Chapter 12

Early one particular afternoon, which day didn't matter since he had long since lost track of days, Bowman climbed to his perch on the porch. The brief spring had turned to summer. So quickly had the glare and heat of the afternoon sun robbed him of much of the accustomed pleasure. It was only the last of several signals suggesting that not even the beauty and tranquility of this place would hold his attention much longer.

Perhaps if the house was not so deteriorated, he thought, as he was shaken from his reverie by a voice from below. He stood and looked down from the balcony to see a short, thin, dark black woman, wearing sagging cotton hose on her pitifully skinny legs. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at him.

"Have you seen my Baby?" she asked."

"No ma'am, there haven't been any children by all day."

"Oh, he ain't no child. He' full growed. He' jes' my baby."

"What's his name?"

"Emrick."

"Oh, I know him. A nice-looking, friendly guy, very neat, usually wears shorts and a cap?"

"Tha's 'im. He' pretty awright and smile at everybody, but he' sorry, jes like his daddy was, won' work," she said looking down at her feet and shaking her head. "He'll take yo heart, but he jes ain't no good. Worries me to death runnin' off-chasin' 'em low class women like I ain't got nothin' better to do dan look afta him alla time. If you see 'im, tell 'im he better get straight home," she said scoldingly. "I got off early from Miz Fremont's house. He's 'posed to fix a leak on my waterline and he aint done it. I can't cook wid'out no water and I ain't gonna stay up half de night cookin' fo' im'," she scratched her head while shuffling her feet. "I'm gonna sit on my porch and enjoy de cool and watch TV. I ain't gonna sit around waitin' for 'im. He's prob'ly over at dat no count Emily's house chasin' after her. I'll walk over dere an' axe 'bout 'im. She'll jes' lie and say he ain't dere dough." Her face filled with frustration; and she shifted her feet and placed her hands on her hips before continuing. "She think she gonna git him, but she ain't. Baby see' through her like she wuz a window." She paused and frowned before adding: "An'if he don', I do."

Bowman forced back a smile as the harshness of the woman's words so contrasted with her facial expressions and tone of voice. Her smiles come as easy as those of Emrick. "Wait a minute, and let me get down and better make your acquaintance." Bowman quickly descended the ladder and walked up to the woman. "I'm John Bowman. I was married to the Clark's daughter."

"I'm Emma Powell. I heard 'bout little Carolyn and can't believe she' gone. I wept and prayed 'bout her. You know I raised her. Such a sweet child. Pretty too. I can' believe dat de whole family's gone." Her smile turned into a furrowed frown.

"Yes ma'am, while I was in between jobs, I got to thinkin' about the house and how it's goin' down and I thought I'd see if I could do somethin' to preserve it," Bowman said.

The thin woman held her arms, then scratched her head again. "Ain't dat somethin', folks arguin' and spitin' one 'nother 'bout a house. Jes' let it rot down 'stead or givin' in an' lettin' one 'nother enjoy it. I don' know what people comin' to. You gonna fix it up?" Emma asked, nodding at the near derelict structure.

"Miz Emma, I'm afraid it's gone beyond fixin' up. It's really a shame. It really must've been a grand place at one time."

"Oh, you know it wuz. Mr. Sam and Miz Clara couldn' 'ford to fix it up but dey jes' kep' it as bes' as dey could, but I heard dat it really was a sight in the ole days. You gonna stay on in de house?"

Bowman ran his hand across the back of his neck. "I don't know what I'm goin' to do. I put me up a little cot in the kitchen for the time bein' until I decide what to do. In the meantime, I'm just watchin' the grass grow and the leaves blow. Not gettin' much done, I know, but it sure is peaceful just lettin' my mind go free." He slid his hands in his back pockets and cocked his head to the side. "Say, what kind of work does your husband do?" Bowman asked.

"I ain't got no husband. You mean Baby's daddy?" She watched him nod. "He lef' before Baby even got heah. I knew better'n to fool wid' 'im. He been wid' ever' other woman in town and it jes got to be my turn. Didn' stay roun' long after we started talkin'. Said he was goin' up north to blow his horn where people would pay to hear 'im and he'd send for me, but I knew he wadn't gonna. I don' guess he ever knew 'bout Baby and it wouldn't'a made no never mind if he did. Dat jes' the way it wuz. I don' know where he bes or what he' doin', but it ain't much no how. Jes' blowin' dat horn a his, you know them long curvey thangs."

"A saxophone?" Bowman asked.

"Yeah, dats 'bout all he was ever good at, but I'll give 'im dat. "Really could play 'at thang. He and Baby jes' alike. Smile 'at'cha an' make your heart melt, but sorry - won't work - 'speck the whole word to take care a 'em. Thank goodness Baby never learned to blow no horn. Wanted to, but I wudn' hear a word of it. Knew he'd jes' up and leave too and I'd spend the res' of my days worryin' 'bout 'im. Dis way, maybe he'll straighten his self up and take care of me when I gits too old to work no more."

Miz Emma was easy to see through. Her words were spiteful, but they were merely recited conversation. Bowman suspected that her son was exactly what she wished him to be - dependent, compliant, and affectionate. Emrick was not going to be allowed to desert her. She could say critical things about her son, but this prerogative was hers alone and woe be unto anyone else saying anything negative about Emrick or involving him in anything, unless she initiated the plan.

Bowman looked down at his feet, sliding a piece of gravel from underfoot before returning his eyes to her. "Well, Miz Emma, I think you've done a wonderful job. He's a joy to be aroun' and he's always neat and clean."

While her face beamed, her words remained sharp. "He outta be. He don' do nothin' to git dirty. Jes' chasin' 'em trashy women 'roun'. 'Bout de only thang he can do is catch catfish. I guess I oughtta thank the Lord for dat. He can catch 'em fish! Well, listen, I gotta go. Enjoyed meetin' wi' you. Been meanin' to git by here, but seems like I work alla time. I'm real sorry about Miz Carolyn. If you see my Baby you tell 'im to get home now. I got one mo' place I gotta look."

"Okay, Miz Emma. I'll tell him if I see him. You get back up this way, stop in to see me, you hear. I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be here, but I'm glad I got to visit with you."

"I will and you come. Baby catches a mess of fish, I'll cook some fo' you an' send 'em by Baby,"

she shouted over her shoulder. "I'd love that, Miz Emma. You take care now," Bowman yelled at her disappearing back.

He smiled and shook his head as he watched her walk away in a quick, short paced, stiff-kneed gait. His mind turned to the thought that Miz Emma could never be convinced that she was harming her son. It was obvious she was confining Emrick to her world and expectations. Someday his dependency would lead to misery for both of them. When he realized the direction of his thoughts, he sent his brain a message: Butt out, Bowman, leave these folks alone. You can't cure the ills of the world. But he knew himself well enough to know that the only way to avoid involving himself was to leave and at that moment he resolved to return to the Coast, go sailing, quit wallowing in indecision and self-pity, and get on with his life. As he turned and neared the ladder, he remembered that Miz Emma needed help with her plumbing and he ran down the dusty lane to catch up with her. She had somehow passed from sight. When he reached her place, there was no response to his knock. While crossing toward the side of the house, he remembered Emrick saying that the community kept a close scrutiny of him. He called out, "Emrick", "Miz Emma" in an effort to cover his actions.

His brow was sweaty when he reached the rear of the house and found a spigot atop a leaking white plastic pipe. A hacksaw, replacement elbow and glue had been laid out on the back step. He wiped the sweat from his his forehead with his hand and his upper lip with his shirt sleeve while his eyes searched for a shut off valve. Seeing none, he walked around the other side of the house calling for Emrick and his mother. When he had about given up hope and was leaving the yard, he spotted the valve near a ditch running alongside the road. He moved quickly to close the valve, then walked resolutely to the rear of the house. It took him only a few minutes to complete the repairs. Walking away, he busied himself with peeling excess glue from his finger tips, thinking somehow this would demonstrate to anyone who may have been watching that he had stolen nothing.

Rather than return to the balcony, Bowman set out on foot to explore the area to the east of Lake Mary, a landlocked lake that had once been the bed of the Mississippi river.

He was searching for Emrick. He did not have long to wait before he heard the haunting tones of a blues harmonica, initially just a wa-wa-wa sound of various notes followed by a spirited rendition of one of the few older blues songs Bowman could identify by name: "Roller coaster". One song followed another as Bowman attempted to trace the sound. At a steep rise he reckoned the player must be somewhere near the top of the hill. About a third of the way up his labored breathing forced him to sit and rest against a tree. Panting, he heard the music stop. Nevertheless, he continued the climb, resting only once more before reaching the crest. He saw a dull gray concrete marker, its inscription barely readable, worn down by time and the elements. He sucked air greedily as he strained to make out the inscription which identified the site of a blockhouse that had been constructed as a stronghold by the Jesuits in the 1500s. He recalled a conversation with a detective from New Orleans in which the guy told him the history of the place. Either this site, or a nearby place, was the location of Fort Adams which served as a customs entry point into America's most southwestern frontier until the Louisiana Purchase expansion.

It was also the last American soil touched by Phillip Nolan, immortalized in the novel, "The Man Without A Country". In those days the river flowed alongside the steep bluff he had climbed. He made a mental note to get in touch with Flint and brag about his discovery.

Although descending the hill would be a piece of cake compared to the climb, he was forced to rest for a bit. While situated with his back against a tree, he became aware of a slight movement above him. He moved quickly out and away from the tree and spotted a crudely constructed platform. Emrick glared down at him from the side of the platform.

"Gosh, what a great spot," Bowman blurted. "You must have a quite a view of the lake."

"Not dis time a year. Too many leaves."

"You mind if I come up?"

"It prob'ly wouldn' hol' you. What you doin' heah anyway?" Emrick fretted.

"Your mother was just up at my place lookin' for you and, from some of the things she told me about your father and that she didn't want you to learn to play music, I knew you wouldn't want her to know what you do every afternoon."

"How'd you know it was me?" His expression sobered.

"Baby, you're the only one who passes my place every afternoon and this movin' music starts shortly after. I didn't have to be too smart to figure out who was doing the playin'."

"Name's Emrick." He pouted.

"Okay, Emrick it is." Bowman apologized. "I just got used to hearing your mama callin' you that."

"What's Mama doin' out dis time a day?" "She said she got off work early and wanted you to eat soon so she can watch TV. Also she said she couldn't cook until you repaired the water pipe. I fixed that for you."

"She jes' wanna know where I am and wha' I'm doin'," Emrick said, his eyes glaring.

"Maybe so, but I told her I'd give you the message if I saw you."

"Well, you din't see me den," Emrick said sternly.

"Okay, but I know somethin' else she knows and somewhere else she's goin' and its not somewhere you want her to be."

"Where's 'at?"

"I won't tell you unless you play me a tune," Bowman teased.

"I don' play in fron'a udder people yet."

"Well, you're goin' to have to learn in a hurry if you want to head your mother off."

"You old people all alike, always pushin' other folks to do wha' you wan' 'em to do, dat dey don' wanna do," Emrick said.

Bowman ignored the evasion and said: "I'm not tryin' to force you to do anythin'. I just love to hear you play and if I don't do somethin' to get you to play for me now, I know I'll never get to hear you again. So you'll either play a tune or get in trouble with your mother. If that's blackmail, so be it." Bowman challenged.

"Mister I wouldn' do dis to you. You better tell me." "The name is either John or Bowman. I'll tell you just as soon as you play me a song and I don't mean one little part. I expect the whole song," Bowman said continuing to push, but adding a smile.

"I gotta go fin' my mama."

"Okay, but you don't know where she is and I do. You better start playin'," Bowman teased.

Emrick paused and fidgeted, but finally conceded. "Well, you sit down under the tree and don' look at me. If I see you lookin', I'll quit."

"Good enough," Bowman answered as he seated himself. Emrick began playing the mournful song he ended with everyday, but this time more movingly than ever before. Bowman sneaked a glance and saw that Emrick was holding an open metal tobacco can near the reeds. He realized that Emrick was performing for him and seeking his approval, so he eased back to show his closed eyes and his relaxed smile. When the song continued beyond the normal stopping point, Bowman was content that, for once, he had done the right thing. He kept his eyes closed until his friend was beside him.

"Emrick that was beautiful. You're good, man." Even to his untrained ear, he knew there was real talent. Raw, but something very special. Emrick beamed but quickly changed his expression. "What about my mama?" he demanded. "She's gone over to your new girlfriend's house." "How the hell she know about her? You tell her?" "How can I tell what I didn't even know. But she knows and she's goin' by to have a talk with her." "Don' make no diff'rence, Florence can handle dat." "I don't remember what name she mentioned, but it wasn't Florence." "How can she know 'bout her? Don' nobody know 'bout her." "Apparently your mother does. Why don't you do this. If you're already at home when she gets there and you act like you're puttin' the finishin' touches on repairin' her water pipe, she may just doubt what she's been thinkin'. Then you won't have to answer questions all night. By the way, you need to open the valve near the road. I left it closed so the glue could cure."

Emrick breathed a sigh of relief and his chest swelled. "Say Bowman, you awright, you know dat?" Saying nothing more, he grinned as he turned and jogged down a hidden sloping path which tapered gently down the east side of the hill. Seeing an easier way home pleased Bowman greatly.