Th' Christmas Rat: Part III

Clap 'n' Clap is where Chazz an' me went after I left Dandy an' Captain Beauregard Crocker to they routine a preparen for th' day's beggen, excuse me, performen on th' street for they livelihood. But basically they begged for they daily bread, what Klaus didn't give them, at least, as th' Captain's act grew thin as a muskrat's tail, his rope work interesten but only until the novelty a seen a monkey twirl a lasso lasted. For me that meant about five minutes, an' truth be told, I found Chazz more fascinaten an' intelligent than th' Captain ever was, as you'll soon see for yourself. An' Dandy tried to compliment his monkey's tricks by speaken in all sorts a old languages, reciten the Pledge a Allegiance in Mesopotamian, or th' Lord's Prayer in th' Viking tongue, or th' Gettysburg Address in Leprechaun, though I a course had to take his word for all these, as I know Swamp Cajun an' that's it. Honestly, I figured that Dandy was just maken up everythen he said, he all but admitted to me what a big liar he was, an entertainen one, to be sure, but a liar nevertheless. So when I went over to Clap 'n' Clap an' shook hands with Sister Edith an' felt the warmth in her grasp an' th' kindness in her eyes, I felt maybe I'd stepped up outta the swamp mud an' the street gutter an' into a new life a truth an' beauty. Not just her response to me, either, but to Chazz, who I held up to her face to gauge her reaction to that big white rat.

Her smile just widened an' she kissed Chazz on his whiskery snout! I about dropped my supper right there on th' street this surprised me so. "He's beautiful, and so are you, cher," she said all elegantly. "Now come inside and I'll show you to your room."

My room! Closest thing I ever had to a room was an old outhouse that outlived it's usefulness an' Daddy said could be mine I took care a the snake an' the overflow problem the builden had. That weren't too difficult, as snakes never scared me none. I took a five gallon can a diesel fuel I stole from Daddy's own stash an' poured it down th' hole an' lit a match an' tossed it in. Two things I figured to happen happened. One, the snakes skedaddled quicker than you can say "Grampaw's yore mama." They hate the flames, snakes do, an' you leave some ashes an' cinders around a place you burned they dont come back for fear it might could happen again. An' two, the contents a the outhouse pit'll burn an' burn an' burn till it's all gone, not spectackularly like an' airboat blows up when a person shoots at its fuel tank, but gently an' smolderenly, over a period about a week or ten days. Fact is, th' gentle burnen is perfect you wanna slow cook somethen like a big wild boar, which I did outta gratitude for getten my own place. I killed a boar with a shotgun an' gutted it an' doused it with peppers an' onions an' garlic an' red beans an' Tabasco an' brown sugar, then tupped him into th' hole after first clearen away the shitter seat boards, which I used to make myself my own chair. Now this way a cooken might not sound appetizen to non-swamp folk, but they aint no germs nor crap itself left after the burnen, an' they's a pleasen caramelizen effect on th' boar's skin, which becomes crispier than cracklens. Umm God but my mouth do water at th' thought!

So the family had itself a feast, kin from three swamps over, includen an especially primitive bunch a rubes liven in some place so removed from th' world they's rumors a dinosaurs liven they still. This I dont believe, but these cousins aint got airboats or even guns, but skiff an' dugouts they trained snappen turkles to pull, alligator gars, too, like water chariots, the sight is wonderful to see but not the cousins theyselves, who were coated with swamp mire so thick an' crusty they look like animals theyselves. The language they speak is somethen only Dandy could understand, given he traffics in gibberish an' so did they. Th' stories a what transpired at th' party I can tell someday, provided you agree not to sue me for wrecken yore view a humanity.

But I had my own little place—for about a week. I'd whitewashed it an' made a swingen bed a vines an' had my little shitter board chair an' a matchen table an' a kerosene lantern an' three books I'd hidden from my idiot brothers an' parents, none a who could outread a cypress tree, they'd a tore the books's pages to use to roll into bayou blunts an' smoke theyselves silly on Red Delta hash mixed with wormen syrup. Damn bunch a drunks an' drug addicts. Back to my beloved books. One was the Bible, another was "Henderson the Rain-King" by Saul Bellow an' th' third was "Life on the Mississippi" by Mr. Mark Twain. I read each a them cover-to-cover maybe one hundred times, who was counten? I probably could say them books backwards still while standen on my head, jugglen okra an' drinken a tall cold glass a cherry Coke. An' fact is I done just that later on in my stay in New Orleans, after th' tragedy a th' Christmas pageant came an' went an' I needed a way to support myself till I was old enough to pole.

Here I'm ramblen again the way my least favorite brother, Denver, tended to do after he fell outta a tree an' cracked his head open an' you could see the white sharp pieces a skull poken through his torn skin an' grey-white bits a brain bubblen out like the foamy wake an airboat trails it speeden through dirty water. Mama cleaned him off with her hair an' closed everythen together best she could an' sat on his head for an entire day to bind the wound an' kill any germs. Pore damn Denver did live but he only can turn left now when he walks an' count no higher than two an' whistle while he talks. Worst thing an' why I hate him, though, was Mama made me turn over my new little home to Mr. Brain Dead for him to convalesce in, an' damned if he didn't succeed in burnen down that pretty outhouse (an' my books, too!) when he was amusen hisself by setten beetles on fire an' watchen them run. Damn fool Denver I do hate him so!

Somehow it weren't more than five minutes after meeten Sister Edith she got this whole story outta me an' I even cried a little an' let her an' Chazz comfort me, the one through hugs, the other with little claw scratchens on my arm at an accupressure point, rats a course naturally knowen all about the body's meridians a health an' healen. Why else does science think they an' not we will survive global heaten an' nuclear war an' catastrophes a all stripes? Sister Edith herself saw that Chazz was special, she told me so an' let him burrow down into th' tremendous beehive hair heap toweren above her scalp. Durren the few days I stayed at Clap 'n' Clap, th' sight a Chazz's snout poken outta Sister's hair was common.

I got a quick tour a her place, met a bunch a th' other girls, most seemed a little slow an' not a few waddled about with a belly taut with a baby. But they was polite an' clean an' we all took our meals together in a communal dinen area next to th' kitchen. We shared th' household chores includen the cooken, an' my but I am proud a th' fact that everybody's favorite was my special dessert made a sweet plums an' sorghum topped by curdled buttermilk an' dumped over a pile a stale bread dusted with brown sugar. Sister herself had three helpens!

My room was simple an' clean an' small, just an iron bed with a thin mattress, nice cotton sheets an' a quilt, a pine wardrobe, a table, a chair an' a Bible. But it opened onto a fancy iron balcony I enjoyed sitten on an' watchen th' spectacle that is th' French Quarter every evenen reveal itself to my bayou peepers. Better to be two stories above it all, cher, than down in th' thick a it, like Dandy an' the Captain, who I waved to often.

Th' religious part weren't forced upon me, though I went to several a th' services an' found them most curious. Sister herself sat up front next to Father Wayne, who when I asked him admitted he weren't no Catholic priest, but that he was religious nevertheless an' devoted hisself to th' Lord. Funny thing about him is his name truly was Father Wayne, or so said his drivers' license when I lifted his wallet an' peeked through it. I ask you this: who th' hell would name a baby "Father"? Course I couldn't ask my new friends about this owing to picken his pocket an' my not wanten to admit it. No, I stole nothen, only snooped.

Anyhow, th' church service consisted a all us girls standen up an' holden hands in a circle an' moven first three full turns to th' right, then three to th' left, then crowd in together an' raise our hands high, then let go a our hands an' lower our eyes to th' ground an' stand there for a couple minutes, mumblen "God is God is God is good" while Sister an' Father walked slowly around the lot a us sprinklen a little red wine on our heads. After this, we reformed our circle an' hummed a soft tune while Sister read from her Bible. Then we had to lie down on th' floor forehead first, palms flat in front a us, grinnen, as Father gave a short sermon. This took only about five minutes, but the girls heaviest with kids took to moanen, as they was uncomfortable, which Father an' Sister paid no never mind. Then we got to get up, kissed Sister's ring an' Father's ring an' pledged ourselves to good behavior an' daily showeren, which Father emphasized was th' first step to salvation, look at John th' Baptist always waist deep in water, an' Jesus hisself washen th' feet a his friends. Then church was over until the next afternoon, as worship was a daily event at Clap 'n' Clap.

An' I did ask Sister about the name a her place. The Clap part as in th' gonoree I understood, an' never once did I peep behind the clinic door, though there was always patients streamen through it. My hunch was there was a few abortions occurren there, too, maybe even mainly those, at least on Tuesdays. Also, th' patients seemed exclusively to be ladies in th' entertainment industry, if you can grab onto my meanen. Once I took to th' pole myself my hunch was confirmed. But that was a couple years down th' pike. What I wanted to know at th' time was why the church service didn't seem very Gospel, what with no clappen a hands or singen songs or any a that good old time religion stuff. An' Sister smiled when I asked this an' said wait till the Christmas show, I can hear all the clappen I want then.

"Okay I'll wait," I said, "but I been here three days an' Christmas is next week an' aint we gonna practice any for th' show? I got no idea how to be th' Virgin Mary an' Chazz sure hell dont get he's gonna be a lamb."

What I'm tellen you now is th' absolute truth. I say his name, Chazz looked out from all a Sister's hair. "Baa, baa, baa," he said in a perfect lamb's voice. "Baa, baa, baa."

I didn't know what to say. Chazz grinned at me as did Sister Edith. "The Lord will provide," she finally proclaimed. "Tonight we start. Seven. In the chapel."

Then she nodded an' left, Chazz with her, I didn't mind him spenden time elsewhere as I had a headache from all th' strangeness an' needed to sleep. I got in a good three hour nap filled with th' damnedess dreams, what all I couldn't say they were so bizarre as to defy speech. But I woke up refreshed, Chazz by then had returned and nuzzled me again. A knock on th' door, Sister's voice, I was off to become th' Virgin Mary. Apart from wedden Donald DeVries an' haven plastic surgery on my chin, worst damn decision I ever made in my life, cher, was to walk through that door an' follow Sister to rehersal. You'll find out why soon enough.