LAGNIAPPE
~NINE~
With the last tin panel nailed into place, Charlie wiped his brow and climbed down from the roof. He looked up with pride at the tiny floating home he'd spent all summer building. His life was solitary but sound, lonely, but not lonesome. He knew where to find people if he were ever in the mood for company. Those times had come few and far between since Spud's daughter was born going on five years ago, right about the last time he saw his own daughter.
Little Sophia Rose, despite her fair skin and light hair, was the splitting image of his nephew just like Itsy was his doppelganger. The similarities in the father-daughter connection were so strong, so bright, that Charlie could scarcely let his eyes fall on the pair. The pain would burn new again with each passing glance.
When Itsy was ripped from his arms almost fourteen years ago, his heart left right along with her. Spud was nearly grown by then; he didn't need Charlie so much anymore. He held it together for his Mama.
With Itsy gone nothing was the same. She had a glow about her that made folk want to be in her presence. Her smile...lord have mercy, she was a right beauty from the day Charlie laid eyes on her. He could not believe he had any real part in creating something so lovely.
He applied the sky blue paint to the clapboard siding in thick, uneven strokes as his mind ran back to simpler times.
Charles Raymond Swan was the bayou's version of a mountain man. Several times a year, when fishing or hunting were slow, he made his living running walkabouts for the wealthy: those who wanted to live dangerously for a few days roughing it in the rough country of the swamp among the cottonmouths, snapping turtles, and gators. These folk paid handsomely to gawk at Charlie's skill with knives, guns, hooks, and traps not to mention the mastery he had over an open fire and Dutch oven; all skills that he passed on to his nephew, and later his only child.
He bit back bitterness and anger whenever he put on this show. For almost fifteen years, he shucked and jived. First, he needed money after his Pa passed on. He was grateful to the Clearwaters for bringing him on, sliding him more and more work as he grew tall, his back broadened, and his shoulder strengthened. His Pa had taught him that if a man wanted to eat, he had better work.
"No man ever been made from setting up under they Ma," was what his Pa would grumble whenever Little Charlie Ray complained about being out on the water or tending the fields well before the sun so much as winked a hello.
At just thirteen years old, Charlie now had a mother and sister to look after. Mama's canning, pies, quilts, and so on only went so far after the bills were paid. Once she got the sugar diabetes Charlie pressed to invest in improvements at his family's homestead in order to make things more comfortable for her. With that and all Mama's medical bills, he had to beef up his schedule, work more tours. The money was too good to pass up, and his family needed him. His mama was sickly and his baby sister a hellion. He couldn't afford to hire hands to tend their fields, so they began selling off some of the land and let other fields remain un-sowed. Times were lean, but the Swans managed.
Out in the swamp, Charlie often thought on all he had weighed on his young shoulder: the childhood he and Carmen had ripped from their grasp, the pain and sadness their Ma tried to hide, the confusion that suffocated his sister, and the loss that consumed him daily.
He did the best he could, but nothing ever seemed like enough. Feeling of inadequacy paraded through his mind whenever he was home. He put food on the table and life-saving medicine in his mama's body by making his family's way of life into a novelty for tourists. His family history, the only way he knew how to be, everything he learned from his Pa was now a joke, a walking caricature for the over-indulged. There was an upside to his profession; he could take out his frustrations on the tourists, and they would be none the wiser. Charlie would lay on his Cajun accent extra thick while slinging colorful insults their way. Nobody understood half of what he was saying no how.
Over the years, Marie had bellyached about how Charlie needed to find a wife and give her some grandbabies. Carmen had run off, yet again, at just seventeen years old. She'd call from time-to-time to not worry Mama half to death, but wherever she was…Texas, California, Oregon, Delaware, Florida…she always found a way to send word that she was alive and well. Sometimes…sometimes she'd remember where her home was and come stay for a spell. She'd clean herself up, set still for a few weeks, sometimes months, then slip off again under the cover of night.
After Marie and Charlie had faced another stalemate over him being too old, at twenty-four, to remain a bachelor, a twenty-year-old Carmen stumbled over their threshold like the prodigal child she had always been; this time with a nearly three-year-old, towheaded little tank of a toddler on her hip. At least the guy who knocked her up stuck around long enough to give his son his name, Charlie thought, perhaps it was the other way around. One never could tell with Carmen.
They had a good four months where Charlie and Marie were wistful, hopeful that the four of them were going to have a chance at a real life and create something normal…stable for Nana's little tater, her Spud. Like all things with Carmen, peace was short-lived. She stayed out too late, drank too much, and ignored Emmett's cries as she slept off cheap wine and moonshine.
Stability required rules and regularity, something that Charlie's sister always avoided. True to form, Carmen disappeared again once Emmett took a shine to Charlie and the newly crowned Nana Marie.
Tired, but determined to make a better life for his nephew and keep his mother comfortable, Charlie kept running the business he loathed. He had to keep at it. For his family,he would sell his very soul if it meant that Spud and Marie were spared a modicum of suffering.
Almost three years after Spud was unceremoniously deposited into their lives, another twist of fate came Charlie's way. In New Orleans for the day updating his fliers and brochures at the Visitors' Center, Charlie stopped for a few beers before he headed back home to prep for his next tour.
A shapely woman with burnt butter colored hair sat nursing a colorful drink when Charlie slid onto a nearby barstool. He kept his dark brown, almost black hair and beard trimmed into a short buzz. Renee tried to ignore him, his ruggedness, his deeply weathered skin, his dark, shining eyes that seemed to hold volumes of knowledge.
Nervous, she wanted him to notice her first. Make the first move. Renee was accustomed to being pursued, but the stranger that shared the bar with her was silent as the grave and made no indication that he noticed the only other person in the place who didn't work in the small bar.
She watched him from the mirror over the bar, imagining the musical lilt of his accent as he called her cher and other panty-melting endearments.
Charlie tipped his bottle up to his lips, swallowing down the brew. Renee watched closely as his throat bobbed and his eyes closed. His tongue darted out and curled up to get the last of the liquid from the hairs of his mustache that just grazed his upper lip. Charlie sat his empty bottle onto the counter along with a few bills before he stood and moved past Renee toward the door.
Perhaps it was the bit of magic that the locals said hung in the air. Perhaps it was the damn near liter of 80-proof alcohol she downed with her oyster po boy. Whatever it was that inspired her actions, Renee was not going to let this man get past her. Spinning on her stool, she turned to stop his movement by flashing a broad smile and a bit of cleavage.
"Hi," she said in a girlish squeak.
"Bonsoir," Charlie drawled. He needed to keep moving, but suddenly found himself firmly rooted where he stood...and tongue-tied.
His mama had always said that women you meet in bars were not the type you marry. He had never wanted his mother to be wrong more than in this moment when he met Renee's hazel eyes.
Renee Higgenbottom was twenty-two and partying her way through the French Quarter as part of a bachelorette party—one last hurrah before falling into a comfortably boring life in an affluent area of Phoenix. Her friends, including the bride-to-be, had abandoned her in favor of anonymous male companionship. After spending the better part of the day alone, Renee had been the last of her friends' to snatch up a sexy Cajun to warm her bed for the remainder of her weekend.
Coming from a comfortable family in Phoenix, Renee knew how to keep her indulgences quiet. She was discerning when selecting her conquests. Today, she simply couldn't resist the attraction she felt toward this quiet stranger. The man before her exuded power and authority, a stark contrast from her typical partners: stuffy young brokers, lawyers, and fast trackers who thought the size of their portfolios more than made up for their tiny cocks.
This man before her was unlike anything she had ever seen in her life. His eyes were nearly black and hypnotic as they assessed her.
"I'm Renee." She offered Charlie her hand in greeting. "And you are?" Renee shifted in her seat, anxiously awaiting his reply.
Charlie slid his hand under hers, the pads of his fingers, rough from years of manual labor, grazed her wrist. She inhaled sharply at his touch but never broke eye contact. She watched intently as Charlie brought her hand to his lips, wetting them ever so slightly before pressing them warm and moist against her flesh.
She shivered despite the ever-present murky heat.
"Charles Swan, mademoiselle, very pleased to have made your acquaintance."
Not entirely sure how he ended up in Renee's bed, Charlie cast aside all other thoughts; he was simply grateful to feel something more than constant emptiness. Even if it were temporal, he felt alive again. He hadn't felt this good since before his father died unexpectedly eleven years prior, and the weight of the world was suddenly thrust upon his thirteen-year-old shoulders. Renee was entranced by him and he her. The private paradise of her hotel room was the ultimate joy.
Charlie believed that he could now go on now that he had at last felt what it was like to be truly loved by a woman, body and soul. After spending a weekend wrapped up in one another, Charlie finally bid Renee adieu.
Emmett's presence provided Charlie with something to look forward to. He adored his nephew who was so much a mixture of Carmen's devil-may-care attitude and wild enthusiasm for new experiences and his own exacting determination. There was absolutely no deterring Emmett when he set his mind to it, even at five-years-old.
Charlie was just returning home after having spent the week out in the wilds of the swamp shucking and jiving for a group of wealthy Asian businessmen. He was tired, mentally and physically. This was the largest group he'd taken out; with their flock of interpreters and assistants there were fifteen on this trip. Usually, he kept his groups intimate, where he could keep an eye on everyone and not have to hire another set of eyes to babysit the overindulged. Despite his two buddies tagging along, the trip was still grueling.
Weary from dealing with custom and cultural differences, Charlie wondered why they even bothered to come out there in the first place. Only one out of the entire lot seemed to be truly enjoying themselves. Lucky for Charlie this young man's English was quite good and wanted to be called "Steve."
Tromping up the pea gravel drive toward his home, Charlie laughed at his memories of Steve. He wanted to learn everything he could, so Charlie let him. There were too many close calls to count, all of them quite hilarious. By the end of the week, Steve was building the fire under Billy Black's watchful eye. He had become a pro at skinning catfish...catching them was another story.
Passing a white Chevy Impala with Arizona plates, Charlie paused. The car was packed to the gills. He whistled as he passed, curious about what little injured bird his mother had met in town and taken home to nurse back to health. Marie was always trying to fill the void Carmen left. Charlie had hoped that Emmett was enough, but judging by the car in his driveway Marie had found a new pet.
A sustained howl greeted Charlie as he dragged himself to the backdoor. Buster, his long since retired hound, hobbled up to greet him. Arthritis had plagued the beast for a while. It pained Charlie to turn the dog away each time he tried to hop in the truck, eager for their next adventure.
Tossing the dog a scrap of jerky, Charlie went inside. His legs were almost swept out from under him by his nephew. The boy was built like a brick wall, most definitely a bruiser in the truest sense of the word.
His tiredness evaporated when Charlie heard his nephew's laughter. The boy's dimpled grin almost brought tears to his eyes as he thought of the sister he may never see again. "Hey, Spud!" Charlie said with a laugh as he scooped the boy up in his arms, holding him tightly.
"You miss me, Unka Chawie?"
"You betcha. I can't wait 'till you big enough to come out with me."
Unfamiliar footsteps interrupted Charlie and Emmett's reunion.
"Hi Charlie." He knew that voice. He dreamt of that voice for nearly a year. A soft cooing, like a kitten mewling, joined the phantom tone.
"Lookie!" Emmett cheered. "She broughted you a baby. A pretty girl baby, Unka Chawie." Emmett wiggled out of his uncle's embrace to climb on a chair in order to give the bundle in the woman's arms another once-over.
Charlie turned, stunned by Renee's presence. He'd been gone seven days. How long had she been here...and with a baby?
Renee was even more beautiful than Charlie had remembered; motherhood certainly became her. When she looked down at the bundle in her arms swaddled tightly in yellow, he saw nothing but pure, unadulterated love. She had looked at him like that once...that one weekend they had together some eleven months ago. Could the child be his—did he want the baby to be his?
Yes.
It didn't matter what Renee might say, he wanted the baby. There was no doubt there. He held his arms out to welcome his heart back into himself. Now, it was just a little bit bigger.
Renee trembled and then broke into sobs. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I wanted to tell you. Things were so shitty at home when I found out I was pregnant, Charlie. I...I only knew your name—nothing else. I was...I was just so stupid. But I was lonely. And you were so..."
Charlie held his family tighter. "It's okay, cher. I got you. 'Bout time you came home. I missed you."
Renee pulled away. Her cheeks pink and splotchy, yet Charlie felt she'd never be more beautiful than in that moment. She searched his face for betrayal, but found none. Instead, Charlie's eyes danced with joy. So many months ago Renee had brought him back to life, now she was here, carrying life in her arms. A life he helped to create. Charlie reached out to pull the blanket away from his child's sleeping face.
The baby's skin was soft and pale. Her cherubic cheeks deliciously rosy as if they were painted on to create the perfect visage of the perfect child. A mop of dark curls rested upon her head. Charlie ran his hand tenderly over the downy strands that were so much like his in color and texture. Her thick eyebrows were knitted together as she slept. Her button nose pressed against her mother's bosom while her lips pursed into a sweet little heart shape as she dreamt of suckling. Charlie laughed softly at the sight.
"She's a right beauty, cher. What you call her?" Charlie asked in a whisper, still stroking his baby's velvety cheek.
"Isabella Marie." Renee looked uncertain while Charlie beamed.
"Isabella Marie Swan. That's a good name. A mighty fine name, Renee." He reached out and cupped Renee's cheek, pulling her in to a kiss.
These memories seemed to come more frequently, but no less unexpected. Charlie choked back a sob and rubbed roughly over his broken heart. Stepping back, he realized he'd painted almost the entire houseboat while his mind wandered over his life.
"You done good," Spud said in greeting to his uncle. "I suppose this is a good reason why you didn't come see Itsy off." The man's face held a smile, but his bright, blue eyes were stern and chastising. Charlie shifted uncomfortably under his nephew's gaze. He owed him a great debt for standing in his stead all these years.
After his Mama passed, he was lost in his own head for a spell. He still gets lost from time-to-time. Spud stepped up and did things his uncle should have. At eighteen, he drove them to Phoenix to bring Itsy back for Nana Marie's funeral, and then deposited her on a plane back to her mother after Charlie had walked off into the woods three days prior and never came back.
"But you know, Unc, there really ain't no excuse for you not even letting her see you."
"I know," Charlie said quietly with his eyes downcast.
"It don't matter how many degrees she get, she gon' always need her Pa. You the only one she got."
"I know," he said again.
"She's in love…" Spud threw that tidbit out there hoping to get a rise out of the other man.
Charlie finally met Spud's eyes with a quirked eyebrow.
Spud nodded. "Yeah. Big time. The real deal, too. Dink…Edward Cullen."
Charlie sighed; Essie and CeeBo Cullen were good people, some of the best. He couldn't have picked a better match for his swamp princess than their boy, Dink.
"I guess the boy never outgrew that name, huh?"
Spud's chuckle rumbled in his chest. His friend hated the name his grandmére gave him because he was such a dinky baby, tiny and frail seeming. The name stuck like Brer Rabbit to the tar baby. Now at more than six feet tall and nearly two hundred pounds of solid muscle, Spud supposed he should see how "Edward" fit on his tongue.
"I was there today. I saw y'all…when you dropped Itsy at school." Charlie's voice became thick with emotion. He owed his nephew everything. There was no way he could repay him for all that he continues to do for him. "Thank you, Spud. Truly."
Stepping forward, Spud wrapped his uncle in a tight embrace. "I reckoned you'd be lurking somewhere nears by."
They broke apart and moved wordlessly around the houseboat, putting the finishing touches on floating palace Charlie built for his princess.
Thanks for sticking with me as I indulged in this bit of back-story about my beloved Charlie.
If you're unfamiliar with Uncle Remus and the tales of Brer Bear, Brer Fox, and Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby there's a ride at Disney, Splash Mountain, based on the movie Song of the South that tells this tale. If you're not fortunate enough to ride Splash Mountain in the near future, check out the link below to get the story. Song of the South is no longer available in the States as it is deemed offensive by the NAACP, but had always been one of my favorites: a technological feat for the times, not to mention the first Disney film to have a black man as the male lead. The movie is still sold in foreign markets. *shrugs* I guess the NAACP doesn't have a problem perpetuating demeaning stereotypes (their opinion of the film) all over the rest of the world, but it isn't appropriate entertainment in the US of A. The views of the NAACP rarely match my own.
I could argue this topic for days, but I'll quit while I'm ahead. Am I really ahead?
americanfolklore{dot} net / folklore / 2010 / 07 / brer_rabbit_meets_a_tar_baby {dot} html
Until next time…
