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I see her round about a time or two. Ask if she want to go to the movie picture show in town. We can cozy up in the gallery and eat penny candy. Say she like ice creams better. Tell her I give her a barrel of chocolate and a big spoon, too. Say she like Rocky Road better. But she don’t go with me.
Next time, on the road out by Henderson Creek, I ask what’s wrong that she won’t go to Barrow’s with me for some good fried catfish and potato salad. Say she ain’t the kind of woman to accept a first or second proposal, but that if a man call on you three times he might not be of low standing.
We do Barrows for good fish and potato salad. We go to the hall and dance until our feet yell “quit all that dancing.” One day, we catch the bus out to Lincoln Beach in New Orleans and swim in the lake. Up till that point I like me some good catfish fine enough, dancing to Jelly Roll Morton fine enough, slapping around in cool waters fine enough. But with her, that catfish taste like Jesus himself fry it. Tell her I like her something powerful. Say I know.
We jump the broom at Greater Faith that October. She move into my shack the same day of the wedding. Start sprucing up soon as she come in. Hang a painting of Mary on the wall. I tell her that old painting some dusty. Say the way it look ain’t what matter.
It come late night. Hound dogs howling in the wood. Night birds a-chirping. We in that bedroom. It new husband and new wife time. Sometime your mind got a mind all its own. Sometime your Johnson got a mind of its own. Your mind saying, “Go ahead, fox. Raid that hen house.” But your little friend like I ain’t going in there.
Looking right at her, I hardly notice that splotch. But catch it out the side of my eye, I get a jolt like ice water down my back. Had that feeling in our married folk bed.
Say it’s my face scare you, ain’t it, Cletus?
I swear in Jesus name it ain’t. Say don’t take the Lord’s name in vain and don’t lie. Tell her she right. She pray.
Next day, she order oils and ointments by mail order catalogue. They come in after while, day by day, like ducklings following the big mama duck to water. She slather them oils and ointments all over. They ain’t work.
Come one Sunday, a turkey-neck woman show up with a scarf on her head. Name of Madame Audrey. We in the kitchen.
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