by Jerry Brown
The tenuous bridge was threatened when Bowman mused that Davis would be a misfit in today's world. Flint reacted with indignation. Bowman attempted to soften his remark with the explanation that, while Davis was the man of the hour in his day, his strong sense of character and inflexible principles would doom him in modern politics and commerce.
He recalled that Flint's face had reddened and his body stiffened, but there was no change in the tone of his voice. "You're wrong! I know because I share his sense of character and principle. It is the way I live my life. People might not understand, but once you impress on them what you are and where you stand, they accept you and respect you for it."
In the interest of a continuing relationship, Bowman reacted only with a smile and a "perhaps, you're right."
Following his recollection, Bowman commented to his friend. "I guess you'll be going by Rosemont?" "Yeah, I usually stop by and see if they have any new books in." "In that case, I'll look forward to seeing you Wednesday afternoon."
Chapter 14
The shadows of the trees had only just begun to shorten when Bowman spotted Emrick walking toward him in his youthful springy gait. It was much earlier than he usually dropped by. As soon as he neared Emrick said, "Who was dat fella askin' 'round 'bout you yesterday?"
"What did he look like?" "I don' know. He din' talk to me. He was askin' some other mens - they tole Mama, 'cause dey knew I was spendin' time over here an' she tole me."
"It was a police detective who works in New Orleans, but he grew up around here."
"He gone carry you to jail?"
"No, he offered me a job."
"You gone be a police?"
"No, they just want a little help on a case. I told him I wasn't interested, but he'll be back in a couple of days."
"What kinda fellow is he? They said he was mean talkin'."
"He's really not mean, he is just kinda direct and pushy. Police in the big city learn to be that way. But I don't think you'd like him. In fact, I'm sure you wouldn't. Things that bother you, he wouldn't have any appreciation for. Come to think of it I don't think either of ya'll would like one another at all."
"He don't lak black folks, huh?"
"No, I don't think race has anything to do with it," Bowman said as he thought how to avoid explaining how repugnant Emricks' lifestyle and idleness would be to someone as inflexible as Flint.
As he considered his thoughts, he made his way over and sat on the roots of a large oak tree and leaned back against the trunk. Emrick seated himself close by. "What kinda things do he like to do for goodness sakes?"
Bowman eased his head against the tree. "Now that you asked, I'm not sure I know. I do know that he reads a lot. He likes to hunt and tramp around the woods when he visits his mother up here. When he's home, I imagine he works night and day then spends all of his spare time with his family. He's very intense about everything he does. Unfortunately, he's not like you, he doesn't smile very much." He turned his head to Emrick. "Everything to him is either good or bad, either absolutely right or wrong. There's no in between. Do you understand what I'm sayin'?"
"You' right, I don' think I'd like him at all."
"Oh, you probably wouldn't dislike him, once you got to know him, but you would never understand him and he wouldn't understand you. That's all I'm saying." He returned his head against the tree. "Let me think of a better way to explain it. If they had a contest and gave away a big long Cadillac car and you won it, what would you do?"
Emrick crooked his elbows over his knees. "Well, first thing I'd do is get somebody like you to teach me how to drive it. Den I'd go sit in it in front of Florence's house and den I'd blow de horn 'til she comes out; and den I'd take her for a ride all aroun' town, jes kinda showin' off, you know. Den I'd either drive it to Detroit and look for my daddy or I'd go visit my cousin, Ben, in that gamblin' town."
"Well, you see, Flint wouldn't do any of those things. He probably wouldn't even take the car home. He probably wouldn't even tell his wife or his daughters that he won it. The first thing he would do is sell the car and then take the money to the bank and just let it sit there."
"You kiddin'?"
"No, I'm not, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what he would do."
"He mus' be crazy. Don' he believe in havin' fun?"
"Not the same way you do, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't enjoy himself. For example, he likes to read history and understand things that happened in the past. The place you play your music was a location of a famous site as far back as five hundred years ago. He could probably sit up here and talk to us for an hour about what went on up there."
"I don' care nothin' 'bout what happen way back then."
"Right, you just care about privacy and the chance to play your music there. The place is important to both of you, but for different reasons."
Bowman became aware of the heat and noticed the tree was no longer shading them. Stains grew in the armpits of his blue workshirt. He stood and pulled the tail of the shirt from his jeans as he looked over to Emrick who seemed unaffected by the heat. "Let's go walkin' toward the river. Maybe we can find a breeze somewhere.” As they walked alongside one another on the shoulder of the blacktop road, Bowman continued. "Flint belongs to a hunting club somewhere around here. It's probably nothin' but a shack out in the middle of nowhere with mice runnin' around everywhere and with a fireplace in it. Now, when it is cold and rainy and in deer season, he likes to go there. Let's just say he invited us to go up there with him."
"I wudn' go."
"Well, I wouldn't either, but just to understand how different all of us are, let's just say that we went. Now it's cold and rainin' outside, we just ate somethin' and are full as a tick. You and I would probably sit up half the night puttin' wood on the fire havin' a good time talkin' and listenin' to you playin' your music. Flint wouldn't be up with us. He'd've done the dishes as soon as he finished eatin'. Long before light, he'd try to get us up to go out in the cold and rain to shoot a deer. Neither one of us would go."
"Damn right, fool's crazy!"
"No, he's not, just different from us. Anyway, when he came back, we would either still be asleep or sittin' in front of the fire keepin' warm and watchin' the sparks jump."
"Right."
"Okay, he would be screamin' to us to come out and see the fine deer he just shot and probably want us to stand in the rain while he cleaned the carcass and told us every little detail about where he was sittin', how the deer looked comin' up and things like that."
"He wudn' be tellin' me none of that shit 'cause I'd be in front of 'at fire. My mama din' raise no fool," he said with pouted lips.
Emrick took the lead bearing away from the road toward a thicket where the pathway up the back of the hill was hidden. When they reached the path Bowman stopped and caught his breath. When they began walking again, he picked up his comments where he had ended. "That's right. Well, I'd probably go out there and listen to him because I'd know he was excited and wanted to share what happened and I wouldn't want to hurt his feelin's. I'd have to stay way over to the side so I wouldn't have to look in those big ol' deer eyes or smell the carcass, but I'd probably stand out there with him. Now later he would want to have some of that venison for lunch."
Emrick's eyes lighted up. "Now, you talkin' bout somethin' I could get into. One of mama's friends sometimes gives us some a dat and I'm tellin' you tha's good eatin'."
"Right, but you see that's where I'm crazy because I couldn't eat any of it. While ya'll would be stuffin' your face and makin' fun of me, I'd have to eat some sardines or potted meat."
"You mean you'd turn down venison for potted meat or sardines, Man, you the one's crazy."
"I know, but I just couldn't eat it and that's the point. Different doesn't have to be bad and very often it isn't. "
"What does he look like? When I see him comin' I think I'll head the other way."
"He's a tall guy, about my height with black hair cut high on the sides and bu
shy eyebrows. His arms and legs are both real long. He probably weighs about the same as I do, but most of his weight is in his chest and his stomach. He would be hard to beat in a fight because he would keep you away from him until he got a good hold of you and with that weight, he'd wear you down pretty quick."
"How would you go about handlin' him in a fight?"
"I'd probably just run because he doesn't look like he's in good enough shape to catch me, but I wouldn't be fightin' him in the first place. He's not mean and I'm not either. We could talk things out, but more'n likely we'd end up agreein' to disagree. But I'll tell you one thing - if I got into a fight, I'd love to have him with me because he would be there until both of us lost or both of us won. There aren't a lot of folks I can say that about. Him, he'd be there. Without a doubt."
"Sheeit, Bowman, big as you are, you wudn' run from nobody!"
"You got that wrong, Baby, but we talked about that before."
"I dun tole you not to call me, Baby."
"That's right, you did. Sorry."
Arriving at the crest of the hill, Emrick as if on impulse quickly climbed limbs of the tree leading to a wooden platform. Taking a seat and dangling his feet over the side, he looked down at Bowman sitting beneath the tree and said, "You din' tell me what you would do with that Cadillac," Emrick reminded him.
"I'd probably would sell it like Flint." Bowman replied, looking up at Emrick.
"Then you'd put it in the bank and let it sit there?" Emrick asked.
"Probably put it in the bank, but I wouldn't let it sit there. I'd probably use it as a down payment on a big sail boat, one that could sail way out in the Gulf.” Emrick jerked his head to one side and stared at Bowman in disbelief. “I can see the question in your eye," Bowman added. "Yeah, completely out of sight from land."
"Now I know, you the craziest one of all."
"Em, you're probably right there."
Bowman dropped his head. Silence overtook them both, then Emrick spoke. "Answer me somethin' else. Why ain't you gone take the job?" Em asked.
"Because I think it would be a waste of my time," Bowman answered.
"Why? They gone pay you, ain't they?"
"If I didn't do any good, I wouldn't take their money. That's not the way I work. I'd ask them for more than they're willin' to pay. If I solve the case, I get a good payday. If I don't, I take nothin'," Bowman explained.
"It's sorta like gamblin' ain't it?"
"I never thought of it that way. I always kinda thought of it as keepin' myself honest and lookin' on the pay as a prize for working hard. I like myself better that way."
"Well, if you wuz to take the job, when would you go?" Emrick asked as he adjusted himself to lay on his stomach and rested his chin on the platform.
"If I was to go, I would leave Monday mornin' which is probably when I'm goin' to leave anyway."
"Well, if you don't take the job, where you goin' to go?" Emrick asked.
"Em, I'm not goin' to take the job. I may go back to Gulfport or I may go visit my friend up north. I just don't know yet," Bowman answered with a trace of exasperation."
"Well, if you wuz to take the job in New Awlins, how long would you stay?"
"If I was to take the job, which I'm not, it would be for two weeks. Now you tell me why you are suddenly so interested and askin' so many questions?"
"Cause if you did take the job and it started next week and it wasn't but for two weeks, Mama would probably let me go with you." Em blurted out, his face positively contorted by a grin.
Bowman looked down at his lap and shook his head. "You're just daydreamin'. There's no way in the world your mother would let you go to New Orleans. It's a big city and there's a lot of devilment going on. You already told me that she's been there. So she knows. There's no way she would agree with that. Tell you what, if you just want to go somewhere, I'll take you to Gulfport for a few days, if your mother agrees." Bowman offered.
"Don't want to go to no Gulfport, I wanna go to a big city."
"How would you talk your mother into that, by pouting?" Bowman asked facetiously.
"Would if I had to, but I don' have to. My cousin Ben's comin' next week to visit my auntee for a spell. Mama don't like for us to hang together. If I bring it up a few times that Ben's comin' and ask Aunt Ida about Las Vegas in front of my mama and then I just happen to mention that you might be goin' to work in New Orleans for a couple weeks, Mama will axe you to take me. She likes you and she liked the Clark's. She'll axe you!" Em said as he cocked his head to the right and looked down his nose at Bowman.
Bowman was taken aback. He said: "Em, I owe you an apology. I felt like you were smart, but I have to admit I didn't know how clever you really are. He rose to his feet and hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans, pulling them higher. He looked back at Emrick. “I'll tell you what I'll do. Flint will be comin' back by here tomorrow afternoon. If your mother was to ask me to take you with me and the police will agree to provide you with a place to stay, I'll take the job. But you'll have to make me some promises. The main one is you'll have to do exactly what I tell you when we get to New Orleans. It can be a very dangerous place and I'm goin' to have to concentrate on my work. I'll have to know exactly where you are and what you're doing every minute. Your mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you."
Em's face filled with a smile and there was a trace of tearing in his eyes as he began to descend from the tree. "You're not going to play me some tunes?" Bowman asked.
Emrick returned to the platform, playing four songs Bowman had never heard him play before. He questioned him about them. Emrick did not know the names of the songs, but he had merely heard them sometime in the past and played them by ear.
Following the recital, the men walked together on the pathway and alongside the paved road. Bowman began to focus on the work at hand. When they reached the lawn of the old house, he bade his friend good-bye and went directly to the kitchen where he sat down at the table and picked up the stack of papers Flint had left him. He was aware of the change in his mood, more an uneasiness. He found the artist's rendering grotesque, but that was not what was gnawing at him. It was a sense of losing control of his life to the manipulation of others. Then, just as suddenly, he decided that he was being silly. After all, he was aware of what was happening and had a share in fomenting it. Maybe it was just uneasiness with the impending change - perhaps that was it.
He dropped the material on the metal kitchen table, resolving to awaken early and study it more intensely over coffee. He slept a deep sleep for the first time since coming to the old house.
The next morning he arose early and, while the coffee was perking, read the material carefully. Later he pondered all he had read while unconsciously sipping the brew. He reread various sections of the material, reserving for last the page to which his attention was naturally drawn, the artist's rendering of the designs carved into the back of the torso. His inclination, or hope, was that if a key existed, it would lie there. The only character representing anything vaguely meaningful to him were the swastikas on the sides of each buttock. They were not in the customary Nazi rendering - not slanted on axis and bent clockwise - but were rather flat and counterclockwise. That could have great meaning, or none whatsoever. If there was a racial connotation, could such an ignorant person be expected to know the difference? He forced these thoughts aside and considered the drawings as a whole. The figures were apparently patterned and symmetrical, but so primitive and loosely formed as to be unidentifiable. Was it merely the distortions caused by the point of a knife being used as a brush or the pliable skin serving as a canvas that made the figure so unintelligible, or was there simply no sense to be made of it?
There were no upside down crosses, no 666's and no pentagrams, he noted. Surely, it all had meaning, but what or to whom?
He mused that one could become hopelessly lost in a maze of speculation on symbolism.
The center of the mutilation was dominated by a sin
gle figure, which appeared at first glance to be a stick figure rendering. A drawing one would expect from a young disturbed child, concentration on a head and face dominated by a frown, anger-filled eyes, with little attention to or absence of hands and feet.
He placed the drawing with the remainder of the report and took his coffee outside, turning his thoughts to items in the report that had especially caught his attention. The forensic report indicated that death probably occurred in the afternoon on Fat Tuesday.
Wouldn't Satanists or Voodooists conduct their rituals at night? Who knows? There were no drugs or foreign elements in the blood of the victim. Several foot sweeps were made by the forensic team, covering every square foot of the northeastern portion of the park. No evidence was found of a ritual altar, grass trampled by a group or fire ashes. There were no homeless campsites discovered which may have provided a potential witness.
He withdrew from his thoughts as he caught sight of Emrick coming toward him. His pace was little more than a saunter, but there was even more liveliness in his gait than usual.
"You're up and over this way early this mornin'," Bowman said cheerfully. "Florence must have made you a promise."
Em's shook his head and grinned. He touched the bill of his cap with his hand and tilted his head back placing his hands in each back pocket. "No, Mama wants you to go by Miz Sarah's house this morning."
"You must of brought up your cousin Ben last night."
"Come to think of it I did," Em said. His smile again became so broad that his eyes teared.