Chapter 8 Samuel’s New Business and the Start of a Good Friendship
Samuel, SJ and Jason had been living Lokchapi for about three years and due to circumstances which were a back injury on a construction site followed ten months later by his head exploding Samuel was in need of work, a reliable wage that he could earn for his family in a job where he could be I’ll and be off from work from time to time but not loose his employment. After much deep thought, Samuel’s mind alighted on the idea of digging ditches, if he was his own boss then it wouldn’t matter so much when he was ill and if he told his clients about his illness then he was sure they would be understanding, at least more understanding than most of his employers had been since he was a teenager.
He had seen contractors with large tracked machines clearing the drainage ditches and watercourses on the surrounding farmland after the winter floods. They cleared them of all the dark rich alluvial silts, rotting vegetation and mud, heaping it up into long dark ridges on either side of the ditches as they went. This dark stinking, gluttonous slime was deposited during the months of high water and if not cleared out annually would inhibit the ability of the land to drain back into the local bayou, creeks and eventually Lake Cavelier throughout the rest of the year.
As he had thought about this potential job of clearing out ditches his mind suddenly had an idea, a spark of inspiration which concluded in the realization that not everyone would have the kind of money to pay what a large contactor would charge to clear the ditches. Especially if they had a small holding of land with little money for maintenance or if their drainage ditches were difficult to access that meant that they would be difficult to clear out by a large tracked machine.
He followed this train of thought for a few moments and decided that there was probably an opportunity here, a niche in the market he could exploit. After a little more thought he decided to go into business hand clearing ditches by shovel, he would become a ditch digger.
First he did some research on the internet to find out how much the large contractors charged per yard to clear ditches. He then looked at maps of the drainage system of the surrounding country side going out to a radius of about twenty miles from Lokchapi. He then overlaid these maps with maps of land ownership and was pleased to discover that there were many small land holdings and a lot more drainage ditches and channels than he imagined. He was also pleased to find that many of these were windy and seemed to run through wooded land. ‘Good just what I wanted to find out’, he had thought with a contented smile spreading across his face
He had put the word around Lokchapi and the surrounding area that he was starting up a business clearing out ditches by hand and was looking for customers. For one month solid he drove around the district for two hours per evening introducing himself to local landowners and looking for custom. Much to his surprise he picked up clients quite quickly. He had been right in his initial thinking, due to the lay of the land, the inaccessibility of some of the drainage courses and ditches and the costs of hiring in large contractors with huge tracked machines there were many people who required his services to clear out the dark sediments. Each flood brought with it its usual dark deposits, so his job would be never ending.
Samuel had learned very fast when he stated his small business, he learned how to dig in the most efficient manner without putting to much strain on his back. He learned about digging different types of mud and silt, some where light and easy to shift, whereas others were heavy and cloggy, often sticking to his shovel. He leaned to dig in the dry, in the wet, in the cold of winter and the heat of mid summer, worst of all he had trained himself to keep going even in the highest humidity which sapped his strength both physically and mentally and made any type of work difficult, even the slightest exertion was draining. Working out on the land he laid himself open to all that the climate of central Louisiana could throw at him. In the stifling clammy heat of late summer there were no cooling fans whirring overhead or air conditioning units to alleviate the atmosphere for Samuel and at times he imagined himself working in a pressure cooker, but shovelful by shovelful he plodded on until he had completed his day’s yardage of digging.
The most important knowledge he had gained was on his first day of work. It was a detailed knowledge and awareness of his surrounding that he had not really considered and what he was taught had saved his life on several occasions. This knowledge was gained when he cleared some ditches for Jean Leblanc in Malase, his first customer. He had driven the four miles along the track from his home to Malase all eager and rearing to go. Pulling up in front of the Leblanc’s family shack, Samuel got out of his pickup and busied himself getting his shovel and buckets out of the back.
“Bonjour mon ami.
A voice had called out from over his shoulder, it came from the porch of the Leblanc’s shack. Looking back Samuel saw Jean Leblanc rising up from a chair that was partially hidden in the depths of shadow of the porch.
“Mornin Jean, ready and raring to go.”
Samuel replied in a bright cheerful manner as he walked around the pick-up with his buckets in one hand and a shovel in the other ready to start work.
“It’s along the back of these five shacks and between the end one that you want clearings isn’t it?” He continued, gesturing with his shovel towards the rear of the shacks.
“There’s much digging mon ami, don’d go a bitten off more than yuh can chew, just slow yosel an cum sit along side me.”
Jean gestured to the seat beside him in the shadows of the porch. Samuel put down buckets and shovel, walked over to the bottom of a wooden flight of stairs and stepped up into the shadows, he held out his hand and Jean grasped it and shook it vigorously, again gesturing to the seat beside him, Samuel sat himself down.
“Therese, deux café au lait grande, monsieur Samuel arrive et J’poser la question a Samuel. “
Jean called over his shoulder in through the shack window behind them.
“Oui Jean.”
Came an answer from within.
Jean was smoking a large old pipe and as they sat in silence he carefully and methodically emptied some dying embers into an ashtray then refilled its large bowl from a leather pouch that was lying on the low table in front of them both. When he had finished he offered Samuel the pouch.
” Mon ami s’il vous plait, C’mon it’s good smoke, no?”
He continued through a deep blue cloud of smoke that he exhaled in the direction of Samuel. Samuel took the pouch in one hand and fished about in his jeans pocket for a packet of cigarette papers. He took out the packet, removed a single paper and filled it with large rough black flakes of tarry tobacco; he had a little difficulty rolling the cigarette as this tobacco was not as soft and refined as his usual shop brought brand, Drum. Once completed Jean held out his silver Zippo lighter and with a flip of his wrist and flick of his thumb a smokey flame rose up from its gauze.
Samuel leaned forward and lighting his cigarette took in a lung full of dark smoke. It had an extremely strong taste with a fruity, slightly vinegary aroma; he coughed hard, expelling his smoke in a sudden rush of coughs and snorts. Jean laughed and patted Samuel on the knee
“C’est Perique tobac” Mon ami en St James Parish brung that last month, C’est le truffle en Pipe, Auh get en grand envie when Auh smokes it.”
Samuels coughing calmed down and he tentatively took another pull on his roll up, this time he was prepared and only coughed a little, he nodded to Jean in appreciation at its taste although it was sending his head spinning
“Ah Allors notre cafe arrive.”
Proclaimed Jean with a clap of his hands as his wife Therese approached them holding two large mugs of milky coffee. Samuel stood up to greet Therese, he took her hand and kissed her on both cheeks then thanked her for the coffee, she smiled broadly at him and replied
“Mon plaisir Samuel mon ami.”
She then turned and disappearing back into the shack, Samuel sat back down and took a sip of his coffee, it was delicious and like the tobacco very strong.
They sat and chatted away for nearly an hour; Samuel smoked a couple more of the strong Perique tobacco rolls ups and by the third had stopped coughing completely, much to the admiration of Jean. Another mug of coffee appeared for them both and two plates of scrambled eggs and steamed crawfish. As they chatted Jeans’ neighbours appeared from their shacks and wandered out into the dappled light of Malase, the sun beaming down in shafts of light between the towering Cypresses. As they passed they would raise a hand and simply say
”Jean.”
Jean would respond with a wave of his hand or the occasional
“Bonjour.”
As they chatted Jean explained about the dangers of the bayou, the lake and all the creeks that drained the surrounding swamp, marshlands and drier farmlands. He explained about quicksand, how to recognize it and if too late, how to escape from it, he explained about the alligators and where they would be found at different times of the year and then finally he explained about the snakes of the area. There were seven venomous species living in the countryside of this part of Evangeline. There was the Southern Copper head and the Western Cotton Mouth, the Coral and two types of rattlesnake, the Canebrake and the Western Pygmy. He took time to describe their habitat and there appearance. He was at pains to point out the dangers that Samuel faced with his new work and he explained that the snakes were often to be found in the creeks and drainage ditches, where it was cool and moist. He explained about their habits and dangers when cornered and finally after seeing the growing horror on Samuels’ face he said with a smile.
“Mon ami Auh soixante-deux…., Auh am sixdy two years now, an never been bit, yuh just need to give them respect an leaves them be an they’ll leaves you be.”
Samuel smiled weakly back, trying to take in all that he had just been told and inwardly reappraising his new business plans.
As they continued chatting Samuel talked of his past, growing up in Baton Rouge, a brief stint in the military, working in the construction industry and then how he educated himself in his late twenties and entered the highly paid IT industry and travelled the world. Samuel and Jean seemed to chat away like old friends, laughing, explaining, listening and smiling, gesturing with their hands as they talked. Samuel felt a natural affinity for this larger than life figure that sat besides him. They had met a few times before and exchanged a few pleasantries but that had been all up until that point.
Jean told Samuel about all the local wildlife, of his hunting, trapping and fishing, his still, and when he spoke of his wife Therese and their six children Jean jnr, Juste, Dee, Mattie, Maurice and Theophile, he spoke with pride. Samuel told jean about SJ and Jason and of his two dogs Pooh and Moo, the description of the two dogs and their habits had Jean in fits of laughter, Samuel also spoke with pride about SJ and the business she had created for herself in Lokchapi, he spoke of how hard she worked and how he worried about this, he spoke of Jason and his intelligence and good looks and how he was growing into a handsome, clever and determined young man Finally he told Jean quite openly and frankly about his illness, he described the black storm clouds, the darkness, the loneliness, the guilt and the lost days, weeks and months of his life and the extreme burst of energy and creative thought, he described the effects it had upon his family and the people around him and then he laughed.
“At least I’m still going Jean, I won’t give up, I’ll just keep plodding on.”
“Merde!! Merde!! Bof! Every dawg should have a few fleas.”
Jean had said patting Samuels’ shoulder.
Jean said swiftly then changing the subject and standing up from his chair he led Samuel down from his porch.
“C’mon mon ami.”
He said as he led Samuel round to the back of his sprawling shack. He opened a shed, went in and rummaged around inside for a minute or two before reappearing holding up a machete and belt sheath, a pair of leather gauntlets and a canvas bag.
“Here mon ami is a gift from me for yourne towards yuh new busness.”
He knelt down on the ground and motioned for Samuel to sit down besides him. Opening up the bag he produced two large pieces of leather with straps attached and a stone. As Samuel sat and watched Jean placed one piece of leather at the bottom of each leg halfway up his boots and fastened them up by their straps to just below each knee.
“Snake gaders.”
He pronounced as he leaped to his feet stamping his boots and shaking each leg to test the tightness of each gaiter.
“These here gaders will stop any snake bite piercin yuh skin, yuh just wrap them roun yuh boots and lower leg up tuh just below yuh knees, do them up an all is fine.”
He then handed over the thick leather gauntlets and the machete to Samuel,
“These here gauntlets will save them soft hands o’yourne from gettin cut up on those grasses, they’ll showa cut yuh to ribbons, an yuh’ll be needin that there machet to hack back that undergrowth an here is the sharpenin stone tuh keep that blade as sharpe as a new Gillette.”
Jean then sat back down removed his snake gators and handed them to Samuel who immediately put them on and as Jean han done, stood up and tested them for their fit around his legs.
“Now Mon ami, pick up youze new belongins an follow.”
Jean beckoned to Samuel to follow him as he walked back into the gloom of the woods behind his shack. The trees behind the shack were a mixture of Cypress and Tupelo Gum trees all heavily laden with shawls of mosses. Jean stopped and pointed at the drainage ditch that ran along behind the five shacks which included his own.
“Voilla.”
He said and taking a machete from its sheath on his belt took a hefty swing at a low hanging branch and cut it off with one chop. Samuel watched as he cut it to about eight feet in length and holding it between his knees and left hand proceeded to remove all the small side shoots and branches with the machete in his right hand. He then held one end between his boots and leaning the stick back against his body leant forward and ran the blade of the machete up and down the branch removing long curls of bark. In no time at all he was holding a stout wooden pole that was about two inches in diameter at one end tapering down to about three quarters of an inch at the other.
“C’mon follow.”
Jean said gesturing to Samuel who followed as Jean walked slowly and methodically along the edge of the drainage ditch swinging his newly formed pole back and forth across its width as he walked. At the same time he hollered and hooted and at times barked like a dog or tapped the pole with the outer side of his machete to make a loud knocking sound. This continued along the entire length of the ditch, with Samuel following in wide eyed silence. When they had both reached the end Jean handed Samuel the pole and his machete and pointed to the ditch that ran at right angles past the side of the last shack.
“Mon ami on youze go an do as Auh bin doin.”
Jean said as he stepped in behind Samuel. Samuel took hold of the pole in his left hand and walked slowly along the ditch side, swinging it back and forth as he had been shown and hooping and hollering and making any strange noise that came into his head.
“Don’t forget that knock on wood.”
Came his teachers voice from behind, Samuel tapped on the pole with the machete every now and again and each time received a “Bon’’ or “Bon, mon ami .” from behind him.
On reaching the end of the ditch Samuel stopped.
“Bon travail mon ami……, Bon travail.”
Jean commented and slapped Samuel firmly on the back.
Samuel turned to Jean and asked.
“What was that all about?…., are you just kiddin me on?”
Jean feigned surprise and smiled, then putting his hand on Samuel’s shoulder he looked him straight in the eyes and with a serious expression said
“Remembre les serpents…, snakes, yuh must always an Auh mean always clear yuh way before yuh get down into a ditch, always an Auh mean always, never get yousel cawt with yuh pants down, yuh must be equipped mon ami.”
With that they both wandered back along the track through the middle of Malase, chickens and pigs scattering in front of them as they walked, Jean explained that the pole swinging and noise making would scare away any unwanted inhabitants particularly the snakes, the snakes being the main danger lurking in such drainage ditches and channels. Hearing someone approach, hollering, whopping and generally making a commotion would alert the snakes and they would happily slither away. The pole was just for good measure to alert any sleeping snake of his approach. Samuel practiced his pole swinging and thought of all he had learned that morning while Jean filled his pipe with the rich dark tobacco. At the front of Jean’s shack they both stopped, Samuel glanced at his watch, it was nearly quarter to eleven and he hadn’t dug a single shovel of dirt and the day was getting on.
“I must get started Jean.”
Samuel said rather apologetically.
I have a lot to get done today and its not far off noon.”
Jean nodded his head as he lit his pipe and expelled a huge plume of dark blue smoke into a beam of sunlight
“Bon chance. “
Jean replied as he climbed the steps up onto his porch raising his right hand in acknowledgement.
Samuel walked to the back of Jeans shack and gathered up his new belongings, he put the machete sheath onto his belt and sheathed the machete, tucked one gauntlet in each leg pocket of his dark green combat trousers and placed the sharpening stone back into the canvas bag, he then returned to his pickup and placed the bag in the back. Picked up his shovel, buckets and new pole and headed back to the rear of the shacks to start work.
That was the start of a very good friendship between Samuel and Jean Leblanc and in quite a short time both families had got to know each other reasonably well. It took time for Samuel to understand all that was said as Jean and the rest of his family would lapse in and out of French into English and even the English at times was of such a hybrid of French, Cajun and Louisianan American slang that it was as difficult at times to grasp as the French.
As Samuel pulled into the home of the Mr. and Mrs. Keele his memories faded away like an early morning dream upon waking. He pulled up alongside their well maintained home and turned the engine off, leaning over he picked up his work book and flicked through it until he reached the Keele’s “ Front and side ditch total of 220yards.” He closed the book, rolled himself a quick cigarette and fought the urge to turn around and go back home. His legs and arms felt weak and his head was still wrapped in a cobweb like gloom. In a daze he got out, grabbed his tools from the back and walked the short distance to the front ditch. Laying his tools down on the ground he picked up his pole and started to walk, swinging it side to side, machete in one hand tapping the pole as he hooped, barked, hollered and at times squealed like a pig.
Over the years his customers had got used to the noises he made and would often enquire what tune would accompany his snake walks on that particular visit. Initially many of his new customers had been a little taken aback to see him walking along their ditches whooping, hollering whistling, sometimes mooing ,squealing like a pig or barking whilst brandishing a long pole and machete, but upon polite enquiry Samuel had explained the reasoning behind this strange behavior and would recount what Jean Leblanc had told him.
Samuel had lost count of how many times he had sent snakes slithering off out of his way, not always venomous ones; he had estimated that he would encounter roughly four venomous snakes a month. In the dry it was less and in the wet more but it averaged out at about four per month. He had also encountered numerous small alligators, two to three feet in length that with a sharp rap on their snouts with the end of his snake pole he would send scurrying away. The alligators were not really a concern for him as they did tend to stay in the bayous, creeks and wetlands that ran through and bordered the main Cypress swamp area along the Eastern shore of Lake Cavelier.
Eight years on from that first paid work as a ditch digger and the start of his good friendship with Jean Leblanc Samuel still wore his snake gaiters to work every day, the same ones that Jean had so kindly given him. He still had the same machete, gauntlets and snake pole as well. He would clean his boots and gaiters of mud and dirt then saddle soap them, keeping the leather supple and oil his snake pole and the handles of his two shovels with a light linseed oil each week. He would sharpen his machete when it had lost its edge, honing it carefully with the stone. This weekly routine was something that Samuel carried out with a religious fervor when he was functioning normally. The same could not be said for his pick-up though as it was getting old and battered, he had reversed it into a couple of gates, spun off the road on black ice on one particularly cold winters morning, bashed it here and there and now it was looking decidedly past its best. Samuel would always comment if asked that it was mechanically sound, that it got him to work and back, what it looked like was of no concern to him ,
“After all it’s a working wagon and like me it has got some battle scars over the years.”
He would say if anyone commented on its appearance.
The days’ work passed slowly as normal, Samuel was soaked to the skin and exhausted, and he had managed to use the Ditchboard for about one hundred and sixty yards but the rest required hand digging. His mind had counted the numbers or yards cleared and dug so far that year, roughly calculated the weight of earth and sediment that he had shovelled, thought of SJ and Jason and worried about them both. He had got an annoying tune stuck in his head that he couldn’t shift for half of the day, thought about his two dogs, worried about Pooh’s age and then had become quite sad, estimated how many more shovels full he needed to dig that day and missed an hours or so completely as his mind went blank with the sheer tedium and boredom of digging. It then re-engaged itself for a last burst of mental and physical effort to complete his days required yardage. Upon reaching his target for the day he pushed himself on for another hour and finally climbed up out of the ditch and turned towards his pick-up. He drove home in a daydream, exhausted, wet with sweat and hungry, dust billowing behind his pickup as he made his way along the narrow winding local roads and tracks that weren’t all blacktopped. ‘At last… another day of work over…. roll on the weekend’, he thought to himself as he drove humming along to the beat of a tune that was rolling around the outskirts of his mind.
Chapter 9 Concocting Their Story
It was now mid afternoon as Billy-Bob and Mary-Jo bounced along the raised track towards Malase, the closer they got to home the thicker and darker the forest became as they drove deeper under the veiled canopy deeper into the swamplands. Even the afternoon sun didn’t penetrate that far through the dense Cypress canopy thick with hanging moss. As they entered Malase and approached the first shack on the left Billy-Bob slowed down, there were always children, chickens, pigs or dogs to be avoided and often if it was evening it was his drunken neighbours that were a greater hazard.
As they pulled up outside their home their three boys walked down the steps from their porch to greet them. Their boys were Ethan who was fifteen, Joshua twelve and Zachary nine. They were often home more than at school, Ethan had stopped going completely a year ago and Joshua would do his best to avoid the morning ride in his pa’s pickup to the school bus stop in the center of Lokchapi. Zachary however couldn’t get enough of school. He had been top of his class since starting and wanted to be a scientist. Neighbors used to kid on with Billy-Bob and say that Mary-Jo must have had a liaison with some fancy man in Spicebridge; they would often laugh and say.
“He showa ain’t yo p’tit boug an yuh knows yo ain’t got the brains of a poulet, yuh just dam couillon.”
Billy-Bob used to get offended by this but now he would reply with a proud smile.
“Sure is mine, that boy done good an all.”
“Hey ma…., hey pa.”
The boys called as they approached their pa’s pickup,
“What yuoze bin doin all mornin?.”
Said Ethan,
“We bin in Spicebrideg tawkin about fixin up a new alli-gator farm at Lochap bayou on granpappy’s ol’lease.”
Mary-Jo replied.
The three boys jumped around with excitement at the news, they had all missed helping their pa and the ali-gator wranglers and they all knew money had been tight since they were moved off of the farm on theshoreofLakeCavelier.
Walking up the rickety steps and into the dimness of his home Billy-Bob headed straight for the refrigerator and grabbed himself a beer.
”Yuh wannin one?”
He called out to Ethan.“
Eth yuh wannin a beer?”
He called again.
“YebPa”
Billy-Bob grabbed a second can from the refrigerator and slammed the door shut. He walked over to the table, placed the cans down, pulled out his chair, sat down, raised his big clumpy old boots onto the table, picked up his can, and opened it, leaning back on his chair as he guzzled. Mary-Jo and Ethan joined him at the table. Mary-Jo had a pad of paper and a pen and she was intent that they would sit and write out what Cuzn Luke and told them to write and then in the morning they could go and pick up the forms from the Town Hall in Spicebridge, she was certain the could do it themselves and didn’t need the help of Mr Gant.
She was annoyed at herself for not getting the forms while they were in Spicebridge that morning but to be honest after leaving Mr. Gants office she was not really sure what they were going to do, they certainly didn’t have four thousand dollars and would have to do it all themselves. It was only Cuzn Luke earlier advice telling them what to write that gave her some hope of success. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice at first Billy-Bobs dirty old boots up on her kitchen table.
“Yuh get them dam dirdy ol’ clodhoppers off of my table yuh saleau.”
She said in an agitated voice as she swung her hand across in front of Ethan knocking his pa’s feet to the ground.
Billy-Bob lurched forward in his chair spitting his mouthful of beer out in a spray of sticky yellow liquid, foam and bubbles.
“Pa!”
Ethan exclaimed as he jumped back from the table to avoid the soaking, in the process knocking his chair over and falling back against the refrigerator with a thump.
“Ohh Billleeey.”
Mary-Jo said with a long sigh.
“Look what yuh done, the pad of papers all wet.”
“I’m sorry Jo-Jo.”
Billy-Bob said using his term of affection for her in an attempt to calm things down.
“Eth fetch up a cloth an wipe the table down an then we can get writin straight away.”
Ethan fetched a cloth from his ma’s sink and wiped the table dry, Mary-Jo tore off the top three or four sheets of soaked pad paper and threw them onto the floor, then settled back down to write. Billy-Bob looked on intently as Mary-Jo scribbled away. As she wrote she read aloud the words that were going down on the pad, this was purely for Billy-Bobs sake as he could just about write his name and reading was almost completely out of the question, it also stopped him butting in asking what she was saying every ten seconds. He wasn’t stupid, just poorly educated and it angered him that Ethan had given up completely on his schooling. He had told Ethan repeatedly that a good education really helped a person to get on in life, but his son wouldn’t listen.
The story that they had concocted with the help of Cuzn Luke, or to be fair to Cuzn Luke, the story that he came up with was fairly simple. And from what Cuzn Luke had learned about how the zoning department operated they felt that they had more than a fair chance to get what they wanted.
Mary-Jo wrote, ‘We are the Johnson family and we run a successful alligator farming business based in Malase and Lokchapi, we can provide business accounts for a period of at least 3 years.’
Mary-Jo lied about them being Johnsons, as she and Billy-Bob had never bothered to marry, but Cuzn Luke said it would sound much better to the fancy god fearing towns’ folk, it wouldn’t matter legally as the application would just be filled out in Billy-Bobs name anyway and he didn’t think for one moment that they would check on their marriage status.
She continued writing,’Our business has been successfully running since it was set up in 1938 by Clarence Johnson and his brother Ethan and it has a very fine reputation for the production of the best quality tender meats and high quality skins. We wish to invest in our Lokchapi business operation and expand and relocate our entire operation from Malase. We would require constructing 20 new Alligator pens, 4 large rearing sheds, and a modest house for myself and family and a bunk lodge for a few wranglers. The area of land in question is at the mouth of the Lokchapi bayou and extends for some 700 yards along the shoreline ofLakeCavelierand out some 250 yards into the waters of the lake from the shore. It then extends back from the shore by 700 yards, in total 137 hectares The land is under leasehold, a 999 years lease owned by Billy-Bob Johnson, running out in another 924 years. The lease hold was left in the will of Mr. Clarence Johnson II in 2002. Alligators are currently farmed at Lokchapi. The business is accessed by the bayou track running for some 900 yards from the main road through Lokchapi. We anticipate that the traffic volume will be one pickup truck owned by Billy-Bob Johnson moving in and out once per day. The wranglers who live in the bunk house will not need transport and any that choose to live elsewhere can get off the local bus at the Saint Augustine Catholic Church in Lokchppi and walk the short distance to our premises.’
When Mary-Jo had finished she set down her pen and re-read her statement out aloud. While they had been at Cuzn Luke’s she had listened intently to every word he had said and made a mental note of all the fancy words to use. She had questioned him about numbers and how to describe in detail their business. The information that Cuzn Luke provided and how to write it had been of great value. What Cuzn Luke had learned over the years from various contacts and associates was that the applicant filling out a zoning application could write almost what they wanted to, as the Town zoning officials and the zoning meeting members never took much notice of the detail. As Cuzn Luke had said,
”Them folk don’t scrutinise anything in detail, seems like they can’t be bothurd.”
This meant that Billy-Bob and Mary-Jo could write what ever they pleased, within reason.
When Mary-Jo had finished reading Billy-Bob stood up and leant over and gave her a hug and a kiss.
“Ain’ that the berries? An ain’t that the most fancy bit o written yuh done Jo-Jo?”
He exclaimed with a broad grin.
“We gonna go back inna town first thing in the mornin and get ourselves them appli-ca-shun forms….., Soon we’ll be in high cotton.”
Mary-Jo beamed a big smile back and sat there staring at the piece of paper with all those words on that Cuzn Luke had told them to use, She was so proud of herself, schooling had not been easy for her either but at least she could write and had her own beautiful style of hand writing. Whenever Billy-Bob wrote more than two words it looked as if a spider had danced across the paper dragging an inky web behind it.
The wording that they had used was not entirely false; they had bent the truth here and there, overstating some things and understating others. The only thing that worried Billy-Bob was the traffic, how could he get away with saying there would be just his pickup going in and out daily when there was to be a bunk house with a few wranglers living in it. If they wanted to they could all drive in individually and how would anyone believe they would get the bus to Lokchapi, get off at the church and walk. That was not going to happen because everyone he knew around these parts had either a pick up or most of those that lived in town might also own a nice fine motor car. Only the children, old women and drunks walked or used buses.
Billy-Bob did own the lease on the land at Lokchapi and there was an alligator in a pen, but it was not part of any farming enterprise.The alligator in the pen was old Isaac, the largest crocodile that anyone had ever seen in these parts. Issac was a full seventeen feet and three inches long, which is only 12 inches short of the all time world record of 1890, caught in Marsh Island, Louisiana. That monster was Nineteen feet and two inches in length and estimated to be between 2000 lbs and 2300lbs in weight. Isaacs was in the region of 90 years old, going by his Granpappy’s reckoning he was about fifteen to twenty years old when he was caught by Granpappy and Uncle Ethan in 1938. It was only the third alligator they had ever caught for their new alligator farm and it was just what they wanted a large but young, fit male to be one of eight studs that they wanted. Over the years he had sired thousand of offspring and his seed must have been strong as all the alligators that were a product of his attentions were fit, healthy, grew really quickly and for some unknown reason were very placid and easy to manage. He was only moved to this pen when Billy-Bob couldn’t renew the lease on the land just outside Malase where his farm used to be. Billy-Bob visited Issac at his pen once every seven or eight days in the spring and summer and fed him with raw chicken, crawfish, pork innards or any other cast off bits or meat that he could get hold of cheaply. In the winter the visits would be monthly as being cold bloodied their metabolisms slowed right down as the weather cooled.
It was nine thirty and dark when Joshua and Zachary came bursting through the door with a basket full of crawfish and freshwater mussels.
“Where you two bin hidein?”
Asked Mary-Jo as she stirred the evening stew on the wood stove.
“Bin fishin in thuh creek, got no fish but a couple o’ crawfish, an a heap o’ mussels.”
Joshua said proudly holding up a basket for his ma to see what they had caught
“What’s that behind yuh back boi?”
Shouted Billy-Bob from his comfy chair in the corner.
“Auh can see sommin, what yuh got there?”
“NuttinPa.”
Answered Zacchary before disappearing back out the door he had just come in through.
“Well it better ain’t be nuttin.”
Billy-Bob called after him.
“I’m off tuh bed now Billy-Bob youze a comin?……………., Auh is dog tired, all that thinkin an writein has me just worn out an we needs to be a up an dressed all fancy an in town fuh nine, so less get sum sleep.”
Mary-Jo said before disappearing out of the kitchen further into the gloom of their home.
Billy-Bob got up form his chair and stretched.
“Weeze goin tuh bed now bois don’t yuh be foolin around an makin much noise as we is up early.”
He followed Mary-Jo into their room at the back of their home, kicked off his boots and lay flat out on the bed with a sigh.
“I hopes we gets ourne new ali-ga-tor farm.”
He said to Mary-Jo as she undressed.
“Well if Cuzn Luke is as cunnin an knowin as you think an if his fancy words is all that, then I’m sure we’ll get it, maybe some time an all but it’s a gonna happen Auh can feel somin good.”
She replied as she lay on the bed covers staring at the ceiling imagining the next morning with the town zoning officials in Spicebridge. She imagined the town officials reading her fancy words and congratulating her on her fine English and then helping her fill in the forms. She then imagined Billy-Bob’s hand being shaken and then both of them being presented with their much wanted certificate. With that she fell into a hot restless sleep. It was extremely hot, sticky and humid that night and the last twenty four hours of excitement were driving wild and fantastic dreams through her mind as she slept. Billy-Bob on the other hand could not get off to sleep, he was also hot and sweaty and rather than optimistically anticipating the morning, he was thinking of all the negatives, in his mind he thought that the fancy town zoning folk would look down on him and snigger behind his back and send him packing without a good word and no certificate. After an hour of restlessly tossing and turning he quietly got back up and went and joined the boys who were watching TV in the kitchen. He open the refrigerator pulled out six bottles of his favorite beer, Cantillon Mamouche, a clear, coppery amber beer of good strength that went down extremely well. He placed them on the table.
“C’mon bois help yuh selves; it sure is a hot one tonight.”
The three boys leapt up and grabbed a bottle each, there was no need for a bottle opener they had all now learnt how to crack the top off a bottle, either off of the edge of the table or between their teeth and soon the four of them were gulping down the cool coppery fluid. To say it was Billy-Bobs favourite beer is a bit misleading because Billy-Bob liked any strong beer and normally had a home brew on the go silently fermenting away in his large barrel in his wood store. He also normally had one brew bottled and ready to drink. This week however he had treated himself to a case of the Cantillon beer as he was quite partial to it and this was what was currently stocking the refrigerator.
As the shacks of Malase went, the Johnson’s shack was very well looked after and their furnishings were in reasonably good condition. This was more of Mary-Jo’s doing, because if it had been left up to Billy-Bob they would be living in what Mary-Jo had once described as ‘a hogs den, full of filth, empty beer cans and dirty clothes, with nothing to sit on apart from old cars seats and mattresses on the floor in the bedrooms’. It was only on Mary-Jo insistence that they had got themselves a table and some chairs to sit around and eat their meals together in their kitchen. She had got sick and tired of all sitting on their old worn sofa and three armchairs to eat meals, eyes glued to the television.
Billy-Bob used to tease Mary-Jo about her being all fancy as she was born and brought up in Lokchapi in a modern house, well it was modern in Billy-Bobs eyes. It had been built in the 1960’s, with running water and electricity with a natural gas supply connected in the early 1990’s. Her parent’s home had a small garden where her mother kept chickens and Billy-Bob was also highly amused that her mother had curtains up at every window and wall paper with patterns on. He though when they first met and had been taken in to meet her folks that it was a real fancy home and that Mary-Jo’s parents must have been rich. It was nothing of the sort. They were not poor, but pennies counted, her father worked as a mechanic In Spicebridge for most of his working life, working hard and saving hard, he also had a small workshop attached to the side of their house were he would do his own private work and earn the family some extra money. It was with this extra money that Mary-Jo’s family had brought themselves some of life’s comforts and she had grown up in a reasonably comfortable environment with her elder brother and younger sister. After Billy-Bobs first visit to Mary-Jo’s home he had floated dreamily all the way home to the gloom of Malase sure he had met the one for him. Four months later with Mary-Jo pregnant they were living together in Malase.
Billy-Bob finished his fifth beer with a slurp, rose to his feet and with a sleepy,
“Nite bois.”
Went off to bed. The boys all grabbed themselves another beer from the refrigerator and settled down to watch the midnight horror film, none of them made it to the end of the film, Ethan was the last to fall asleep with the TV still blaring out its horror, then adverts then the news, then adverts again then a documentary about Chinese Cormorant fishermen, until a crooked neck woke him up. He straightened up, rubbing his sore neck and fighting the urge to just curl up again in the armchair. He got slowly up, switched the TV off and leaving his two younger brothers curled up on the sofa stumbled off to his own bed.
I hope you enjoy your reading. It is available on Kindle and a free copy can be borrowed for download at https://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Blue-Heron-Howard-Moore-ebook/dp/B00KK6BWLK..
Howard Moore
