Not Far From Golgotha Page 7

“It was then that he started tellin me about George Williams and a rich, white fella named Jim Franklin. ‘Seems George had been one a Buster’s friends even before he come ta live and work in Norco; met em doin offshore work with the McDermit Company outta Morgan City in the thirties. Over the four or five years they worked together they got tight ‘til Williams made off and got married, drug up the offshore work. Told Buster he and the Missus’d be settlin in Destrehan since an auntie a his had passed and left ‘em a twenty year lease ta a small place owned by the Franklin family outta Opelousas.

  “Now the old man, Paul Franklin, owned a helicopter shuttle outfit, a coupla sugar cane refineries, and a shitload of blue-chip stock in sev’ral offshore oil companies. He was the kinda guy poor guys like us imagine wipin their asses with hunert dollar bills, even back in them days. Just so happens, the place Williams and his new wife came into was set off Highway 18 on a twenty-seven acre sugar cane field which was just great if ya could stomach the smell. Sticky, sweet, trails running right inta ya clothes and not lettin go. A rail line ran right along the back coupla acres.”

  Ebenezer stopped momentarily, taking his obligatory draught of brew. When he took the mug away foam again clung to his moustache. He wiped a forearm roughly across his mouth and the foam disappeared. “Buster tole me he never saw his friend alive again, never read ‘bout his death or nothin, but said he got such a goddamn chill the time he went out ta Williams’ grave near St. Rose he never went back.

  “Ya see, Williams’ wife was a voodoo priestess; straight outta Haiti as the story goes. And accordin ta Buster her thing was just as real as religion. Powerful. And it’s not such a far stretch when ya get ta considerin what religion is anyway. Simply a system of beliefs and codes givin direction and comfort. Because when ya get right down ta the core a any matter, ain’t that what really makes things real? Beliefs, pure and simple. Don’t have ta be anythin close ta scientific fact because most folks don’t cotton ta things that can’t be divided up inta little pieces and finished off with simple solutions.Ya follow what I’m sayin…?”

  Billy nodded, thinking of the Marie Laveau Voodoo Shop in the French Quarter, a place full of peculiar and interesting artifacts, skins, and trinkets supposed to impart mystical powers or insights. The creepiest thing was the monolithic, stuffed snake that practically encircled the ceiling as if in pursuit of its tail. Billy doubted the owner had much trouble with shoplifting even though most of the trinkets were small enough to slip into a pocket when no one was looking. At least when you hoped no one was. A shrine to the voodoo priestess sat in one corner of the shop, and although the idea of ‘voodoo’ itself conjured up images of wild dances, incomprehensible chants, and bloody sacrifices, most of the white people Billy’d seen in the store had looked ominously silent and respectful. Careful not to offend, even if they’d deny it if asked later. Jokes were better company outside the shop’s perpetually open doors. Yeah, Billy figured he had a good idea what Ebenezer was talking about. Seeing wasn’t always believing; sometimes being was.

  Because the storyteller was off again. “So years after Buster stopped workin offshore, I have ta guess close ta ten-fifteen years before I met him workin shop-duty in Norco, he ran into Williams’ wife at a Negro funeral in Boutte. The friend uva friend uva friend, and not real surprisin after all with the way those people know each other, Buster happened to get in on a conversation with his old friend’s widow.

  “Turns out she didn’t live on the sugar cane plot anymore, and both a the men I introduced ya ta earlier, Williams and the younger Franklin, were long dead.” Ebenezer took a long pull from his mug and smacked his lips. “This is the story the widow tole Buster.”

  Chapter 19

  “Buster asked about his George ta the Missus standin in a group a three or four women, and he said it was all he could do ta stand there straight when all those eyes locked on im. He figured he done fucked up good; maybe George had turned drunk or taken ta beatin the old lady, and when he began sorta easin outta the group with his tongue trippin and skippin like a car runnin on fumes, George’s wife reached out and grabbed him by the arm. The other women melted away ta another table, and there he stood, shakin in his boots for no good goddamn reason he had any mind of. Said when she touched him it was like being grabbed by an alligator.

  “Well, this lady, b’lieve her name was Doris, or maybe Doreen, whatever, had a black veil over her face but she lifted it so she could get a good look at Buster. He said her face was soft except for sev’ral deep wrinkles, and it left him wonderin why her touch played on im so.

  “’A course, he didn’t let on; he just asked again where George was and how they was gettin along since Buster’d seen em last.

  “’George is dead,’ she told him then, as they stood there in the lingerin smell a new death.

  “’What?’ he whispered.

  “’I gotta tell ya what happened ta George, but this ain’t the time,’ she said and then, as if by more magic, Buster had a scrap of paper in his hand as he watched the widow walk off. An address in St. Rose and that was all. No phone number or nothin else. So he put it in his pocket, paid his respects, and mustered up nerve enough ta head over sev’ral days later. Tole me ya never ignore an invitation from a Hoo-Doo Woman.” Ebenezer leaned forward for emphasis. “Now we get ta the meat a this matter because when he told me, he sure enough b’lieved ever word.”

  Ebenezer took a long pull, emptying his mug. Before Billy could hold up his hand the old man stopped him. “I believe that’s enough for me,” he said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. Billy stopped abruptly, staring across the table.

  Ebenezer’s face underwent a subtle transformation, though in what way Billy could not fathom. His eyes got watery like the bottom of a wet glass, and when he next spoke his voice had changed into a husky, weirdly feminine charade of itself. It sent a chill up Billy’s spine and he suddenly fought through a panic of standing up and leaving. Ebenezer never took any notice because by the beginning of the second sentence Billy was as entranced as a cobra staring into the invisible melody of a flute.

  “When Geo’ge come home that day I already knowed they was trouble,” he began in that odd voice, staring at or through Billy; it was hard to tell which. “The fust thing he tole me was the ‘little bastard’ said our lease was out. The second thing was Geo’ge was too.

  “I sat there looking at Geo’ge while he tried talkin ‘round what he couldn’t change, fightin with his dignity, talkin ‘bout the lease agreement this and the lease agreement that! All bullshit! He been tryin, he said, to think of a way a breakin the news. That what he said, ‘Breakin the news’. And I saw ‘im strugglin like a drownin man being drug to the bottom of a lake. So I sits there quiet, silent, thinkin my own thoughts. Geo’ge knowed what I’as capable of, but I had to let ‘im be a man.

  “He tole me he was gonna talk to the ‘little bastard’ in the mo’nin, but his eyes tole me diff’rent. Somethin broke inside a both a us right then that couldn’t never be fixed.” With that a tear actually slid from Ebenezer’s eye as he continued his unorthodox litany. Billy felt a shock as of electricity course through him. His half-full beer sat far away on the table.

  “When he left the next mo’nin I pulled out some a my books. I knowed Geo’ge didn’t like em, but he never come home to complain. The bone-cracker from town said it musta been a heart attack that put the truck in the ditch, but I knowed when I saw him on that cold steel table with the tag done up ‘round his toe what really killed him.

  “Even turned out I didn’t have ta go to the ‘little bastard’s” office in Westwego. Somebitch showed up two days later with a big batch of flowers, wearing his nice suit and new sports car like his skin sprouted that shit while he was sleeping. But weren’t no regret nor remorse showin in his eyes when he stood there by my damn po’ch! P’raps things woulda gone diff’rent if he had, but I doubt it. My ways are set.

  “It was hot as piss on a tin roof that day and he comes waltzing up on my
po’ch like I was one of his house-maids! Shit! Lemme tell ya, the second he put one foot on that goddamn po’ch, holdin out those flowas, I tow outta that chair and slapped that shit back in his pretty-boy face!

  “And then I walked down those goddamn steps! He was backing up by then, his mouth one big O. I put my heel ta each one a those damn things, waggin my finger in his face and yellin as I went. I tole him ta get the hell out of there, what he could do with those goddamn flowas. Jus walkin up closer ta him the whole time, lovin the sweat breakin through his rich little jacket.

  “I saw what I was lookin for the second it come outta his pocket.

  “He be so off guard, stamm’rin and sputt’rin, tryin ta make it back to that fancy car a his; musta been enough to embarrass ‘im and then ‘im realize it ‘cause he fin’lly worked up courage enough once he got over there ta holla back ‘bout how things still ain’t changed in the fack I had two months ta get out.

  “Well, that be the last straw. I bent down, picked up a rock layin dere in the dirt, and throwed it hard’s I could at that pin-striped prick. Even surprised me how close it come, and he ducked and jumped inta the car, givin me the finger as he high-tailed it off up that road. I din’t even watch im go. My eyes was on the white handkerchief layin in the dust where he done dropped it.

  “The white handkerchief soaked wit his sweat.

  “I walked over and fetched it up, folded it neatly as I walked back to the steps, makin sure I kicked every last one a them goddamn flowas outta way. Then I opened the screen door and goed inside, layin the handkerchief right down on the kitchen table ‘fore I went to brung what I taken from Geo’ge. You see, I always been the one what cut his hair. It don’t take much ta keep somebody’s head in shape, and I always done it, careful so Geo’ge din’t know I had a small jar with some a his leavings. I never was one ta miss a chance at playin it safe.” A cracked, whimsical smile broadened out Ebenezer’s face, enhancing the illusion in the thin light that the old man was not completely present. The voice had long since taken over.

  “I put ‘em all togetha: the hair, the handkerchief, the sweat,” he continued in the voice that was increasingly not his own, “into a shoebox and said my piece. That night, on the stroke a midnight, I took the box outside and buried it just ta the side of the largest oak ova by the outhouse. Not too deep, and just close enough for the live oak ta find it. Then I stood still in the dark and watched as the shapes comed together and played through the sugarcane stalks. And I listened to the words…the whispers…

  “Towowd mo’nin I come to hearin Geo’ge’s muffled laughter minglin in the shadows to, floatin around and findin itself.” Ebenezer stopped only to catch his breath. “By the noon I come near enough gettin runned off the road cause I’d left late mo’nin to haunt the highway for a revelation. ‘Cause I knowed where that boy lived!

  “And did it come! Hah! He tow down on me from one a the side roads like a devil was drivin!. Made the co’na and barreled past what musta been eighty-ninety miles an hour. But I strained hard to catch his face in the rear view mirra as he was headin off.

  “And I be lucky ‘nough ta catch ‘is face.

  “I neva seen befo ah since a man closer ta steppin ova the Side. His hair standin up like a bristle bush; his eyes huge and buggin. His mouth was even movin like he be talkin ta somebody. And then he’as gone and I pulled ova ta the side a the road ‘cause there weren’t no sense in chasin ‘im. I already knowed where he be headin. And it damn show weren’t his office.” Ebenezer leaned way back, although he kept both hands on the table, his knuckles showing white as he gazed off in raptured silence. His face remained unearthly.

  “Fust, I swung the car ‘round. Then I drived back ta the house and waited for the call. It’as almost dark when the phone rang and when I picked it up Sheriff Dumaine started talkin fast. I knowed his voice ‘cause Geo’ge had a fit with the bottle a coupla times down at the Mill Bar. This weren’t ‘bout none a that shit though.The sheriff was real quiet, tellin me he was sorry to call but he couldn’t hep it. Seemed the ‘little bastard’s’ car had turned up at the cemete’y where I put Geo’ge down. There was a bunch of gravestones plowed up by the car, and Dumaine tole me it was his duty ‘to inform the relatives of the disturbed graves’. Jus like that he said it. He also said the ‘little basta’d’s’ car was found idlin with a red hot engine close ta Geo’ge’s grave, but there was nobody around. Sheriff also said they’d tried to reach Franklin on the phone but nobody was answerin. Not at the house, not at ‘is office.

  “I tole him I’d handle any damage done ta the stone and thanked him for callin. Tole ‘im ta keep me posted but that was for ‘pearances sake. Because I already knowed.” A low chuckle drifted between Ebenezer’s teeth. The eyes became glassier still, rolling back almost to the whites. The uncanny voice continued, “I can pi’ture all them things he saw that night and on ‘til he got to St. Rose cemetery. Snakes, snails, bodies all torn and wet, the smell of garbage and death so ripe it liked to choke ‘im.

  “Because Geo’ge had him by then. I set it up, I know. I could almost make out his ghost in the car as they blew by. Oh, I had dreams too…the call in the middle of the night, before things got to the point where they couldn’t be ignored, where the ‘little basta’d’ picks up and the darkness becomes real. And then the voice floatin up from some deep well, bearing its greetin, ‘It’s dark in here, Jim…’” and Ebenezer coughed lightly into his cupped hand. “There would be retribution and peace in that,” he said, almost in his own voice.

  Then the old man turned to Billy once more and said in that same strikingly deadly tone, “The ‘little bastard’ ain’t never turned up, and the family din’t hold no burial. But that was all just grief and denial, ‘cause he’s dead all right. Right now there be two sets a bones in Geo’re’s coffin; stacked one on top a the other jus as pretty as firewood.” And with that Ebenezer grinned and the phantasmal face slid away.

  Chapter 20

  A quick laugh across the table broke Billy from his mesmerism. He shook his head because surely hypnotism had to be a ludicrous assumption. Didn’t people who’d been hypnotized profess to have no recollection of the experience afterward? He was sure he’d read as much. So it couldn’t have been, because he did remember, every nuance of voice, every inflection and turn of phrase. Eerie. As if Ebenezer had been no more than a ventriloquist’s dummy, wooden and dull, animated brilliantly by tricks performed by someone, or something, behind his back. “Jesus…” Billy whispered, looking away from the man.

  A microsecond later Ebenezer said quietly, “I showed ya one a the ghosts, didn’t I?” His words were colored in a cross of expectation and sadness.

  “Uh…I’m not sure.” Billy fumbled around his own words, aware, beneath the table, his legs trembling nervously. “I guess you did,” he admitted finally.

  “That’s because the world is full a ghosts, Billy. All the many people who’ve lived and died. People a strong or weak convictions, awesome passions, joy, anger. All the experiences, trials, all the losses and triumphs stored up in that tiny vessel a flesh with no outlet for expression after death. All that stored energy just waitin ta get out. Makes ya think, don’t it?” Ebenezer scratched the curly hair above his right ear and stood up. “I’m way past due for a pit stop, chum,” discarding the curl of the last comment. “Care for another since I’m headed that way?”

  Billy’s answer came in the form of a mute nod.

  “Good, my boy. Humor the old bastard; it’s good for the soul.” And Ebenezer went sauntering off to the restroom.

  Billy watched him go, studying the stooped expanse of worn muscle beneath the loose shirt. Also, the way the pant legs floated and danced around what Billy pictured to be skinny, white shanks. Altogether unimpressive, but the power the man possessed! Billy shuddered. When Ebenezer spoke the world around vanished to a background blur, completely subdued by the verbal dances he choreographed. He was the only person Billy knew possessed of oration skills capable
of capturing colors, moods, sounds, even essences.

  So what about the ghosts, then? an uninivited voice asked.

  Billy shivered again, trying to avoid this unwelcome thought. A protective barrier raised in his mind: skewing the fear in reality: there were no ghosts, nothing but a rambling old man full of piss and vinegar turning people to putty in his hands. You’re simply gullible, Billy, the voice said. Gullible and more than a little drunk. An old man tells some meaningless stories and you’re backward enough to stamp them as genius. Christ! The spontaneity of this barrage struck him with the cold force of a physical blow. A deep-seated sarcastic din in his mind laughed and prodded him with revealing evidence of the low self-esteem he constantly held tenuously at bay. A sagging, unrestful corpse that refused to have dirt flung upon it. Ghosts? the old man had ventured. Yeah, Billy knew ghosts.

  His knees began to shake more violently and suddenly he could no longer sit. He lurched to his feet, driving the heavy oak table back several screeching feet and scattering the montage of empty mugs across its wet surface. A claustrophobic enveloped coalesced simultaneously, seeming to squeeze the entire environs of the room tightly around him. Suddenly, unavoidably, all he wanted was the fresh air outside. He stumbled, trying his best to foot-after-foot-it to the door, despite the fact that he now felt very drunk and very disoriented. He had to get out, and hopefully, unnoticed as he went.

  But (though he did not know) his exit was noted.

  Ebenezer stood just inside the cracked doorway of the Men’s Room, not wanting to face an unexpected departure without considering first its cause, and perhaps later, a solution. But the catch ly in the fact that the escape was very obviously a leave of desperation. Ebenezer had nothing to combat that. So he stayed in the shadows of the smelly hallway, listening until he heard the familiar massive door swinging shut on its untended hinges. Only then did he venture out with a new-born guilt tearing itself from its chrysalis. He was an old-hat himself at desperation, and knew even if he was responsible (partly or otherwise) for its workings on the boy, it was in the end, however, a solitary endeavor. Even so, he feared as he stood silently inside the confines of the dirty, restroom hallway. To follow and embarrass the lad would only lead to further, perhaps irreparable, damage. Ebenezer breathed deeply several times and marched straight to the bar as if he’d been witness to nothing. When he spoke the cold was back, readily audible. “An Abita, please dear,” he said nasally.