Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [28]
He runs to the stand. I run to the grocery. Half the vegetables are already stacked in neat piles in the bins. I take over the rest of the job while Francesco stays busy in the storage room at the rear. He comes out only when the first customer arrives. For the next couple of hours, Francesco and I move around each other peacefully, serving customers as if everything is like it used to be. He doesn’t bark orders; I do my job with a smile.
“Hey, Mr. Calo-whatever.” Charles comes into the store.
I grin. It’s been so long. But no! I’ve got to get him out of here fast.
Francesco rushes in from the storage room.
“Morning, sir,” says Charles. He touches his hat in respect.
I step between them, hands open, trying to think up some excuse for why Charles is here before Francesco explodes in anger.
But Francesco is beaming. “Everything ready.” He rubs his hands together, speaking his big, bold English. “On wagon, out back. Calogero, you go help Charles. You make sure he got everything he need. Everything.”
I look from Francesco to Charles and back.
“You no hear? Get going. You drive the wagon, you help unload.”
I blink, dumbfounded.
He points at me, that finger that’s always telling me what to do. “You ears no work, Calogero? You drive the wagon to church. With Charles. Now go.”
Church. He’s got to mean Patricia’s church. That’s the only church Charles would go to. I nod.
“And, Calogero, if they need, you stay.” Francesco puts his hands on his hips. “No be lazy. You stay and you make useful.”
You bet I’ll stay. If Patricia is there, I’ll stay all day.
The wagon is waiting out back, hitched up to Granni. I rub the horse’s muzzle while Charles climbs in back and checks the boxes.
“All here, I reckon.” He jumps off and comes around to the front bench.
I get on beside him and take the reins and we’re rolling that wagon slowly out to Depot Street. “What’s going on?”
Charles punches my shoulder. “He didn’t tell you. I knew it. I knew from the way you acted.” He laughs. “You thought the only reason we went ’gator hunting was to show you and Dancer how?” His voice pokes fun. “You did, didn’t you?”
I’m no fool. “You did it to make tons of money.”
“Ah, we sold that hide,” says Charles. “Slit it down the back and emptied it out careful, so the belly skin stayed perfect. Sold the oil, too. But not an ounce of meat went in the cargo for the French market down in New Orleans. Not one ounce.” He waits.
This is like with Frank Raymond. Feels like everyone’s always waiting around for me to take the bait. Oh, all right. “So what did you do with all that ’gator meat?”
“We got mouths to feed.” He’s smiling, still poking fun.
“You needed all that meat?” I ask.
“Mmm-mm. Every single bite.”
“You must have a lot of mouths at home.”
Charles takes off his cap. His hair has been cut really short. There are nicks in his scalp from the clippers. “Ain’t never seen nobody look so dandy, right? We having a party. Tonight.”
“And the stuff in this wagon is for the party?”
“Every single bite,” says Charles. “A graduation party. Seven people graduated from lower school and two from upper school.”
“Patricia’s graduation!” I practically shout.
“Ben’s, too. Seven at once, and two more—two!—made it all the way through upper school.” Charles wags his head. “Can you believe it? My uncles already cooking our ’gator in an outdoor pit.”
“Our ’gator? You didn’t eat it yet? It must be rotten by now.”
He laughs. “We smoked it. That make it last. The sauce will be special. We invited every colored family in and around Tallulah. Over a hundred folks will come. Maybe two hundred. Going to be some show. And my family, we running it.”
“Wow.”
“Uncle Paul and I went over to your place last night to talk about trading for food. You was already asleep in bed, by the way.” He bumps