One Hundred Saints

by Yolanda Olson

  “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Monroe,” he replied in a bayou accent I knew too well. “Thank you for this, Miss.”

  The people here were always so kind and I hated to know that any of them struggled in anyway and if I didn’t do something about at least one of them, I’d probably lose sleep over it tonight.

  “My name is Emily St. Martin. Tonight before you go home, I want you to stop by the butcher’s shop in town. Can you do that for me, Monroe?” I asked, putting a hand on his frail, thin wrist. I used my Mama’s maiden name, just to be on the safe side.

  His golden brown eyes brimmed with tears and he nodded his head once. The beige fishing hat that sat on top of his head was as worn as his beautiful brown skin and I knew it was from working as hard as he did.

  Before I turned to go, I glanced around for a moment. “Monroe, do you know anything about the Lower Ninth Quarter?”

  “A little bit, Miss Emily,” he said, moving back behind his stand. “What’s a girl like you want with that place?”

  I sighed deeply. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted; if he was still alive, I wouldn’t go see him because it was too dangerous. If he wasn’t alive, I would be completely heartbroken. I wasn’t sure what to do anymore and it hadn’t even been a full day yet.

  “I had a friend that lived there before Katrina went through and destroyed it. Just wondering if there’s any chance he might still be alive,” I said quietly.

  “I don’t know Miss Emily. I wouldn’t count on it though,” Monroe said, woefully shaking his head. “Here. You leave that bag with me while you go around the market. My son will be here soon and he’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

  I smiled at him and let him take my lone luggage bag from me and hide it behind his stand. I liked him, but that was a fault I had and freely admitted too. Being too trusting was something Mama and Daddy always warned me about, but it had yet to bite me in the ass.

  I walked away from Monroe’s fresh fruit stand and walked down the rows of sellers. Some had meats and whole animals, others had vegetables; there were even some card readers and fortune tellers for anyone that came to New Orleans for that type of thing.

  Those folks always made me feel a little uneasy. Not the ones in the city center, but the ones that came to the markets. They weren’t flashy and they didn’t hide behind doors or curtains; they were out in the open and they always looked so serious. It wasn’t an act, I could tell. They firmly believed in themselves and that they had some kind of supernatural powers, so I always stayed away from them when I was a child.

  I spent the next hour walking from stall to stall, looking for anything else I could purchase before I went back to Monroe’s stand. He smiled when he saw me and told his son that I was the one who had given him “so much money.”

  “Thank you, ma’am!” the young boy said. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, and his big, bright smile and excited brown eyes made me laugh. “Papa said we’re going to eat good tonight because of you!”

  “Not just tonight, good sir. You make sure that you and your papa go by that butcher’s shop in town today before you go home. Can you remember to do that for me?” I asked, leaning down to talk to him.

  “Yes ma’am!” he exclaimed happily.

  “Here,” I said, opening my wallet and taking out a five dollar bill. “This is for you for doing such a good job with my bag.”

  The young boy immediately came forward to hug me tightly. I laughed again and put a hand on the back of his head and smiled at Monroe.

  “I have to go now, but I might be back tomorrow. You have a good day now,” I said as he pulled away and went back to his father to show him that he was now “rich.”

  They both waved at me as I walked away from their stall, bag of pineapples in one hand, and rolling luggage in the other. I needed to find a place to stay for the night, since my parents were obviously mad at me.

  As I made my way back toward the street, I saw something peculiar. I saw a tall man crouched in an alley with an animal struggling to get away from him. His face was angled down, the shadows hiding his upper body, and I could hear him softly saying some kind of chant or whatever, before he drew a thick blade across the animal’s throat and held its neck over a small bucket.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt and from what I could see that he had markings all over his arms, and I winced wondering how long that must have taken, and how painful it must’ve been. I figured him to be one of the locals that supplied the supernatural folk and I stopped for a brief moment to watch him curiously. When he slowly turned his head toward me from the shadows, I lowered my head and walked away as quickly as I could.

  He chuckled at my gesture of what could be considered submission and fear, and it was the last thing I heard before I disappeared around the corner from the marketplace.

  Three

  I was walking out of the butcher’s shop about thirty minutes later and glanced up at the sky. The sun looked like it was going to start descending over the horizon soon so I really needed to find a place to stay for the night. With as much as I loved this city, I knew that it could be as dangerous as it was beautiful and I had no plans on becoming a statistic.

  I wandered down the main street in town looking for a hotel to stay in when I came across a homeless man begging for money on the street. I watched for a moment, how people walked by him like he didn’t exist, until I had finally had enough and walked over to him to hand him a small wad of cash. I wasn’t sure how much I gave him, but I hoped it would be enough for him to have a meal and possibly a roof over his head for a day or two.

  Around the corner from where I found him was a small hotel that I hoped had a vacancy. Once Mardi Gras came along, tourists flocked here to indulge in that sin that Daddy always warned us about.

  I quickly crossed the street and walked toward the heavy wooden door, pulling it open. Inside was a smoky haze and I almost left, but the danger lurking out in the dark corners of the New Orleans nightlife, made me walk up to the counter.

  “Yeah?” the gruff old man behind the counter barked.

  “Do you have any rooms?” I asked evenly. If I let on any hint of fear or self-doubt, he would catch on and charge me much more than he should. The way he looked me up and down told me that he was going to try regardless.

  “I got one left. But why a pretty girl like you wanna stay here?” he asked incredulously.

  “Because I can,” I replied, undoing the strap from my wrist and putting my wallet on the counter. “Now may I please pay for the room and have a key?”

  He grunted and shook his head slightly, before he pulled out a decrepit clipboard and told me to fill out my information. When I got to the first part that asked my name, I decided to use an alias. I didn’t think this the kind of place that would ask for identification and I was paying cash anyway, so I was pretty sure it didn’t matter what I put down.

  Ten minutes later, I slid the clipboard back toward him and put the pen down, waiting for him to look it over and tell me how much he wanted for the room.

  “Isabelle Valot?” he asked, looking up at me with curious eyes. I felt sheepish for a moment because I had used Grimm’s last name, but I didn’t know what else to put down.

  “That’s right. Now how much?” I asked, unzipping my wallet.

  “I haven’t seen a Valot in years,” he mused to himself. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I knew that if this opened up to a line of questioning, I would crack under the pressure. I was never any good at lying.

  “You’re money is no good here, Miss Isabelle,” he said suddenly, waving me off. “You’re in room thirty seven. Here’s the key. You have any trouble you come to me, Robert.”

  I bit my lip and looked at Robert. I was beginning to feel guilty because he was willing to give me a free room over a name that wasn’t even mine.

  “I wasn’t born a Valot,” I confessed softly. “Please tell me how much the room is.”

  “Who you m
arried to then?” His curious question came out with a thicker Cajun accent than when he first spoke.

  It was also that question that made me realize that in all of the years that I had spent secretly traversing the city’s darkest streets and alleys with Grimm, I had no idea what his real first name was. It had never dawned on me to ask him because all I had ever known him by was what he had introduced himself to me as.

  “There’s only one Valot I know of that’s still alive,” he said, his voice becoming thoughtful. “Far as I know, he never took a wife.”

  “A male Valot?” I inquired excitedly.

  “Yeah, it’s a male. He don’t have no wife that I know of,” Robert said crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at me through narrowed eyes.

  He never took a wife. Maybe it’s Grimm after all!

  A small shock wave went through my body at the new found knowledge that Grimm had survived the hurricane’s destruction.

  “That goes to show how much you know,” I quipped. “But you know what? I agree with you; a Valot’s money is no good here. Give me the key and keep it quiet in this place. I need to get some rest.”

  With those words, I snatched the key he grudgingly held out to me, spun on my heel, and walked down the dimly lit hallway. Each room was numbered out of order, so it took me a bit to find number thirty seven. I slid the key into the keyhole and unlocked the door, pushing it open, and almost getting knocked over by the stale smell of cigarettes and sweat. This room hadn’t been aired out in a long time and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep in here very well. I dropped the room key and my wallet onto my bed while I debated checking out already.

  I looked around the room and decided my luggage bag might be safest inside the small refrigerator in the room. I walked over to and pulled the plug out of the wall socket behind it, before opening the door and pulling the shelves out. I got up and went over to the inside of the door where I had left the bag and with a sigh, brought it to the refrigerator and crammed it in. It took a few tries to get the door to stay closed, but I eventually managed it.

  As I started to stand up, I lost my balance and almost fell onto the dirty carpet, but managed to catch myself on the top of the sturdy wooden box that had encased the fridge. I rolled my eyes; only I would be able to lose my balance for no reason and almost face plant onto the dirtiest carpet I had ever seen in my life.

  I wiped my hands on the sides of my legs, and then went over to the bed to retrieve my wallet and the key to the room. It went without saying that there wouldn’t be any food in this hotel and I wouldn’t be able to eat anything in this dingy room even if I had it delivered.

  I stepped into the dimly lit hallway and pulled the door closed firmly behind me, locking it. I was about one hundred and ten percent sure that Robert wouldn’t have any menus at the front desk, but he might at least be able to point me in the right direction.

  The smell of incense grew heavier the closer to the front desk I got, but I welcomed the powerful scent. It was strong enough to cleanse my senses of the dirty room I had just spent maybe ten minutes in.

  When the desk was in my line of sight, I noticed that Robert was missing from his station so I walked over and gently tapped the old golden bell that sat on the counter. I let out a sigh as I leaned an arm on it, waiting for him, or anyone really to appear.

  It was right before I was about to tap the bell again that I heard the mumbled sounds of prayer. I hadn’t heard it at first because it seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.

  “Hello?” I called out gently.

  I was greeted by the sound of something resembling a baton hitting the top of a drum, and then the praying stopped. Less than a minute later Robert emerged from the back room with a tired look in his eyes.

  “Yes, Miss Isabelle?” he asked, resting his hands on the counter.

  “Um, I was wondering if you knew of any good places to eat around here,” I replied nervously removing my arm from the counter top.

  “There’s a good Cajun restaurant a few streets down. Go out onto the street and take a left out the door. Walk down a few blocks and walk across the street. You’ll see it just fine.”

  “Thank you,” I replied softly as I walked quickly out of the lobby. I felt his eyes on me until I disappeared out of sight and I wondered if I should go back at all. Something about him wasn’t right and I just didn’t know what it was.

  Four

  It was around seven o’clock the next morning when I woke up. I had decided to stuff myself full of “Louisiana’s best gumbo” as it was advertised, go back to the hotel, barricade the door with the only chair in the room, and sleep in the tub. It was the one thing I was able to wash myself, so I knew it would be clean enough to sleep in. I didn’t count on the major stiff neck I would wake up with, but it was okay with me because at least I woke up.

  I didn’t even bother brushing my teeth; I went to my bag, retrieved some fresh clothes, took a quick shower, and left the key on the front counter as I exited Robert’s hotel.

  I figured I could go back to the fresh air market and talk to Monroe and see if he knew of any better accommodations in town. And while I was there, I’d buy another round of pineapples for breakfast since I didn’t end up eating the ones I had bought the day before. One step into that hotel room and I could only imagine what kind of bacteria had migrated to them.

  I sighed as I made the trek, the humidity starting to pick up, which was a little unusual for March. I somehow managed to open my bag as I walked and pulled out a hair tie, then pulled my long brown hair back into a loose ponytail. It wouldn’t do much to satiate the heat, but it would do enough for now.

  As I turned toward the alley that led to the open market, I smiled when I saw Monroe’s son running around the stalls. It looked like he was trying to barter with other merchants, but I was too far away to tell.

  “Hey!” I called out as I neared the row of stalls. Monroe wasn’t at his stall that that moment, so I assumed his son would be the one handling any business for him until he appeared. It seemed unusual to me for someone so young to be given such a responsibility, but I was sure that if he wasn’t trustworthy, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to trade and sell in his father’s place.

  The young boy was only wearing a pair of jeans with rolled cuffs; barefoot and shirtless. It made me wonder if that’s because he was most comfortable that way or if because his family needed clothes.

  Careful Emmie; you can’t save everyone, my subconscious warned.

  He glanced over at the sound of my voice and came running toward me with a big, happy smile on his face, and his arms opened wide. I laughed at how happy he was to see me; not in a cruel way, but in a way that told him that I was just as happy to see him.

  “Hi ma’am!” he yelled happily as he crashed against me, wrapping his thin arms around my waist.

  “You can call me Emily if you’d like,” I replied, while returning his tight hug. “You never did tell me your name, though.”

  Monroe’s son pulled back, arms still around me, and looked up at me with that big smile. “My name is James.”

  “That’s a good strong name,” I remarked, as he pulled away. “Where’s your Papa, James?”

  “He’s not feeling good today. Mama will be along soon but I told them I could help until she got here,” he explained.

  “Is he okay?” I asked curiously.

  “Ate too much steak last night,” he replied with a gleam in his eye.

  I smiled again. It seemed they hadn’t forgotten to go by the butcher’s shop after all. I was happy that I had done something nice for them. I was usually a very good judge of character and I really liked Monroe and James.

  The longer we stood there just smiling at each other in silence, the more I wanted to ask him to do something for me. I would pay him for his trouble of course, but I was really hoping to ask Monroe first if it would be okay with him. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be coming to the market today from the sound of it and
I didn’t really want to wait any longer than I had to.

  “James, you know when I was about your age, I had a really good friend. I haven’t seen him in a long time, but I think he survived Katrina because of something that was said to me yesterday,” I said slowly.

  “Oh, that’s a dangerous place, Miss Emily. That Lower Ninth Ward? It’s hard to get into and even harder to look around,” he replied, shaking his head.

  I sighed. At this point, if he was weary of where I was going to ask him to go, then chances were no amount of money would change his mind. It was probably for the best.

  “You think he’s there?” he asked curiously.

  “That’s where he lived,” I replied softly.

  “You want me to go find him?” James prompted.

  “No. Not if it’s dangerous. I don’t want you to be in a bad place where something could happen to you.”

  James shook his head firmly, “Miss Emily, you helped my Papa. You made sure we could eat for a long time; I can do this for you if you want. Tell me what he look like.”

  I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my chest. I wasn’t exactly sure what he would look like now; I only remembered the boy I knew. Also, I was having serious second thoughts about James being so young and going alone to a “dangerous” place.

  “What’s his name, Miss Emily?” he pressed.

  “I don’t want you to go; not alone. And I want to talk to your Mama first and make sure she’s okay with it.”

  “Aw, Miss! My Mama don’t need to know! I’ll get some of my friends to go with me! I got older friends that always want to go out there. We’ll be just fine,” he declared, giving my suggestion a dismissive wave.

  “I can’t tell you what he looks like now; only what I remember, is that enough?” I asked softly. James nodded and crossed his arms over his chest waiting for a description and a name. “He had dark blonde, long hair when I saw him last. Big blue eyes, skin tanned by the time he spent fishing out under the Louisiana sun. He never really smiled, but he always did with me. I think he would be about this tall now,” I said, holding a hand up above my head, “and he answered to the name Grimm. He was my very good and only friend, really.”