Nestor and I didn’t say a word to each other in the car. I didn’t want Angel overhearing anything and I guess Nestor was thinking the same. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long trip to the French Quarter. Angel dropped us off at the Hop-On Hop-Off Bus ticket window on Decatur Street. The ticket office wasn’t open yet, so we decided to walk around. Before we left home, my mom had told me a bunch of can’t miss places to see. I recognized some street names, so we headed in that direction.
We walked into Café Du Monde, a famous place for beignets —a kind of square fried doughnut with loads of powdered sugar sprinkled on top. “Hey, Nestor, let’s go in here. I know we already had breakfast, but I feel hungry again.”
“Good idea. I was thinking the same thing. What’s a bee-ig-net?”
Nestor had read the sign, but he had come up with his own pronunciation. I laughed as I told him. “It’s pronounced ben-yay.”
“Why doesn’t it just say so?”
“It does. It’s French.”
“Oh. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of that here?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I’ll correct you if you’re wrong.”
“Hooray.” He rolled his eyes.
I gave Nestor a little shove, and he pushed back at me. It was the first time we had laughed since we had gotten off the train. We looked around and saw that everyone else had chicory coffee with their beignets, so we did the same. It’s kind of hard to have a serious conversation with powdered sugar all over your face. Every time we laughed, the sugar flew all over us. Great photo op. I missed my phone—brain cancer and all.
“Nestor, I’m really sorry about what’s going on at my aunt’s house. My mom always talked about Aunt Delphine and Uncle Antoine in such a nice way. My grandma told me they’re elegant and sophisticated. They travel around the world a lot, being so rich and all.”
“But how come your aunt didn’t recognize you?”
“Maybe it’s her eyesight.”
“What I don’t get is you’ve got this cocoa skin and green eyes thing going on. Most people in your family look like that. But I don’t. There’s no nice way to say this, but your aunt reminds me of that Chucky doll, and her husband looks just like that woodpecker in the old cartoons.”
“You mean Woody Woodpecker?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
We burst out laughing again. “I guess we’ll get through it. I’m glad you’re with me, ‘cause I couldn’t do this by myself.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Nestor flashed me one of his goofy smiles. “But you know what I don’t get? How did your uncle know we’re Yankee fans?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Nestor made his voice real deep. “Don’t you Yankee boys have any manners?”
“Nestor, he’s calling us Yankees because we come from the northern part of the country. Remember how the North and South fought against each other in the Civil War?”
“Oh, that. Well, they’ve sure got long memories down here.”
I had to laugh.
“And how about that guy with the beady eyes, Angel. How does he fit in?”
“I don’t know. No one ever said. Maybe he’s the chauffeur.”
“A show-what?”
“A chauffeur. A private driver.”
“Well, whoever he is, let’s call him Angel Not when no one is around.”
“OK. Angel Not it is. I swear to you, I didn’t have anything to do with that feather business last night. It wasn’t me.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“You know jokes aren’t my style.”
“Are you saying there really was a ghost?”
“I keep telling you I don’t believe in ghosts.” I guess I got quiet. In the back of my mind, something was bothering me. An answer half-hidden, like the pizza box covered with garbage. Buried, but not unnoticed.
“Phil, what’s up?”
“I feel like I’m not seeing something that’s right in front of me.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s the problem.”
We left Café Du Monde and walked across the street to Central Grocery. They’re famous for their muffalettas—Italian cold cuts and green-olive salad layered on huge, crispy, round Italian bread. We decided to buy one each in case we got hungry later.
We walked to Jackson Square, where we saw a statue of General Andrew Jackson mounted on his horse. I read the plaque. “During the Battle of New Orleans in 1815, General ‘Stonewall’ Jackson and his men defended the city and the territories of the Louisiana Purchase during an attack by the British during the War of 1812.”
He later became the seventh president of the United States. Cool.
Nestor and I walked over to St. Louis Cathedral, the oldest Catholic cathedral in North America. My mom told me the statue of Jesus with his upraised arms casts an awesome shadow on the back of the cathedral at night. I was sorry we wouldn’t get to see it. Maybe another time.
When we walked around to the front of the cathedral, we saw some fortune-tellers setting up their tables with tarot cards and candles.
“Phil, I want to have my cards read.”
“Why do you believe this crazy stuff?”
“Why do you always say no?”
“I don’t believe in this mumbo jumbo”
“I can’t explain it, but I have a strong feeling about this.”
“Do you think your mom would be happy to know you’re doing this tarot stuff?”
“No, but she’s not here, is she? And who’s going to tell her?”
“OK, you win.”
“Good decision.”
Some of the card readers looked ordinary. Some looked a little strange. Nestor decided on a woman wearing a gold turban. She had a nice smile, so I didn’t feel totally weird. I sat down next to Nestor.
“I am Madame Destiny. What is your question?”
“What’s this crazy stuff going on at Phil’s aunt’s house?”
“Keep the question in mind as you prepare the cards for your answer.”
The both of them had such serious faces, I started to laugh. But Madame Destiny shot me a look, so I stopped.
Nestor was really into this. He shuffled the deck a few times, divided the cards into three groups, and then stacked them back into one pile. He pulled out seven cards, which Madame Destiny set up in a special order. She studied the cards. Her face changed.
“I see danger. For you or someone close to you.”
“What kind of danger?” Nestor asked.
“A small room. A locked door. Three people. Fear in the air.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I interrupted. “Why are you trying to scare him?”
“This is what I see.”
“Let her talk.”
She told Nestor to choose seven more cards. “This problem can be turned around, but only with the help of a close friend. It is in your hands. You must take action.”
“What kind of action?”
“Follow your instincts. Investigate. Do not be passive. Or all will be lost.”
Too much information. I had the creeps. Nestor was on edge.
A cloud of darkness followed us to the Hop-On Hop-Off ticket booth.