Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [62]
I look back at the knights. They each hold a lance at rest. A horn blasts. A knight rides up to a lady in the chairs and, very loudly, he announces he’s doing this for her. Then he turns and gallops with his lance pointed forward, straight for a tall pole. A scarlet ring hangs from it. He tries to get that ring on his lance. No luck. The next knight goes up to a different lady and declares himself. Then he has a go at it.
Frank Raymond whispers in my ear, “That’s called tilting.”
But I don’t care anymore. I walk down the street.
Frank Raymond catches up. “So you’re not taken with this medieval garbage?”
I shrug. Behind us the crowd cheers. I turn and look. The seated audience climbs onto horses or into buggies, and heads toward the river.
“Off to the steamboat,” says Frank Raymond. “Let’s get your horses.”
“They’re harnessed to the wagon. See there? We’ve got to stay out of sight.”
He gives a low whistle. “Without horses, we can’t go. It’s over eighteen miles to Delta, and that’s where the steamboat’s docked. I’m sorry, Calogero.”
I watch the buggies leave, lurching over rocks and stumps in the road. People stand on either side as far as I can see and wave handkerchiefs as they pass.
The inside of my head buzzes. Mr. Snyder’s tone, the sneer when he looked at me, left my brain scrambled, as if I don’t know which way is up. And there was something familiar about it. I bet one of the bully boys is his son. “It’s just as well Francesco has the horses,” I manage to say. “They probably wouldn’t have allowed me on that steamboat anyway.”
Frank Raymond’s face is all blotchy, angry and sad. “Shut your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Walk up a plank. Lots of people. Women in those dresses—you know, chiffon and silk and whatever. High ceilings with glass chandeliers. People dancing the polka to violins. A gambling casino, with men already moaning over losses. A dining area with raw oysters in tubs of ice and berries in silver bowls. And ham with crackers; caviar and salted salmon and sardines. Bowls of canned peaches floating in syrup.”
“It sounds like a palace.”
“The sleeping quarters are small, but the drawers are velvet lined and the mirrors are beveled.” Frank Raymond stops talking.
I don’t know what beveled means, but it doesn’t matter. I open my eyes. “Thank you.”
He walks now, and we slowly go west, the opposite way from the procession. “After the war steamers carried people and cargo along the river all the time. Then they rebuilt the railroads in 1870 and put most of the steamers out of business. Today they’re used for traveling circuses or gambling or theatrical shows. Or parties, like this one.”
“It would be fun to see a circus,” I say, trying to keep my voice normal, like him.
“A circus boat is coming in autumn. A sign in Blander’s barbershop says there’ll be elephants and ring performers. It’ll take days just to disembark and set up the show.”
“When in autumn?”
“After the cotton finishes. When everyone’s got money to lose. And they will. Tell you one thing I saw. When I was ten years old, my dad took me traveling along the river in late October. We were actually near here, and there was a fire on a steamer.”
“You saw a fire?”
“The boilers exploded and the entire boat was consumed.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“I don’t think so. My dad bought us two horses and we left fast. It spooked him.”
I look at Frank Raymond in wonder. He’s only four years older than me, but he always seems to know everything. “How did you learn so much?”
We’re already at the far edge of town. He turns up West Street. “I don’t know anything compared to what there is to know. But what managed to get into my head is there through two things: travel and study. I read everything my father put in front of me till he died. Then I joined the seminary and…”
“The seminary? So why aren