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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 17: Brown 287
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 89
The heat was less severe this morning although the wet air felt the same. Circling wide over the marsh, he caught a glimpse of a diving pelican going into the river. It popped back up, its pouch full, and to his surprised amusement, a seagull landed on the black, brown, and white pelican’s head to try to pry a fish away from the pelican’s pouch. Lightly laughing, he watched the contest, and booed when the thief succeeded and flew off with his three-talon discount. The pelican just gave him an offended look that changed into what Morach was sure was ‘what are you?’ before it began to flap its wings to get airborne to hunt again.
Going back to his own hunt, he did it more smoothly than last time. It only took two arrows. Running back through the swamp as Ferris, he vaulted high over a water moccasin swimming in a clear spot between the grass humps. Getting back, he did the same as before, but knew that one rabbit per day was not going to do the deal. So he prayed as he felt suddenly he should about the matter, and to his surprise for the second time that morning he felt the urge to practice his Trio now.
He interrupted Vashti at the stove, and said, “We should play now.”
She looked startled, but did. Both got out their instruments and began to play over the Trio. They had not been playing five minutes when they heard a knock on the door. Giving each other questioning glances, the couple walked to the front door and opened it. A middle aged black matron with heavy soft hands, thick forearms, and a belly that might be called morbidly obese in another time, stood there.
“Lo, I’se Hannah Johnson. I was ‘specting to see Mistah Pierre Hunter here, or Maurice Howland.” She did not have a Cajun accent, but instead the warm Southern drawl flowed steadily from her thick lips and wide mouth.
“He gave the place to us,” Derek said, understanding even as he said it that this sounded like what a murderer who had conked an old man on the head with a shovel before wrapping the body in a sheet with rocks and dumping the whole in the wide river would say. Then her wise, skeptical eyes fell on the trumpet held lightly in Derek’s hands.
“That was you playing the trumpet, boy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, your momma raised you right, even if you do sound like a Yankee.”
“He’s a hero,” Vashti protested under the still scrutinizing look.
“Is he now?” She looked at them both, and Derek wanted to deny it. He had done what needed to be done. But at the same time, he could not call the men who had honored him liars by denying the kindness shown to him. So he just stared back.
“Well, Mistah Hunter was an odd duck at times. Stories, you know, chile. Some say he could appear anywhere in the City within the space of time of a trumpet solo. And the way he found those three girls who had been kidnapped. Well, if I didn’t already believe in Jesus, I did after that. I was meaning to ask if he was playing again, or young Maurice was, if they would play at my restaurant. But I don't suppose a nice couple like you two would like to play for a lot of black folk at a shack diner.”
Before Derek could say anything, Vashti burst out with “Is there food?”
“Poor chile, of course there’s food. Nobody who enters my place goes away hungry. I have red beans and rice and andouille sausage to spice it up, and if you got the taste for it, hot sauce.”
“Tell us how to get there Mrs. Johnson, and what time, and we will be there.”
“Noon. Or a bit early if you want to eat first. And it’s fifty cents for each of you. If you see Maurice around, he might be a good trombone for the missing part in that Trio of yours.”
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #501: Characters Orienting. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
