Chapter One cont.

The conclusion of the first chapter

After we walked back to my house, I put on a pot of joe and reached for a cigar. The old newspapers cluttered the table. The kitchen cabinets were open and did not match. I tended to simply leave the stuff where it fell. The whole house wasn’t mine. It was supposed to be deserted and I paid no rent. It was too close to the marshes for most people’s tastes and not close enough to the nice part of the beach. There were a few more shacks, nicer than mine, surrounding me with similar squatters. We all minded our own business and it worked out fine.

            Cordelia had been here even though I’d never seen her. She liked to do things like that, snoop, and when she ignored everything, heading to the back porch, what existed of it, and the beach, which had nearly engulfed it in sand, the familiarity with which she walked, convinced me. The water hit along the line of driftwood by the shoreline. Whenever I had a fire it would burn green and blue for a while, from the salt water. The wild sea grass grew over the dunes and over the roof of the little cottage. Birds screamed around in the sky. They were everywhere.

            It was a lonely place. Sometimes, when the sun didn’t shine and all you could see were the lonely pelicans bobbing in the surf, you felt like you were on a deserted island. My neighbors weren’t very close to me, literally or figuratively, but most were either workers or fishermen. There were a couple of lonely looking docks with boats and nets cluttering the shore. 

            Dellie’s hand rested languidly on her hip as she studied the view. I studied her. Her feet were in men’s loafers and the edges of her pants were still slightly wet, as if she’d stepped in a puddle or through the dew. She wasn’t thin but that didn’t seem to bother her. Each nail was painted red but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. She only did things if the mood struck her. Lips were a full reddish color, lacking their usual lacquer and her eyes were a warm brown. When you look at your mother, you see what you want in a women, when you see your wife, you see what you got and when you see your daughter, you see what you created. I was simply hoping no one credited me with starting a tornado on a path of destruction. A man’s balls were likely to draw up for protection just as well as attraction at the sight of her.

“You’re sure about this?” I asked her again.

“I want to do something that gets the blood racin’. I want the devil or the Almighty have to chase me to my grave. If I fail, I want to know I did my life the way I wanted it done”.

“Not everyone is cut out for this life” I warned, grasping at the last straws, “Always looking over your shoulder. Anyone can decide to try something new but you make one mistake in this line of work and it’s all over. You’re looking at the view behind bars. This is the real thing. You can’t smile and get out of anything.” That was one of her standard maneuvers, squirming out of things.

“I know that”. Dellie reached for a cup and poured herself some tea. “I’m looking over my shoulder already.”

“Why?” I questioned, throwing Ulysses a cookie.

She grabbed it out of the air and took a bite. “I’m lookin’ out for your ex-wife”.

Couldn’t blame her there.

“Ulysses, come walk with me” She shot over her shoulder as she drifted out the door. He followed of course. I followed him. Dellie seemed to be insulted by the assumption that I was included in this invitation but she didn’t say anything. The dog snarled at the waves while we strolled, watching the fisherman up the beach as they toiled with nets for an honest days living. I would have sooner eaten the fish on my way in.

            Charleston was home to history, it was built on it, we lived in it. Fort Sumpter loomed over the bay and the towns buildings were almost all of old stock. With such an old place, comes old habits and old customs, and old ideals. No one dared go to any other mass, hardly except the Nine on Sunday, unless they absolutely had to. Every Saturday there was some social, some party, or some get together. Food was baked with pounds of lard and that new fangled thing called margarine was spat on. Accents we long and lazy, along with the work hours and anyone with an accent more clipped than a clipper ship was looked down upon, though since we were famous for hospitality not quite ostracized.

            Hospitality and the morals of the people in Charleston were part of what made it a thief’s gold mine. Doors weren’t always locked, no one thought to worry about a person’s trustworthiness and no matter how bad we thieves got, they always reverted to the general good of mankind.

“You’re in right?” Dellie asked, when we turned around to follow the path around the mangroves home.

“Course.”

“I guess celibacy didn’t work so well for you.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“How much was the pot up to?”

“I don’t know. Why?” I asked, wondering how she’d found out about that.

“Cuz I got a nice chunk of change about to multiply.”

I grunted and the silence once more took the majority of out concentration back. You ever notice how much concentration it takes to keep a conversation in complete silence. Everyone’s tempted to hum or whistle or grunt or breathe loudly to break the awkward silence. We just walked, two solitary walks just happening to take place in the same stretch of swamp.

“I need two more people, then” she informed me, like it hadn’t already crossed my mind. More than twice.

“I think I could help out.” I didn’t want to make it sound like I was aiming to take over. Dellie could be testier than a turtle just been stepped on sometimes.