Chapter 33

One of his many fascinations with New Orleans was the wide range of choices of eating places to fit ones' mood. Bowman intended to take Yvonne to Brennan's, where breakfast is a banquet with an impressive range of selections. However, when they approached the restaurant, a long line of people waited. He looked over to Yvonne and asked: "Do you know another place?"

"Sure, come on."

They window shopped making their way down the street. She abruptly stopped, making no comment. He looked up for a restaurant sign and seeing none, shot her a puzzled look. She giggled.

"See that open door. It's a hangout for locals. Good food, cheap prices. Their sign blew down in a storm years ago. They never bothered to replace it. It has a name, but I forget what it is. I just call it the no name restaurant and everyone knows where I mean."

Bowman followed her through the open door. The ambiance intrigued him. He looked around the room at the unadorned aged brick of the interior walls, the wood floor, the collection of odd and matched tables and chairs, lighting consisting of two single bulbs hanging from wires dropping from the high ceiling, the absence of a cash register or clerk at the door -- you pay at the bar in the next room, through a wide portal in the rear. His senses were piqued. So close by home, yet so culturally different.

He fully expected to enjoy his meal, but if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. He knew he would be entertained by the endless parade of locals strolling from the street to the restrooms or the kitchen, using any excuse to carry on a loud diatribe with the waiter or the bartender. When the cafe was open, the bar was as well --- morning, noon, or night. Just such differences formed a part of the magnetism of New Orleans held for him.

Yvonne gave little thought to the surroundings. She fidgeted in her seat. "I was up half the night thinking how I would apologize and before I can even do that I mess you up even worse."

"How would you have known to make reservations at Brennan's? I didn't even mention where I wanted to take you."

"I wasn't talking about Brennan's. I was talking about Flint."

"Yvonne, this is all gettin' a little tirin'. You owe me no apologies. I'm honored by your attention and your intentions. As far as Flint goes, forget it. He's a wonderful guy and a person I always want on my team. He's just a little straight laced. Don't worry about it. If I'm goin' to put myself in your hands today you're goin' to have to lighten up. I'm expectin' instruction and guidance."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, last night you showed me where you worked. This morning we're enjoyin' the marvelous sights and sounds and smells of the Vieux Carre. Later I'd like for you to introduce me to your swamp."

Her eyes widened. "You're kiddin'."

"No, didn't you tell me you live in a cabin in the Honey Island Swamp?"

"Yes, ... well on the western edge."

"Surely you have a boat of some kind."

"A little run about, with a small outboard."

"Does it run?"

"It runs great."

"Don't you know the swamp?"

"Well, I know my part. I don't know the whole swamp."

"You can take me through your part without gettin' lost can't you?"

"I know it like the palm of my hand. I spent almost every weekend of my life in it. What puzzles me is your sudden interest. Somehow I can't see you as a naturalist. I mean, I love the place. It's home to me. I just don't want to bore you."

He moved his chair and crossed his legs. "I won't be bored. I promise. Would you have any charts just so I can get my bearings?"

"Scads of 'em, but they're all pretty dated. They belonged to my daddy. They'll do for an overview."

"Fine, then that's what I want to do."

She looked at him with her head slightly cocked. "You know, I think you just like to keep people off balance."

"Yvonne, you're the second person to say that to me in this young day. There's usually a method to my madness, once one accepts the madness. Now quit talkin' and let's enjoy the characters.