, but is it anymore right to hold on to
what you have, while those around you are going hungry?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What happened to Pierre and
Alphonse?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"This one has a happy ending. After a
while, Pierre came to see the error of his ways and him and his brother got
along together after that." He looked at me and smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I gotta go, <i>Monsieur </i>Pete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Okay, then. Ya'll have a good time
at the barbecue."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I stood and left the cotton gin. On the
way home, I pulled out my badge and looked at it. Being a Junior Detective was
proving a little more difficult than I first thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The next morning, I walked to Calvin's
house, and together, we marched the half-mile to the school grounds. He and I
parked the cars in the two open play areas in front of the school. Around mid-morning,
Jonel walked over and told us we could stop. He told us to come back around
three or four to help him steer the drunks out of the parking lot. We agreed
and left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Fourth of July Barbeque took place
behind the school. The Knights of Columbus had set up booths, inside the track,
and people milled about going from one booth to another. Calvin headed straight
for the food booth. I joined the crowd over by the pole vault pit, which
gathered around a platform where Sheriff Franklin gave a speech about law and
order. I made my way to the edge where Hank stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hello, <i>Monsieur </i>Hank," I said loud enough for him to hear me. He
adjusted his tie and faced me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh," he said, as if he were
trying to place me. "You're the Leclerc boy, the Junior Detective?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How's the case going?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"All right, sir. Are you going to
call the state police if we don't solve it?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He studied me closely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, I did a lot of thinking
standing out by that empty pen. Clarence was an expensive bull, and it cost me
a lot of money when I lost him. Still and all, he was only an animal. Maybe it's
better this way."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He stared past me toward the line in front
of the food booth. I followed his gaze. <i>Madame</i>
Fontenot was serving rice dressing to the people in line. I told him goodbye
and walked in her direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Can I talk to you, <i>Madame </i>Fontenot?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She turned to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, it's you," she said, a
little surprised. "I'm busy right now. Could we talk later?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"This is important, <i>Madame </i>Fontenot—Junior Detective stuff."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well if it's important, I suppose I
can get somebody to replace me for a minute or two." She called to <i>Madame</i> Lebleau and asked her to take
over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What's so important?" she asked,
once we were away from the crowd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You stole Clarence, <i>Madame</i> Fontenot, and everybody here is
eating him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She seemed shocked at first; her eyes
widened, and then she broke out in a huge grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"My, but you are a good detective. What
gave me away?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Your boots were the same size as the
tracks, and one of them had manure on it. You said you never fed Clarence."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She shook her head in awe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Amazing. What are you going to do
with your information?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know, ma'am. <i>Monsieur</i> Pete says that sometimes it's
all right to break the law if the law gets in the way of something good."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Pete makes a lot of sense, doesn't
he?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She took my hand in hers. She smelled like
a mixture of wood smoke and perfume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But you're still not convinced that
keeping quiet is the right thing, are you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, ma'am. You broke the law."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Let me tell you the whole story and
then you can make up your mind." She let go of my hand and looked off in
the direction of the platform. Sheriff Franklin still talked. <i>Madame </i>Fontenot turned back to me. "Hank
is a good man, but money comes so easy to him that he sometimes forgets what it's
like to do without. When the Knights of Columbus asked him to donate an animal
for this barbecue, he refused. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen,
so I gave them Clarence."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But Clarence wasn't yours to give. He
was <i>Monsieur </i>Hank's."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Clarence belonged to me. It had
something to do with taxes."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Does he know that you gave Clarence
away?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I told him last night. He was angry,
but he'll get over it." She glanced toward the platform again. "I
didn't want to hurt him. I just wanted to do something good for those less
fortunate than us. Hank and I can afford to do that."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Just one more question, ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How did you get Clarence out without
<i>Monsieur</i> Hank knowing?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I waited until he had a school board
meeting and led Clarence out. One of the Knights of Columbus men came by, loaded
him, took him to the Ellisonville Slaughter House, and butchered him. Hank didn't
notice until the next morning. I was going to tell him then, but he was so
upset, I lost my nerve."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"But the tracks led out to the
pasture."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Madame</i> Fontenot blushed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm not much of a criminal, am I? I
was afraid Hank would come home early from his meeting and find out Clarence
was gone and somehow get him back before the deed was done, so I practiced a
little deception. I noticed that it was dusty in the pen, so I led Clarence out
to the pasture and then back again. Then I erased the set of tracks where we
returned and the tire tracks from the trailer. Of course, I had no idea that I
had stepped in that manure. That was very perceptive of you to notice that."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Thank you, ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, thank you for not saying
anything until you were certain. That's a sign of maturity." She caught my
hand in hers again, squeezed it gently and smiled at me. "Now I must go
back and do my job."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am. <i>Madame </i>Fontenot?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She turned to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I think he understands now."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm sure you're right."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Calvin sat at one of the picnic tables,
and chewed on a small steak pressed between two slices of bread.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Aren't you going to eat anything?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, I'm not hungry." I looked
in the direction of the platform. Sheriff Franklin had finished his speech, and
Hank was getting ready to make his. <i>Madame</i>
Fontenot had walked over and stood at his side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't think I want to be a Junior
Detective," Calvin said through a mouthful of steak. "It isn't fun
anymore."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I think I'll stick it out a little
longer."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That afternoon I helped Deputy Pipe guide
the cars out of the parking lot. When the last car left, I walked up to him and
shook his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What's that for?" he asked,
looking puzzled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Because you're a good deputy."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">He squared his shoulders and nodded at me.</span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-2765627960389835812017-09-23T05:57:00.000-07:002017-09-23T05:58:19.529-07:00The Swamp Queen<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">My new book, <i>The Swamp Queen</i> is ready for download from Amazon.com.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> My wife and I spent over a year living on
the Atchafalaya Basin. The camp belonged to a friend of ours, David LaBreche,
who was working in France. It was an exciting adventure for us. I spent most of
my days fishing and exploring this wonderfully exotic and mysterious place. We
cooked our food outdoors whenever possible, and spent our weekends eating
doughnuts and freshly cooked bread from T-Sue's Bakery about a mile or two away
in Henderson. We moved out when the Army Corps of Engineers decided that it
would not allow camps inside the levee anymore. It was a sad day, but the
memories we created living on the swamp are still with us, and we remember our
short time there fondly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> When I decided to write this book, my
focus was on the relationship between LeGrand and Woody Bergeron, his old
college roommate. As the book progressed, I decided that I needed to take
LeGrand out of his usual setting. I immediately thought of Lafayette and the
Atchafalaya Basin. I spent several years living in the Lafayette/New Iberia
area, so I'm familiar with my setting. The book was originally titled <i>What You Gonna Do?</i> from a statement made
by Woody Bergeron to John LeGrand, but once I decided on my setting, I changed
it to <i>The Swamp Queen</i> for obvious
reasons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> For those of you who decide to read my
book, I thank you, and hope you enjoy it. It was a blast writing it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://goo.gl/MqrNEV" target="_blank"><img alt="The Swamp Queen: A Cajun PI Series by [Roy, Jude]" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/61L2skjWHcL.jpg" width="250" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">An old college buddy, a missing woman, a
dead body, and all clues leading to the great Atchafalaya Swamp has John
LeGrand scratching his head. Woody Bergeron, John's old college roommate, stole
his girlfriend and married her. Now, she's missing, so he hired John to find
her. <i>The Swamp Queen </i>is another Cajun
PI caper and this one takes place in the Atchafalaya Basin, 800,000 acres of
alligator-infested wetland. Who kidnapped Teresa Bergeron and why? John must
find out although it brings back some painful memories.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-10946329326727523692017-09-15T11:30:00.001-07:002017-09-15T11:30:15.905-07:00The Hunters<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
jumped out of bed and threw my clothes on before my father had a chance to call
my name a second time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Whoa,
boy," he said from my bedroom doorway. "You better slow down, or you're
going to end up hurting yourself before we get out the front door. The
squirrels will wait for us. You might as well learn right now that there are
only two ways to nab a squirrel; you either sneak up on him quiet-like or wait
him out. Either way takes a lot of patience."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It
was an effort for me to slow down. I slid my feet into my old sneakers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Not
them things, boy. The dew will get them wet and give you blisters. Wear those
boots I bought you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir," I said and dug
the work boots my father had given me for Christmas two years before out of the
closet and laced them. They still smelled new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
mother stood over the sink when I walked into the kitchen. The smell of coffee
and fresh biscuits was strong. She poured me a glass of milk, added a little
sugar and some of her strong coffee to it. Then she pulled a biscuit from the
pan on the stove, dropped it onto a plate, and drizzled a little dark sugarcane
syrup over it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Here,"
she said, as she slid the plate onto the table. "Sit down and eat some
breakfast. No telling when you're going to eat again."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
grabbed the glass of coffee milk and sat. I started to wolf down the biscuit,
but my mother waved a finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You
stop that right there and eat your food the proper way I taught you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes,
ma'am," I said, and took a bite out of the biscuit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father appeared from the bedroom, walked to the stove, and poured himself a cup
of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's
pretty damp out there with the fog and all. He's going to need a jacket."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's
in the closet with the winter stuff. I'll get it." My mother disappeared
into the bedroom. My father sat across from me at the table and silently sipped
his coffee, his uncombed hair wild on his head, his skin dark and leathery from
years of working in the sun. My mother draped my old jean jacket over the back
of a chair and poured herself a cup of coffee. Then she pulled a chair and
joined us at the table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"How
long ya'll gonna be?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Probably
be back early afternoon—whenever we get tired, I guess."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Be
careful, yeah." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father nodded, stood, and walked out the front door. After a while, I heard the
door to the outside john slam shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
want you to listen to your daddy. He has some very serious things to show you
and tell you. This is a very important event for him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes,
ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Just
you listen to him. Okay?" She stood and rushed out of the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father came back in and sat before his cup of coffee again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Where's
your momma."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"She
went to the bedroom." I paused a second. "Daddy, is everything all right?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Of
course it is. Why you asking?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
think Momma was crying."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"She's
just worried about you. That's all. Finish your breakfast. I'll be right back."
He walked into the bedroom. A few minutes later, he returned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go
get the gun and the shells so we can go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
dragged a chair to my father's bedroom doorway. The 16-gauge single-shot
Remington shotgun sat in its gun rack over the doorway; the shells were in the
closet. I broke the gun opened and sighted through the empty barrel toward the
kitchen light before handing it to my father. Then I pulled the chair to the
closet and pulled down the box of shells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
mother, eyes red, appeared in the kitchen again. I gave her a peck on the cheek.
She grabbed me and hugged me. I wormed my way out of her grasp and joined my
father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Let's
go fetch Brownie," he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We
walked out into the early morning air, thick with fog. I could barely make out
the Ellisonville blacktop just twenty feet away. My father whistled softly and
Brownie, his squirrel dog, crawled out from under the front porch and shook
herself awake. He rolled a cigarette, lit it, and we followed the dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Brownie
scurried from one side of the blacktop to the other, disappearing in out of the
fog like a ghost. Occasionally, she would stop and peer behind her to see if my
father and I followed. Satisfied, she would return to her foraging. Brownie was
a short hair mutt with floppy ears, a broad head like a golden retriever, and a
short muscular body perfect for running through the briar bushes and shrubbery
of the woods around Serpentville.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When
we reached <i>Monsieur</i> Claney's fallow rice field, about two miles from my
house, my father stopped and rolled a cigarette. He whistled, and Brownie
appeared at his side. We crossed the ditch, and he held the barbed wire apart,
so I could squeeze through. I did the same for him. The fog had receded
somewhat, and the morning was now a dull gray. My father straightened and
stretched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
examined his face. It was the same dull gray of the morning light. His eyes
were sunken with dark patches beneath them. He put a match to his cigarette and
waved his arm signaling Brownie into the field. She broke into a run, scaring
up a snipe, which let out a <i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">scaipe</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <i>scaipe</i></span> and zigzagged into the fog. My father picked a levee that snaked
toward the woods across the field and we walked along it. A few lazy Black
Angus eyed Brownie nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father handed me the shotgun and motioned me to follow him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hunting
is not a sport like your softball and such," he said after a while. It's
serious business. You know why?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
think so," I answered, but I don't think he heard me. He kept talking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Because
you'll be taking a life. Even the life of a squirrel is important, you know. He
was put on this earth for a reason—maybe to feed us men, or maybe to feed the
other animals or maybe to be a part of all this." He waved his arm in a
huge sweep that took in our surroundings. Brownie stopped and eyed him
carefully. When she realized that he didn't want her, she resumed her bird
chasing. "But make no mistake about it; the squirrel is on this earth for
a reason. To kill and waste is a sin. It took me most of my fifty-two years to
find that out. I remember when your momma's daddy, your granddaddy, died."
My father stopped and stared off into the distance the dark edge of <i>Monsieur
</i>Claney's woods where we would hunt the squirrels. I waited for my father to
start again. "He died well before you were born. It was the only time
anybody ever saw him cry. The only time. Ever. I thought that it was weakness
in him that made him cry, but it wasn't. He was scared to die. He was scared
that his life was a waste, but it wasn't. Look at your momma. Look at you."
My father started walking again. "Never waste a life, son. Whether it's
your own or that of a squirrel, you should never waste a life."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nosir,"
I said. I wasn't sure what my father was trying to say, but I knew it must be
important because of the way he talked to me, like I was a grown up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come
on then," he said. "Let's go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We
watched as Brownie scared up one snipe after another. She would chase it until
it flew too far or too high for her to have any chance. Then she would run
around in circles again until she scared up another. Once we neared the edge of
the dark woods, my father whistled. Brownie stopped in mid stride and looked
over her shoulder at us. My father waved, and she fell in behind us. When we
were close enough to the big moss-covered oaks and other hard woods, my father
stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm
going to let Brownie go into the woods before us," he said. He waved his
arm and Brownie moved forward slowly placing one paw in front the other. "When
she spots one, she'll stiffen up and look up at the spot where she saw it. That's
when you know she got one. She's just as important as your gun because she'll
make that squirrel show himself to you. But you have to know how to make her
move the right way."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even
as he talked, Brownie stiffened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"There,
she got herself one. Watch how she works."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Brownie
stood frozen under a chestnut tree. She looked up at the tree. I followed her
gaze but I saw nothing. My father motioned me to follow him and we walked
forward until we were nearly under the tree and almost directly behind the dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Load
the gun," my father whispered to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
broke the barrel and slid in a shell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You
see where she's staring at?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes
sir," I said, but I still could not see the squirrel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Aim
your gun at that spot, but watch what I do."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
still can't see the squirrel," I whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't
worry about that. You will. Just watch what I do."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father waved his arm to the left and Brownie took a step in that direction, never
taking her eyes off the tree. I looked up and a bushy, gray tail appeared from
behind some hanging moss. I heard the squirrel bark wildly at the dog. I pulled
back the hammer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Not
yet," my father whispered. "Wait until you see all of him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He
waved his arm again, and Brownie took another step in that direction. I could
see the squirrel now. It watched the dog intently and waved its tail up and
down vigorously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Now?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Now."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I slowly
squeezed the trigger. I staggered under the recoil. I didn't see the pellets
hit the squirrel, but I heard it fall. Brownie ran up to it, gently fitted its
lifeless body into her mouth, and carried it to my father, dropping it gently
at his feet. He patted the dog and lifted the squirrel to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's
a fine-looking little gray. That was some fine shooting, too." He placed
his free hand on my shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
didn't feel well. The thrill I expected at shooting my first squirrel never
came. Instead, I felt sorry for the limp little animal before me. My father
placed the him in the cloth sack hooked onto his belt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Daddy,"
I said, once I found my voice. "Daddy, I don't feel so good."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A
slight grin flitted across his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah,
I know. Why don't we sit here for a spell and rest?" He pointed to a log a
few steps away. We sat next to each other. "Being sick is nothing to be
ashamed of. It'll always make you a little sick to kill something if your heart
is in the right place. All I want you to know is that there is going to be some
times when you have to kill. When you grow up and go to war, maybe you might
have to kill another man, or you might have to kill another animal when you're
hungry and need to eat. If you have a good reason to kill, the sickness goes
away. If not, it stays with you for the rest of your life."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father smoked silently for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"God
is a hunter, too. He has his reasons for taking a life, and I imagine he doesn't
feel any better than you do about having to take one." My father's voice
sounded strange. I examined his face carefully. He didn't look at me; he stared
deep into the woods. After a while, he stood up, brushed his clothes, and
motioned me to follow. We headed deeper into the woods. As we walked, the sun
gradually diminished until it was only a patchwork quilt of light and dark on
the decaying forest floor. After we had gone a good distance, he motioned me to
sit on a log. Brownie stayed within sight of my father, quietly surveying her
surroundings. We didn't see any squirrels although we had seen signs of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father picked nervously at a thread on his shirtsleeve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
have to tell you something, and I'm not so sure how to go about it." He
paused and rolled a cigarette. "Do you know what cancer is?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir,
a disease that eats at your insides, kinda like rust or rot. <i>Madame</i>
Jogneaux was sick with it until she died last year."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's
right. I don't know too much about it, but I think Emma had a skin cancer. It
spread to the rest of her body, I guess." My father paused and put a match
to his cigarette. His words tumbled out with the smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Remember
last week me and your momma went to New Orleans?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yessir,
I do." He, Monsieur Theo, and my mother had driven all the way to New
Orleans in <i>Monsieur</i> Theo's battered old Chevrolet. They stayed gone for
two days and when they returned, their faces were ashen and gray. My mother's
eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. She had been crying, but she would not
answer any of my questions. "Your father will explain it later," she
told me and disappeared into her bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It
was Dr. Frugé who thought I should go to New Orleans for some tests. He thought
I might be sick. I was having trouble breathing, and I passed out once at the
cotton gin." My father paused and watched in silence as Brownie dug
furiously under a dead oak tree. He turned to me. "<i>Les docteurs </i>from New Orleans made their tests, and they found out
I had cancer, lung cancer."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His
words shot through me and I recoiled with the impact of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Daddy?"
I whispered. I could think of nothing else to say. Tears of fear stung my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
have to go to New Orleans again next week so the <i>docteurs </i>can operate on my lungs. Your momma and I thought we
needed to explain things to you." He stared off into the distance, past
Brownie, into the dark woods. "<i>Je
suis peur.</i> I'm real scared. When they told me, it was like they put a
shotgun to my head. I was mad, too, but I was mostly scared."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The
operation, Daddy. It's going to fix it, won't it? You're going to be okay?"
I was afraid to look at him. I was afraid of what I would see in his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's
what I want to tell you. I asked <i>les
docteurs</i> the same thing, but they didn't seem to think too much about my
chances." My father paused. When he resumed, there was a slight tremor in
his voice. "My chances are not too good. Not too good at all."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
stared at the ground and tried to imagine a world without my father. I watched
a lone ant try to move a dead beetle. The ant struggled, but the beetle would
not budge. Finally, a few other ants arrived and together they pulled and
tugged the dead beetle toward the log we sat on. I looked up at my father's
face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Everything
is going to be okay, Daddy." My voice sounded strange to me, almost like
it was coming from somebody else. "I'll help you, Daddy."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
father turned watery eyes on me. He placed a thin, calloused hand on my
shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I
know you will. I never doubted it one minute. I just wanted you to know how it
is. That's all."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We
sat in silence for a while. I didn't want to hunt anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm
ready to go home, Daddy."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Me
too, son. All of a sudden, I'm real tired. Why don't you call the Brownie?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
spotted Brownie about ten feet away standing stiffly staring up into a gnarled
oak. I looked up to where she stared and spotted a gray tail waving vigorously
just visible behind a clump of moss. I whistled softly like I'd seen my father
do, and Brownie broke her stance and ran to me. She stood beside me and waited
for my next command. I picked up the shotgun where it leaned against a tree
next to my father and pulled out the shell before shouldering it. I offered my
father a hand and he took it. I motioned Brownie to follow, and the three of us
walked out of the dark woods into a blinding sunlight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I published "The Hunters" in <span style="font-style: italic;">Papyrus</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">,
Fall 1998. </span></span>Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-57053391665342785912017-09-08T12:26:00.000-07:002017-09-08T12:26:05.144-07:00Jukebox Dreams<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Tim's favorite song is “House of
the Rising Sun,” and he can make that beat up old Fender of his give you the
blues. After a night of smoking, drinking, and jamming, we take his little
Kawasaki 85 with the broken lights, and drive ten miles hugging the edges of dark
country blacktops to the Highway 190 Truck-Stop. I cling to his wiry body like
he hugs that guitar. He sings Van Morrison songs loud over the motorcycle’s
tinny rumble</span><span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">. Visions of adoring fans in his head, I imagine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Highway 190 Truck-Stop stays
opened all night, and the hamburgers are big, beefy, and greasy. We eat burgers,
listen to the jukebox hits, and sing along with the songs, Tim cutting the air
with greasy fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Someday,” he says between air
solos. “That’ll be me on there.” He nods toward the jukebox, his long oily hair
falling over his forehead. "I'll be A1."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A bleary-eyed trucker walks in,
glares at us, and sits at the counter. He orders a cup of coffee and stares
into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Monkey shit music," he
mumbles when a CCR tune crops up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You got a pretty voice,"
the homely waitress tells Tim, as she clears our mess. He tips her a quarter,
and she smiles her appreciation, revealing yellow teeth and foul breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Chicks always take to
me," he says and shoots me a smile. "Someday, I'm gonna have them
clawing my clothes off."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We pop fries into our mouths and
nickels into the jukebox until the hot sun burns through the Louisiana fog. The
trip home is hot and sweaty, and the burgers sit sour on my stomach. The
motorcycle putters forward toward sleep and jukebox dreams.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">Tim sings some T-Rex song he picked
up at the truck stop. I cling to him and join in, but my voice sounds like an
out-of-tune guitar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-84760200346150379352017-08-31T07:08:00.001-07:002017-09-01T08:10:52.099-07:00Jeanne Smith 2<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">On
August 12, 1980, a stranger abducted Jeanne Smith and killed her boyfriend. Thirty-four years later, authorities had no idea who
kidnapped her or where she was. Amanda Smith, Jeanne's mother, dying of cancer,
in a last chance attempt to find her daughter, hired John LeGrand, the Cajun
PI. What John discovers is a string of missing girls spanning four decades.
This is the premise of my new work in progress. The following scene will never
make it into the book because my main character can't know what happened after
Jeanne's abduction. However, I have to know—mostly because the backstory gives
me insight into my victim and my antagonist. I have written such scenes for
each of the girls abducted in the story. This is Jeanne's experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne
Smith<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">August 12,
1980<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">When Jeanne
woke up, she was immediately aware of the shooting pain in her head. It was so
intense that it took a while before she was able to focus on anything. Then she
remembered what happened, and the image of Joey lying face up in the
bloodstained water came to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, my
God," she cried and blacked out briefly from the pain in her head, and the
horrible recognition that Joey was dead. She would never see him again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">After a few
seconds of blissful darkness, she opened her eyes. <i>I have to force myself to
focus,</i> she thought. <i>I have to figure out what's going on. I can't think
about Joey. </i>But of course, that was the first thing she did. The man, a
hunter, shot Joey without saying a word. Jeanne had been afraid that he was
going to shoot her too, so she tried to run. <i>What happened then?</i> The man
grabbed her. She fought back. Then he hit her with the rifle. Yes, she
remembered the rifle stock coming at her, and then everything went black. She
lifted her right hand to feel the spot where she'd been struck, but she couldn't
lift her arm above her shoulder. She was handcuffed to a pipe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Where am I?
How did I get here?<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">She surveyed
her surroundings. She was in a room—a cellar it looked like—with cinder block
walls. A bare bulb, with a pull chain hanging from it, illuminated the room.
The metal pipe holding her handcuffed ran from the wall behind her to the other
end of the room about fifteen or twenty feet, she guessed. She tugged on the
cuffs and tried to slip out of them but only succeeded in bruising her wrist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Focus
Jeanne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">The walls were
bare and unpainted. The ceiling was low with exposed joists. The floor looked
like unpainted concrete. To her left, an opened door revealed stairs leading
upwards—from where she lay, she could only see halfway up the stairs. She lay
on a cot still dressed in her red bikini. She took a deep breath and sobbed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Focus
Jeanne. Please focus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Across the room
from the cot sat a white chamber pot, a roll of toilet paper next to it. The
place smelled dank and mildewed. She could faintly hear footsteps from upstairs
and what might have been boards creaking as someone shifted his weight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Her teeth
chattered, more from fear than cold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Then she heard
what sounded like a door sliding open and footsteps on the stairs. She curled
up in a fetal position—the only protection she had.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">He's going
to kill me. Please help me, Momma. Please.</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-10013626620328867582017-08-23T11:10:00.000-07:002017-08-23T11:10:20.966-07:00Jeanne Smith<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">On
August 12, 1980, while swimming with her boyfriend, Joey, a stranger killed him
and abducted Jeanne Smith. Thirty-four years later, authorities had no idea who
kidnapped her or where she was. Amanda Smith, Jeanne's mother, dying of cancer,
in a last chance attempt to find her daughter, hired John LeGrand, the Cajun
PI. What John discovers is a string of missing girls spanning four decades.
This is the premise of my new work in progress. The following scene will never
make it into the book; however, it defines Jeanne's character and introduces
the Trahan boy and his father, who are suspects in her disappearance. I don't
always write scenes for my secondary characters, but occasionally, I find it
important enough to do so. Enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne
Smith<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">August 12, 1980<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Nine-thirty
A.M., Jeanne Smith stretched, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and climbed out
of bed. She shuffled to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and showered. She
wrapped a towel around herself and walked back to her room. She could smell the
bacon her mother cooked, and as if she could read Jeanne's mind, she called out
that breakfast would be ready in five minutes and cold in ten. Jeanne chose to
wear her Pink Floyd tee shirt and cut-off jeans. She checked herself in the
mirror and liked what she saw—blonde hair, green eyes, oval face, pouty lips, a
small slightly upturned nose, and a smoking-hot body. She pirouetted in front
of the mirror and bounced out of the bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I hear
the garbage truck, Honey. Could you take the container to the road?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne pouted,
but she knew it would be futile to protest. It was part of her agreement with
her mother—take the garbage out on Tuesday, vacuum her bedroom once a month,
fold clothes on Saturday, put her clothes away by Sunday, and place dishes in
the dishwasher every evening. In return, she received a fifty-dollar-a-week
allowance, which was no small feat on her mother's miniscule salary. Every time
she failed to do a chore, she reduced her allowance by ten dollars. She couldn't
afford not to take out the garbage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Of all her
chores, the one she hated the most was garbage duty. Calvin Trahan, a dirty,
greasy-haired junior at Ellisonville High School worked the garbage truck with
his father every summer, and he leered at her, making rude inappropriate
comments about her and often to her. She complained to her mother, who
complained to the city, but it made no difference. Calvin's father had been a
garbage truck driver for twenty years. He was not going anywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN">Jeanne grabbed
the garbage container and rolled it down her driveway to the road. She and her
mother lived in a brick home in a quiet suburb just west of downtown
Ellisonville. Her father, an accountant with </span>Magnolia Financial Group<span lang="EN">, had died a few years before when Jeanne
was thirteen. She could barely remember what he looked like. He left behind the
house, a trust fund for Jeanne's college, enough money to cover the funeral and
allow Jeanne and her mother to live comfortably for the first two years after
his death. When it became clear that the money would not last, Amanda enrolled
in the nursing program at Ellisonville Junior College. Finances were tight
right now, but her mother would graduate soon and get a better job than the one
she had at The Helping Hands Nursing Home as a certified nurse's assistant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne arrived
at the road about the same time the truck did. She was sure Calvin's father
timed it that way. She had tried placing the garbage out the night before, but
the neighborhood dogs would tip it over, and she would be forced to pick up the
scattered trash. She tried waking up early and beating the truck, but she was
no early riser.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">The truck was a
noisy machine that smelled like rotten vegetables, rotten meat, and sour
milk—all smells she hated. Calvin came out from behind it and leered at her, his
teeth dirty and greenish looking when he spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Hi,
beautiful," he said and took the container making sure to brush her hand
with his. Jeanne wiped her hand on her butt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"If only I
was that hand, I'd be in heaven right now."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, shut
up, Calvin, and empty the damn container." Jeanne glanced at Calvin's
father. He was grinning and actually licking his lips. Calvin hooked up the
container to a lift on the truck, and with much grinding of gears and revving
of motors, the lift upturned the container and dumped the garbage into the rear
of the truck. He returned it to Jeanne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Hey,
sweets. How about you go out with me this weekend?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I'd
rather cut my arm off." She grabbed the container and pushed it up the
driveway. She heard him tell his father, "She looks just as good going as
she does coming." The father laughed and moved the truck up one driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">When Jeanne
entered the kitchen, her mother had breakfast waiting for her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"How'd it
go with the Trahan boy?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne told her
what happened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Honey, if
you would put out the garbage on Monday night or earlier on Tuesday mornings,
you wouldn't have to deal with those two."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I shouldn't
have to, Momma. Can't we sue the city or something?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"It costs
money for lawyers, and we just can't afford that." Amanda reached under
the cabinets, pulled out a shopping bag, and placed it in front of Jeanne. "Here's
something that'll put you in a better mood."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne's face
brightened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh,
Momma, the red bikini." They had seen a Cheryl Tiegs poster in which she wore
the swimsuit. Jeanne had fallen in love with it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne grabbed
the suit and ran to her room to try it on. It clung to her like skin. She
turned sideways and checked herself out in the full-length mirror. She turned
around and looked over her shoulder to check her backside. Perfect. She felt
like a model.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN">Eat your
heart out Cheryl Tiegs.</span></i><span lang="EN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Momma,"
she called out from the bedroom. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Come out
here. Let me see what you look like."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Jeanne came out
prancing like a model on the runway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh,
Honey. Don't you think it's a little too revealing?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh no,
Momma, this is what women are wearing now-a-days."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"But,
Honey, it leaves little to the imagination."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I know
how to take care of myself."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Okay,
Baby. Hold on. Let me get the camera."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Her mother
walked into her bedroom and grabbed her Instamatic. She snapped several shots
as Jeanne posed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I need to
show it off, Momma. I have to show it off. I'm going to call Joey."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Don't you
two usually go to the pump on Tuesday afternoons?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, but
I can't wait. I want him to come early. I can't wait to see his reaction."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Joey was Jeanne's
boyfriend of sorts. He was on the football team; he and Jeanne had an
on–again-off-again relationship. Currently, it was on. She disappeared into her
room, reappearing a few minutes later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Momma,
Joey'll come pick me up in a few minutes. He'll take me to his house, and we'll
take his four-wheeler to the pump from there. Okay?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Okay,
Honey. Just be careful."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I will,
Momma."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Love you,
Honey."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Love you
too," Jeanne turned and ran out of the house, slamming the door in the
process.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">Her mother
stood in the doorway and waved. It would be the last time Jeanne saw her
mother.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-56773720668669678772017-08-17T05:12:00.003-07:002017-08-17T05:12:54.916-07:00Amanda Smith 2<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">In the last blog, you met Amanda Smith. In
this one, you will see how she reacted to her daughter's abduction. On August
12, 1980, while swimming with her friend, Joey, someone killed Joey and
abducted Jeanne Smith. Thirty-four years later, authorities had no idea who
kidnapped her or where she was. Amanda Smith, Jeanne's mother, dying of cancer,
in a last chance attempt to find her daughter, hired John LeGrand, the Cajun
PI. What John discovers is a string of missing girls spanning four decades. This
is the premise of my new work in progress. The following scene will never make
it into the book; however, it will give me an idea of is happening in the
background. Next week, you'll meet Jeanne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda
Smith <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">August 12,
1980<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda usually
staffed the desk near the entrance to the Helping Hands Nursing Home when she
wasn't working with the residents. The home was a plantation-style building,
which housed the elderly and the infirmed. A former member of the Louisiana
Society of Helping Hands had willed the building and the two hundred plus acres
surrounding it to the charitable organization with the stipulation that it be
turned into a low-cost nursing home. Kristin Ivers, a nurse and her supervisor,
was passing on some instructions to Amanda when two Ellisonville Police
Department officers walked in. For some reason, she could not explain, she
shivered at the sight of the two men.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">When the
overweight red-faced man walked to the desk and asked for Amanda Smith, she
knew it would not be good news, but when he told her that Jeanne was missing,
and Joey had been shot, it was the worst possible news she could have imagined.
She took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds and then exhaled. She had
to be calm—find out what it all meant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"What do
you mean 'missing'?" she asked in an even and controlled voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">The red-faced
officer turned to his partner, who nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"We think…That
is, the state police believe she was kidnapped."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">When she heard
the word, kidnapped, she blinked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Who would
do such a thing?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"We don't
know yet, ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I see."
Amanda took another deep breath. She felt as if she were losing control, but
she had to find out what happened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Are you
all right, Mandy?" Kristin asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda shook
her off with a wave of her arm. She had to concentrate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"You say
Joey was shot. Is he dead?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Again, the
red-faced officer looked at his partner, and he nodded again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, ma'am."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, my
God," Kristin exclaimed and placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"How was
he shot?" Amanda asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Ma'am, we're
not allowed to give out any more information than that."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">She nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Was my
daughter shot, also?" She resisted the urge to cross her fingers,
something she did as a child when faced with bad news.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"We don't
think so."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Ma'am."
The other police officer, a tall dark man with a buzz cut, stepped forward. He
had been standing back until then, watching her reaction closely. "We need
some pictures of your daughter for identification purposes and maybe a couple
of articles of clothing for the dogs."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Dogs?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Bloodhounds."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Of
course." Amanda took a step forward, but her legs would not work. She
could not support herself, and she fell, seated on the wood floor. Then the
grief and despair overwhelmed her, and she let out a howl that reverberated
from wall to wall in the old building. Then she sobbed, a series of convulsive
explosion that emptied her lungs of air, and she knew she was going to die.</span></span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">She was going
to die without ever knowing if her daughter was alive or dead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-34486524052444033432017-08-10T14:56:00.001-07:002017-08-10T14:56:43.797-07:00Amanda Smith<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">On August 12, 1980, while swimming with
her boyfriend, Joey, a stranger killed him and abducted Jeanne Smith.
Thirty-four years later, authorities had no idea who kidnapped her or where she
was. Amanda Smith, Jeanne's mother, dying of cancer, in a last chance attempt
to find her daughter, hired John LeGrand, the Cajun PI. What John discovers is
a string of missing girls spanning four decades. This is the premise of my new
work in progress. The following scene will never make it into the book;
however, it did give me an idea why Amanda is so determined to find her
daughter. I don't always write scenes for my secondary characters, but
occasionally, I find it important enough to do so. Enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda Smith<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">1960<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda Smith's
life was not an easy one. The daughter of a sharecropper, a sweet potato farmer
for Alcide Rozas, she suffered the taunts of the other kids who did not want
for new clothes, food, and a house with electricity and running water. She
swore that if she ever had children, they would not want for any of those
things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">At sixteen, she
did not go to the Junior/Senior Prom Night at Serpentville High School because
she had nothing to wear, and even if she could have somehow afforded something
decent, she had no date. No boy would ask her to a prom. She was not ugly. She
was plain. Plain-colored hair. Plain face. Plain body. Plain intelligence.
Plain clothes. Everything about her was plain. In fact, the photographer taking
the Junior pictures for the yearbook grimaced when she sat for him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">At seventeen,
when prom time at EHS rolled around, she figured there was no hope that anyone
would ask her, but someone did. Shaking from nervousness, Johnny Smith snuck up
on her in the library and asked if she would go with him. Johnny was nerdy, a
math whiz. He had an oversized Adam's apple, wore thick black-rimmed glasses,
khaki pants, and a checkered shirt over a soft, flabby body. Several zits stood
out prominently on his face, and his oily black hair was combed back from his
forehead. He was not handsome by any stretch of the imagination, and no girl
would consider accompanying him to the prom, but Amanda was no stranger to
logic. She figured out his reasoning immediately. Since no girl would go out
with him, and no boy would go with her, they were a perfect match.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">She was so
startled by Johnny's invitation that she stuttered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"I…don't…know."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh,"
Johnny said, lowering his head and shoulders and walking away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Wait,"
she called out after him. "I didn't mean I wouldn't go with you. I just
meant I don't know if I can."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">He turned and
sat down at the library table, across from her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"When will
you know?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Tomorrow.
I'll know tomorrow."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda's father's
shack was just off the Isaacton gravel road, about three miles north of Ellisonville.
The school bus route ran four miles west, going over a network of graveled and
paved country roads. The driver turned the bus around at an abandoned farm
house, doubled back for about a half mile, then turned northeast again
traveling through another maze of country roads. The scenery was always the
same, changing only with the seasons. The farms were mostly cotton with soybean
and sweet potato fields sandwiched between them. In the spring, the cotton
plants were babies. In early summer, they flowered, and in late summer the
cotton bolls popped open. In the fall, there were only dead stalks left in the
fields. In the winter, there was nothing except empty rows, bare and brown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">When the bus
finally arrived at the dirt lane leading to her father's shack, Amanda ran home,
an armload of books in her arms. She wasn't sure what to think about Johnny
asking her for a date to the prom. On the one hand, he wasn't exactly the dream
date. On the other, at least, he was a date. She decided that if she could
convince her parents to buy her a dress, she would go with him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">She asked her
mother, but when she realized that the prom dream would cost over twenty
dollars, she balked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Your
daddy is not going to go for that, honey. We just can't afford it. Twenty
dollars would buy a lot of food."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">When Amanda
approached her father, he said basically the same thing her mother said, but he
did have an idea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"Let me
talk to Arlene." Miss Arlene was Mr. Alcide's wife. "Maybe there are
some odd jobs you can do for her to earn the money. Mind you, you'll still have
to do your chores here."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Miss Arlene and
Mr. Alcide Rozas were a childless couple, and Amanda had sat at her feet many
times, listening to her tell stories of the "old days," while she
sewed or knitted. They were not rich, but they owned their own home and enough
land to sharecrop out. They lived comfortably enough compared to her family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Miss Arlene
sent word through her father for her to come by. She had a few chores for her
to do. As payment, she would buy her a dress and fix it up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda was
going to the prom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">The decorations
committee had built a large papier-mâché replica of two opened hands side by
side. Seated on stools in the palms of the hands were the king and queen
elected by the student body.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda met Johnny
at the entrance to the gymnasium. Her father drove her in his old Chevrolet
pickup and dropped her off in the parking lot. Johnny, dressed in a powder blue
tuxedo, waited for her at the entrance. When he saw her, his eyes widened, and
he let out a small gasp of surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">"You look
beautiful."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Amanda had
never felt beautiful before, but on this night, she felt like a queen. She wore
a white full-length dress. The bodice was powder blue, matching Johnny's tux,
and dipped down emphasizing her shoulders and just enough of her breasts to be
exciting. A powder blue band encircled her waist and tied into a bow whose ends
dangled the length of the white skirt. Her long dark hair hung straight, just
above her shoulders. Her mother had ironed the hair to insure straightness and
cut her bangs evenly across so that they dangled just above her eyes—a very mod
coiffure that Mrs. Manuel discovered in a copy of <i>Vogue.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Johnny gave her
his arm and escorted her into the gymnasium. They received several surprised
stares, but neither had eyes for anyone except each other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">For Amanda, the
prom had been a dream come true. It was everything she could have
imagined—romantic, exciting, and entertaining. She and Johnny danced until her
legs ached. When it was over, he offered to take her home. She agreed and toe
to toe on her front porch, he kissed her—a wonderful kiss that lingered long
after he'd left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">They became a
couple after that. Dowdy Amanda had a boyfriend. Insipid Johnny had a
girlfriend. They did things together. He loved jazz. He took her to the Jazz
Festival in New Orleans. They walked from stage to stage. They danced, kicking
up dust that covered their legs like a fine mist. Amanda loved hiking, so he
took her to Kisatchie National forest where they hiked and explored for an
entire day until they were too tired to go on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">After they
graduated from school, Amanda secured a job at the local Walgreens pharmacy.
Johnny attended Louisiana State University under a scholarship. He wanted a
degree in accounting. During his junior year, when he came home for spring
break, Amanda had some news for him. She was pregnant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">He did not
hesitate. He married her, and she moved to Baton Rouge to be with her husband. He
lived in a rundown apartment—really, a room in a house. He shared a kitchen and
a bathroom with three other students. She found a job clerking at a nearby
quick stop store while he attended school and worked at a student aid job.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">They found a
tiny garage apartment within walking distance of the college. Jeanne arrived on
November 24, 1963, a beautiful perfectly healthy girl. Amanda quit her job to
take care of the baby. She quickly became the focus of their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="font-size: large;">Johnny
graduated six months later and immediately enrolled in a master's program,
which he finished in two years. He applied for a job with Magnolia Financial
Group in Ellisonville and was hired. He loved his job and climbed the executive
ladder so fast that by the time he died in a car crash in 1975, he was one of
the top administrators at Magnolia. As one member of the financial group said
at his funeral, "Johnny Smith's future with the company was nothing short
of stellar. He will be missed."</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;">Amanda was
devastated, but she did not mourn for long. She had Jeanne to think of—all that
was left of her life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-27431174535940246742017-08-05T08:57:00.001-07:002017-08-05T09:00:02.164-07:00Stress: The Great Motivator<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The
deadline is tomorrow. You have known about this cutoff date for weeks, but you
were so busy with other matters, so you put it off. The venue is perfect. It
pays well, and the guidelines speak directly to you. You have a half-finished
story that you know would work. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now
what?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">If
you are anything like me, this has happened often, and you know there is only
one thing to do. Pull up the story and start on it, but until it is on its way,
you will stress. You will ask yourself stupid questions like, "Why am I
doing this to myself? Why didn't I start on this earlier? Is it worth it?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of
course, it is worth it. It is what you love to do. Therefore, you forge on, one
word at a time, one sentence at a time, one paragraph at a time, until you see
the end, and the stress pours from your shoulders like sweat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I
teach at a small college. I earn enough doing that to support my family and myself,
so after a long day in the classroom and in the office taking care of all the detritus
that comes with the job, the last thing I want to do is sit in front of another
computer and string words together. However, I do because stress in the form of
guilt forces me to. Let's face it, I have heard repeatedly during my college
days: If you want to be a writer, you must sit down and write. It's a truism,
and I know it, so I sit and write. Not doing so would mean that I have given up
and that is simply not in my DNA.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm
a writing teacher and that means papers to grade—not just papers, but mostly
badly written papers. I will do anything to avoid grading them—mow the lawn,
wash dishes, surf social media, and work on stories or novels, of course. Some
of my best work comes from avoiding grading papers. I constantly admonish my
students for putting off starting their papers, and here I am, putting off
grading those same papers. Eventually, I will grade them, of course, but at
three in the morning because I promised to have them to the students by eight.
Bleary-eyed, I walk into the classroom and hand my students their marked-up
essays.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">One
of the great benefits of being a college teacher is that I can take the summers
off if I want, and believe me, I want. This summer I set a goal of no less than
five pages a day. Not an especially high bar, I admit, but I know my limits.
Still, that's approximately three hundred and fifty pages. There were days when
I simply didn't want to sit and write—days when the spirit deserted me—but the
stress of not meeting my goal encouraged me to place butt to chair and fingers
to keyboard. I wrote every day, and often exceeded my five-page goal. In fact,
this summer break, I wrote and edited one novel, wrote another, nearly
completed a novelette, and cranked out two short stories. I owe it all to
stress. To quote one of my ex-students, "I do my best work under stress."
Ah, there is truth to that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here
how it works for me. I know I need to get the goal done, but the process of
sitting in the chair and writing is difficult. There are too many distractions,
so I stress and create scenarios in my mind. I imagine that I'm writing the
words down and soon, the excitement and the fear that I might forget all that
"brilliant" stuff I thought up builds, and I must put the words down
in the computer. Once I start typing, the words string together like magic. Not
all them are keepers, of course, but I'll come back and clean it up in the
editing stages. The main point is to move the story forward, steadily moving
toward the conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Like
I said earlier, I know me. I'm a procrastinator. There is always something I'd
rather be doing than what I should be doing, but stress motivates me. Guilt
too, I suppose. So, I wait and wait and at the last moment, I complete the
task. This blog should have been completed two days ago; however, I waited
until this morning to get it done. Now, I should go back and clean it up, but I
think I'll wait until this afternoon. The Fred Charlie Cajun Show is on, and
I'd rather listen to some good Cajun music.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The
blog can wait.</span></span></div>
Judehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04546475386751655756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176176834179516113.post-55188521821584166602017-07-29T07:19:00.000-07:002017-07-29T07:19:33.649-07:00A Dream Transferred<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth LeClerc Sr. did not expect to see
Almer in Joe's Saloon. He certainly did not expect him to make the offer he
did. He had not seen his old friend for at least a year. Almer lived almost too
far away to visit on foot, and he seldom came into Serpentville anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Seth," Almer said, once they
settled down at the bar. "I don't want to put a damper on this
get together, but it wasn't exactly by chance that I’m here. <i>C'est pas un accident</i>." Almer spoke
Cajun with an occasional slip into Creole. He rubbed the palms of his callused hands against his faded jeans as he
talked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth was well aware of Almer's habits.
They went back a long way. Almer was the oldest. He had taught Seth how to drink wine and beer
and where every honky tonk was located in Ellison Parish. The Ellisonville
police chief warned them both not to set foot in his town again. Shortly after that warning, Almer married and
became a family man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I was headed to your place,"
Almer continued, "when Joe told me that you come by here every Saturday
night. I have a serious proposition to make you, and I don't want to make it
until after we have a few cold ones. Let's visit a
while first." Almer took a long drink from his beer and licked the foam
off his lips. "I might be a bit drunk when I make you this proposition,
but remember what I said because I'm telling it straight now that I'm sober. <i>C'est sérieux</i>. Plenty serious."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth drank his beer and wondered what
his friend had on his mind. It wasn't like Almer to be so mysterious. He knew from word
of mouth that Almer was having some sort of money problems, but just about
everyone around that part of the country usually had money problems from one
time to another. These things usually had a way of working themselves out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It isn't like you to be so serious,
Mer. There was a time, I remember, when I couldn't shut you up."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-hyphenate: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Almer smiled revealing tobacco-stained and
rotten teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After he married Bernice, Almer sunk
whatever money he had into a little farm he bought from Clancy Fontenot and
rarely came into town anymore. He became responsible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It sure is good to see you,
Mer," Seth said as the evening wore on. "It's been too long." He
paused and drank from his mug. "How's Bernice and the kids?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Almer stared down at his callused and dirt-stained
hands wrapped around his empty beer mug. "I can't make it no more, Seth. I
got hit real hard last year with the weevil, and I lost almost all my cotton
crop. On top of all that, my sweet potatoes were nearly wiped out, too. It
doesn't look like I'm going to do much better this year. I can't even afford to
feed my family anymore. I owe so much the law is likely to put me in jail or
take my place away from me. And then what?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth bought another round of drinks to
hide his confusion. In all the time he had known Almer, he had never heard the
man sound so hopeless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You don't know what it's like,"
Almer continued, once the beers arrived. "I'm a fairly good man. I never
hurt anyone when I could help it. Oh sure, you and me, we had us a pretty wild
time there for a while, but we never hurt no one that didn't deserve it or
expect it. It's been thirteen years since I started my farm, me and Bernice. Now,
I can't even afford to feed my family proper. I've been doing some thinking,
and there just isn't much for this man to live for."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's fool talk, Mer. Hell, at
least with you around, there's some hope. Without you, your family is on their
own."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hope? Yeah, there's some hope, but
it doesn't rest with me." Almer paused, rubbed his hands on his thighs,
and took a long drink from his beer. "I said earlier that I had a
proposition to make you. You want to listen to it?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"If it'll get you off that fool talk,
I'll listen."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I got seven kids, Seth," Almer
began. "Except for Billy, my youngest, they all work in the fields along
with me and Bernice. It's not that I got anything against the youngest. In some
ways, I think I favor him more than I do the rest, but he doesn't do any work
and probably won't be any use in the fields for another two or three
years." Almer paused and leaned forward a little, closer to his friend. Seth
could smell stale beer and cigarette on his breath. "I know this sounds
bad on my part, but he's just dead weight. I can't afford to feed him if he
doesn't do any work. Me and Bernice, we talked it over and well, we'd like to
give him to somebody that can raise him and give him what he should have."
Seth started to protest, but Almer stopped him. "Before you say anything,
Seth, let me tell you this. Me and Bernice, we talked it over for a long time. It's
been close to a year since I first mentioned it to her. At first, she was dead
set against it. But with the loss I'm taking again this year, she finally had
to see it my way. We want you to keep the boy, Seth."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth tried to digest what his friend had
just told him. Someone dropped a nickel in the jukebox and a Nathan Abshire
tune filled the saloon. Joe swiped a rag over the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm not God to be judging what you
do with your kids, Almer," Seth began. "But to pick me doesn't show
much sense. I think you've been drinking too much."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Bernice said just about the same
thing when I told her I wanted you to raise the boy. 'Him?' she said. 'He's no good except for drinking and chasing
women.'"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Sounds to me like Bernice has some
sense, Almer."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Let me finish, will you. I know
better than that. You were always good people. Even when we were doing all that
drinking and stuff, you were the one who kept me in check. Why, if it hadn't
been for you, I'd still be sleeping in the Ellisonville jail or under it."
Almer shook his head and grinned. "You did some fancy talking with
Marchand. We were lucky he didn't lock us up. What did you say to
him?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I told him that the man you cut up
said some nasty things about his wife, and that’s why you did what you did. You
were just defending the chief’s wife is all."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"For true?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm afraid so. I guess he believed
me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'll be." Almer rolled a cigarette and lit it. He
inhaled deeply and allowed the smoke to trickle out through his nostrils.
"I talked to Emit and Elcid a while back, and they both told me that you
were upright and honest and didn't drink more than the next man, but that isn't
the point, though."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Just what is the point, Mer?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The point is that you can afford to
drink. I had my talk with Bernice like I told you, and I let the facts talk for
me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't heard any facts, yet." Seth
drank from his beer. Almer placed a hand on his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Seth, the facts are as plain as that
nose on your face. With me, the boy hasn't got a life to talk of, except in the
fields, and that's only if he is lucky. With you, he's got a future. How old
are you? About thirty, I suspect?" Seth nodded. "You're old enough to
be responsible, and you're single. It doesn't cost you much to live and besides
all that you have a good job working for Emit."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's just it. What'll happen to
the boy when I go to work?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"He'll go with you. He's good at
doing things by himself. You could get Pete's wife to keep her eye on him while
you work. Rowena would do it for you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You got all the answers, don't you,
Mer?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Almer shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, I don't, Seth. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here asking
you for this favor."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What if I meet some woman and want
to start a family of my own?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't see that as a problem. The
boy will always be welcomed back to his real family. Maybe I'll be out of this
hole I'm in."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What if I say no, Mer?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Then I have no choice. I'll do what
I can. He won't have much of a life. I was counting on you, Seth. I wasted all
my dreams, and now, there’s no more left. What can I give the boy except a
miserable life in the fields? He can forget about any schooling. He's going to
have to work, so I can afford to feed him. That's what you'd be saying no to.
Don't you see, Seth? With you, he has them dreams I wasted away. With you he
has a chance.” Almer ground out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting next to his
elbow. “Please believe me, Seth. This is
not something I’m doing lightly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth spent a restless night. He had
finally agreed to meet with Almer's son. It had not been easy to accept Almer's
story in the bar, and the doubts multiplied with the morning light. He wasn't
sure whether he was the fathering kind. He needed more time to think the
situation over. He and Almer were playing with a human life. What if what they
were doing was the wrong thing? What then? How do they correct the mistake?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth spent the better part of the morning
wondering whether he should keep his appointment with Almer, or whether he
should just stay home and send word to his friend that he decided not to meet
with the boy. Eventually, his commitment to his word won out, and he decided to go. The matter of the boy would be decided once he saw
how everybody reacted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He walked to the back pasture and called
Emit's Pinto pony. It was a long walk to Almer's house, and if he did decide to
bring the boy back with him, he wanted him to ride. Once he had the pony
bridled and tied to the front gate, he pulled a bottle of Calvert whiskey from
his back pocket and took a long pull from it. The liquor felt warm as it worked
its way down to his empty stomach. He addressed the horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It isn't exactly decent for a man to
hit the bottle this early in the day, Prince, but I have to calm those nerves
of mine. I'm as jittery as a groom."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He untied the horse and led him up his grassy
lane to the gravel road that led to the Ellisonville blacktop. He would follow
the blacktop for five miles until he reached Serpentville, and from there, he
had another five miles to go along the Isaacton gravel road before he reached
Almer's shack. The sun had already made its presence felt. His khakis quickly
soaked through in the humid Louisiana heat. Occasionally, he would stop and
suck on the pint of whiskey while the horse drank out of the drainage ditches
along the roads whenever he found one with water in it. There was little
traffic on the Isaacton gravel road, and what there was, raised a cloud of dust
that settled over everything. He reached the lane that led to Almer's shack, late that afternoon. He wasn't as nervous as he had been that morning; the
whiskey had done its job. He hummed to himself, creating a tune out of the
plopping sound his shoes made in the thick dust. When he noticed what he was
doing, he stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Listen to me humming like an idiot,
Prince. Come on, boy. Let's go find some shade and set a spell before we go
face those people."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He led the horse to a clump of scraggly
dust-covered cottonwoods and sat leaning against one of the tree trunks. It was
cool under the trees. From where he sat, he could see Almer's shack. It looked
neglected. Most of the imitation-brick tarpaper had peeled off, and the
unprotected cypress boards underneath had taken on that hard-gray color that
comes from being exposed to the weather. There were large patches of orange and brown
on the mostly rusted roof tin. Two empty windows faced Seth over the sagging
front porch. He had seen the shack once or twice before, when Almer first moved
into it. It had been a strong house. Almer talked about adding on to it. He was
going to replace the cistern with a well. Bernice was thinking of putting up
lace curtains in the windows. They were going to paint the porch green, the
same color as the little cedar tree, which stood in the front yard. Seth shook
his head from side to side. The cistern was still there after thirteen years,
and although the cedar had grown into a big tree, the porch was the same hard
gray as the exposed boards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth gazed at the field that surrounded
the shack. Almer was guiding a plow pulled by two mules. His family was
scattered behind him, kneeling beside potato crates, sorting, grading, and crating
the sweet potatoes exposed by Almer's plow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth stood and brushed some of the dust
from his clothes. He pulled the pint from his pocket, but replaced it
untouched. It was time for him to face the boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He tied his pony under the cedar tree
and sat on the battered front porch steps. He watched as two of Almer's boys
made their way across the field to where he sat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hello, boys," he said. "Is your daddy coming?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Oui,
monsieur Seth</i>," the older boy answered in the formal Cajun. "He'll
be here in a minute. Soon as he's done with that row he's on. Me, I gotta go
back to my work." He turned to his little brother. "Bye, Billy
boy. Take care." He ran back into the field before Seth could
get another look at his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That brother of yours sure is in a
hurry."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The boy did not answer. Seth indicated that he could sit next to him, but he remained standing. He was a
frail thing, probably three or four years old. He wore no shoes, and two bony knees
peeked out of torn jeans. He kept two dirt-covered hands at his side. His face
needed washing. Streaks of dust mixed with sweat caked his face and made him look like a little savage.
There was no hint of what was going on inside his head except a small knotting
of his eyebrows. Under the dirt, the face revealed strength and character. <i>Someday, the boy is going to make a mighty
good man,</i> Seth thought. <i>If he can
keep his inside and outside separate</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You sure are a quiet fellow,"
Seth said, after a few minutes of silence.
"Don't you talk any?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, he doesn't," Almer said
from across the yard. He had tied the mules to a fence post under the shade of
a young water oak. "Not much
anyway. He likes to keep to himself."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"So, there you are. You know, we said
a lot of things last night. Made a lot of promises. I came here not knowing
exactly what to expect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"The proposition still stands. The
boy is yours to raise as you see fit. He's been told." Almer sat next to
Seth. "You know, Seth, the Lord is hard on us farmers. He starts you out
with nothing, and let's you build up your hopes from there. Then when you think
that you've got no way but up to go, bang, he shoots you right back down to the
beginning. Hell, I'm worse off now, than I was when Bernice and me started this little farm. At least then,
I didn't know what I was up against. The Lord's got no call for doing that to me
and my family. I've done nothing to deserve that."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"It's not all his fault, I
suppose."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Maybe so. Maybe I just started off
wrong." He stood and looked at his family, working in his field. Then he turned and looked at Billy. "He
hasn't got any hope with me. It's my
duty to give him a chance to start off right."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Almer, do you know what you're
asking me to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"If anybody knows, I do."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth studied his friend's face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm still not so sure that this will
work, but okay. The boy comes with me. There's going to be some conditions,
though." Almer nodded. "For one, the boy will keep your name. I want
him to know who his real daddy is, and I want you to swear that you'll come by
to visit him every once in a while. He's going to be your boy. I'm just taking
care of him until you get back on your feet."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You're a mighty good man, Seth. <i>Très bon</i>."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"My horse and I need some water, and
then we'll be on our way. As it is, it'll be long dark by the time we reach my
shack. Maybe the boy would like to say some goodbyes before we take off."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"He said his goodbyes last night. He
hasn't got but a few things stuffed in that flour sack by the front door. The
bucket by the cistern has some fresh water in it. You can give that to your
horse."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth gave the bucket of water to his horse
and stood next to him as he drank. Almer stood next to his son in silence for a
moment, and then grabbed the boy's flour sack. He carried it to
Seth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I appreciate this," he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm doing this because you and me go
back a long ways and because you think I can do the boy some good."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I know." Almer walked back to
the boy, seated on the porch steps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Billy boy," he said standing
over the boy. "It's time for you to
go with Seth, here. I want you to treat him just as if he was your daddy.
You're going to have to do what he says. Now, go get on the horse." The
boy obeyed and walked to where Seth and the pinto stood. Seth helped him
straddle the horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Good. Make me proud. Be good." Almer
left without another word. He walked to the mules waiting patiently where he
left them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seth took the pinto's lead rope and
started up the lane. When he reached the clump of cottonwoods, he stopped. He
heard a sniffle from the boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Look," Seth said softly. "I
won't pretend to be your natural daddy. It wouldn't be honest to both of us. Let's
just say I'm your temporary appointed daddy. That way you and me can be friends
without all those rules that sometimes, natural daddies make up. I'm going to
promise you two things. One is that you will never have to go anywhere again if
you don't want to. Second, I promise to do right by you. I'm not one for much
talking, especially about feelings and such, so I'm going to tell you this
right now and probably won't mention it again, so remember this. I'm going to
raise you as if you were my own blood. That'll mean you'll have to take the
good along with the bad. There will be both. All I ask from you is honesty and
fairness. I promise to give you the same." Seth gazed at Almer and his
family in the field. "Now, I spoke my piece. If you want to cry for what
you left back there, go ahead." Seth motioned the field with his head.
"It can't be easy leaving everything you've ever known, but it seems to me,
you got lots of crying left to do in your young life. You might want to save
some for when you need it again."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The boy swiped a dirty arm across his eyes
and sat up on the pony.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Allons-y</i>,"
he said in a small voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come on, Prince," Seth said, smiling.
"Let's me, you, and William head on home."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-hyphenate: none; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">While I was in college, I wrote this piece trying to capture a
story about my father, who, like Seth, raised a child for a friend going
through some extremely hard times. The boy lived with Daddy for several years,
got an education, turned out to be a successful television repairman, and
became my <i>parrain</i>, my godfather. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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