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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
my guitar and go down to the beach, have us a party?
I d better get home, Estelle said. I have to paint in the morning.
You a painter? I never knowed me a painter. What you say we go down
to the beach and watch us a sunrise?
Wrong coast, Estelle said. The sun comes up over the mountains.
Catfish laughed. See, you done saved me a heap of waiting already.
Let s you and me go down to the beach.
No, I can t.
It cause I m Black, ain t it?
No.
Cause I m old, right?
No.
Cause I m bald. You don t like old bald men, right?
No! Estelle said.
Cause I m a musician. You heard we irresponsible?
No.
Cause I m hung like a bull, right?
No! Estelle said.
Catfish laughed again. Well, you wouldn t mind spreadin that one
around town just the same, would you?
How would I know how you re hung?
Well, Catfish said, pausing and grinning, you could go to the beach
with me.
44 / Christopher Moore
You are a nasty and persistent old man, aren t you, Mr. Jefferson? Es-
telle asked.
Catfish bowed his shining head, I truly am, miss. I truly am nasty and
persistent. And I am too old to be trouble. I admits it. He held out a long,
thin hand. Let s have us a party on the beach.
Estelle felt like she d just been bamboozled by the devil. Something
smooth and vibrant under that gritty old down-home shuck. Was this the
dark shadow her paintings kept finding in the surf?
She took his hand. Let s go to the beach.
Ha! Catfish said.
Mavis pulled a Louisville Slugger from behind the bar and held it out
to Estelle. Here, you wanna borrow this?
They found a niche in the rocks that sheltered them from the wind. Cat-
fish dumped sand from his wing tips and shook his socks out before laying
them out to dry.
That was a sneaky old wave.
I told you to take off your shoes, Estelle said. She was more amused
than she felt she had a right to be. A few sips from Catfish s pint had kept
the cheap white wine from going sour in her stomach. She was warm,
despite the chill wind. Catfish, on the other hand, looked miserable.
Never did like the ocean much, Catfish said. Too many sneaky things
down there. Give a man the creeps, that s what it does.
If you don t like the ocean, then why did you ask me to come to the
beach?
The tall man said you like to paint pictures of the beach.
Lately, the ocean s been giving me a bit of the creeps too. My paintings
have gone dark.
The Lust Lizard Of Melancholy Cove / 45
Catfish wiped sand from between his toes with a long finger. You think
you can paint the Blues?
You ever seen Van Gogh?
Catfish looked out to sea. A three-quarter moon was pooling like mercury
out there. Van Gogh& Van Gogh& fiddle player outta St. Louis?
That s him, Estelle said.
Catfish snatched the pint out of her hand and grinned. Girl, you drink
a man s liquor and lie to him too. I know who Vincent Van Gogh is.
Estelle couldn t remember the last time she d been called a girl, but she
was pretty sure she hadn t liked hearing it as much as she did now. She
said, Who s lying now? Girl?
You know, under that big sweater and them overalls, they might be a
girl. Then again, I could be wrong.
You ll never know.
I won t? Now that is some sad stuff there. He picked up his guitar,
which had been leaning on a rock, and began playing softly, using the surf
as a backbeat. He sang about wet shoes, running low on liquor, and a wind
that chilled right to the bone. Estelle closed her eyes and swayed to the
music. She realized that this was the first time she d felt good in weeks.
He stopped abruptly. I ll be damned. Look at that.
Estelle opened her eyes and looked toward the waterline where Catfish
was pointing. Some fish had run up on the beach and were flopping around
in the sand.
You ever see anything like that?
Estelle shook her head. More fish were coming out of the surf. Beyond
the breakers, the water was boiling with fish jumping and thrashing. A
wave rose up as if being pushed from underneath. There s something
moving out there.
Catfish picked up his shoes. We gots to go.
Estelle didn t even think of protesting. Yes. Now.
46 / Christopher Moore
She thought about the huge shadows that kept appearing under the waves
in her paintings. She grabbed Catfish s shoes, jumped off the rock, and
started down the beach to the stairs that led up to a bluff where Catfish s
station wagon waited. Come on.
I m comin . Catfish spidered down the rock and stepped after her.
At the car, both of them winded and leaning on the fenders, Catfish was
digging in his pocket for the keys when they heard the roar. The roar of a
thousand phlegmy lions equal amounts of wetness, fury, and volume.
Estelle felt her ribs vibrate with the noise.
Jesus! What was that?
Get in the car, girl. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
