by Hattie Mae
The sound of all their laughter was infectious Mansir found himself chuckling with them. Lord, it felt great.
“Well that had to be one of the scariest sights I've ever seen. I played tug-a-war with an alligator. Not one of the smartest things I've done.”
“Oh, that hurts,” Joelette said holding her side. “I haven't laughed that much in years. That sight will be hard to get out of my head.”
Mansir watched as the family around him enjoyed the moment, they all looked so happy. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was that happy in the life he’d left behind, the life he’d forgotten. It was time to go to town and find some answers.
“We better get going,” Joelette said, coming to her feet. She wiped the grass and debris off her backside. “T-Boy, cut the meat off the lines and Ozamae, help him gather them. I'll get the nets and crabs.”
Mansir stood. “I'll carry the crabs.”
###
The crab stew tasted as good as promised. The dark rich gravy was every bit as delicious as the gumbo MaeMae served him for his first meal.
The boys were a sight to behold. Their small fingers masterfully dug inside the crab bodies for the meat, pushing the pure white meat through and cracking and opening the claws for every morsel.
Joelette sat across from him, sucking the meat from a claw. He grinned. There wasn't any pretense at this table. It was messy eating, but delicious and worth the dripping fingers.
After the boys were tucked in bed, Joelette came out on the porch to join MaeMae and Mansir.
“This was a good day,” Mansir stretched out on the step with his back against the post. “I feared it near impossible to have a day filled with peace and laughter until my memory returned. But this day proved me wrong. Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“You’re welcome.” Joelette said.
“Who was on the phone?” MaeMae asked. “I heard it ring.”
Joelette sighed heavily. “T-Boy’s teacher. Looks like he's failing math.” She tossed her hands in the air. “I don't know where I'll get the money for a tutor.”
Mansir could see her agony. “Maybe I could help, I think I remember being good at math.” He shrugged. “Don’t remember my name, but I remember the Pythagorean Theorem. Did he bring his math book home? I could take a look.”
She stared at him then shook her head and answered. “How do you know you know the math that could help him?”
“I know it sounds strange, Joelette. I don't have any memories of my life but I remember how to do things. I was able to do something today that I am sure I've done before.” Mansir moved closer to her. “Please, allow me to be useful while I am here. I'm not helpless. I need something to do with my time.” Mansir put his hand on top of hers. Joelette snatched hers away as if it had been burned.
MaeMae's chair squeaked as she shifted on the cushions, and the smell of her pipe smoke drifted in the air.
“I'll get the math book. But this does not let you off the hook about the field. I need to get that cleared as soon as I can. I don't want to lose any of those beans.”
“I gave my promise. I will finish that field.”
“No promises,” Joelette whispered. Then she went inside.
MaeMae snuffed out her pipe and started to get up out of her chair but began coughing and sat back down. The coughing spell lasted just a few minutes, and left her panting for air.
Mansir, walked over and knelt beside her chair. “Are you alright?”
She caught her breath. “Yes, just a touch of bronchitis. Dr. Adam said I should move away from the water. The dampness gets in my chest. Someday, maybe. Now I'm tired.” She stood. “Goodnight, Mansir, and thank you.” MaeMae patted his face. “See you in the morning.”
Joelette stuck her head out the door. “I have the math book if you want to take a look. The light is much better in here at the table.”
Mansir moved inside to the table as she handed him the book.
“Please let me know if you can't do this, Mansir, so I can arrange a meeting with his teacher and have a paid tutor tomorrow.” She sat down in a rocker at the edge of the kitchen and waited.
Mansir looked through the book, flipping the pages. Lingering on a one page then another.
“This, I can do,” he said as he continued to look at the math book. Word problems, T-Boy is having trouble with word problems. It's simple reasoning. Once you learn that, the problems become easy.” Mansir set down the book.
Joelette nodded tightly. Though he wouldn’t claim to know her on any deep level, he knew that she’d believe it when she saw it and not a moment before.
“I'm going to turn in,” Joelette said softly.
Simple reasoning. That’s precisely what he needed. If he wrote down every little thing he remembered, then it would be a matter of deductive reasoning.
Mansir drummed his fingers on the math book and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Maybe he could find a way to make the problems relate to T-Boy's everyday world. That would take some planning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mansir sat up with a jolt. His head was still a little sore, but he felt stronger. He checked the clock radio on the bedside table, 6:15. Had he always been an early riser? He felt as if he had and it seemed his body and mind agreed. A smile crossed his face. He'd remembered something else about himself; a simple task, a routine from his past. His memory was returning, slowly, but returning.
Ozamae rushed into Mansir’s room. “I knew you were awake.”
“What are you doing in there Ozamae? We’ve already talked about this.” Joelette called from the kitchen door.
“Now we’re in trouble,” Mansir said as he picked up Ozamae.
The small boy rubbed the stubble on Mansir's face with his hands. “It's okay, she won't bite you even when she barks.”
“You mean her bark is worse than her bite.” Mansir laughed.
“Yeah, she doesn't bite. Hurry, breakfast is ready and MaeMae made Pain Perdu.” Plopping a kiss on Mansir's chin, Ozamae scurried away. “You can sit by me, okay?”
“She’s making what?” His question falling on deaf ears.
MaeMae’s cooking tantalized his nose. “Do you make anything that doesn't smell wonderful and taste twice as good?”
Mansir joined them. In the center of the table sat a platter of golden brown bread emitting a warm vanilla-and-spice scent. MaeMae started the platter around, followed by soft churned butter. The boys filled their plates and smeared the butter on the warm bread. Mansir noticed Joelette took one piece and a slice of ham with a couple slices of cheese. He took a bite of his own bread and nearly groaned. “What is this? MaeMae, it tastes great.”
“It's called Pain Perdu, which translates to lost bread. Some people call it French toast, but ours is made a little different. We add plenty of sugar, vanilla and nutmeg and fry the bread in butter. Pretty tasty, oui?” MaeMae said with a large smile on her face. “Of course it’s rich, so we only have it as a special treat, don't you know?”
“Well it’s worth every bite of richness.” He said turning to Joelette. “I plan to work in the field today, it’s been almost a week and I feel great. I think I’m ready.”
Joelette looked from him to MaeMae. “What do you think?”
MaeMae looked long and hard at Mansir. “If the man thinks he’s strong enough let him try.” Then she pointed a finger at him. “But have the good sense to stop if you get over heated or tired.”
“Yes ma'am, whatever you say.” Mansir reached for a couple of slices of cheese and poured himself a large glass of milk. “Do you want me to eat this on the way?”
“No, of course not. Just don't dally,” Joelette answered.
“Me, m'lady? I don't know how to dally. I don’t even know what that word means.”
Joelette excused herself from the table to prepare them a lunch. Mansir watched as she filled a cooler with ice water and a basket with food. She turned and locked eyes with him. A frown wrinkled her forehead.
“
I'll meet you in the tool shed. I need to get some tools for us. You boys help MaeMae today. Take advantage of your day off from school, T-Boy. After we get the undergrowth cleared out, both of you can help.” Kissing them on their heads, she smiled. “Later, alligator.”
“After while, crocodile,” Ozamae replied.
Mansir wrapped cheese in a slice of bread, then gulped down the last swallow of milk,. “Let's go.” For the first time in days he felt like a man, off to do a days work.
For most of the morning they sawed, pulled and piled scrub brush and vines.
“We'll burn these on a day that promises rain and only a little wind,” Joelette said.
Mansir watched Joelette's slender figure bend with each pull of a vine. Her jeans were well worn, faded and patched in a few places, but they molded to her gentle curves nicely. Her t-shirt was tucked into the waistband, and the muscles in her narrow back contracted with each motion.
Joelette straightened and glanced at Mansir leaning on his hoe. “Do we need to stop for a while and cool off?” she asked. “You look pale. You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“I don’t faint.” Mansir said
Joelette poured them each a glass of water. “This is going to take more time than I hoped. I don't know if we can finish before the planting season is over.” Her brow furrowed as she spoke, clearly concerned.
“You know this only represents a couple of hours work. Besides the boys can soon help. Or hinder,” he added with a smile, trying to lighten her mood.
But his attempt at a little humor didn’t change her expression. “Why don't we just break for lunch?” she suggested. “We can sit under my tree. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
She laid the quilt beneath the tree. They sat side-by-side, neither speaking while she dug around in the picnic basket. As she’d suggested, he was hungry, surprisingly so considering the size of his breakfast that morning.
“So what's for lunch?” he asked.
“I didn't fix us much, but it will fuel our bodies. A couple of fried egg sandwiches and cold potato pancakes.”
They ate in silence. And Mansir enjoyed the food and pondered the woman next to him.
Joelette was a captivating woman. She had a loving but firm hand she used to guide her sons, and a no-nonsense way she looked at life. He didn’t know if he came from money or was as hard working as she was, but he admired the way she made the most of every day, no matter what it held.
And though he hadn’t seen it nearly often enough, he found her smile utterly intoxicating. A smile that almost made the fact that he didn’t know who he was, fade into the background.
He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever felt like this about a woman? Was there another woman waiting for him somewhere? It seemed like if he loved some woman he’d still feel it somewhere inside him.
“What are you thinking about?” Joelette's voice broke him free from his thoughts. “You have a strange look on your face.”
“About my past. Wondering what I might have left behind, if there are people missing me.” He shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her touch through his sleeve. “You can talk it out. It might help, maybe shake some things loose.”
He eyed her for a moment before asking, “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
Joelette nodded.
She removed her hand leaving a noticeably empty spot on his shoulder. A broken connection.
Mansir lay back on the quilt. “I suppose it feels somewhat like I'm an empty shell, a body without insides. I try imagining a future, without a past.” He leaned up on one elbow. “It's scary, Joelette. I don't even have my own underwear and no means to buy any. Do you have any idea how it feels to wear another man's underwear, to go by a made up name, and to have no way to take care of myself? What kind of man does that make me?”
The sadness in Joelette's eyes stopped him. Holding eye contact a moment too long, he thought he saw concern flicker across her face. Or maybe it was pity? Mansir sat and stared at the work still waiting in the field.
“You asked. I bet you'll think twice about asking me what I'm thinking again.” His honesty had made her uncomfortable.
She reached over and placed her hand on his knee. “You make me sad.”
He couldn’t deny that more than anything he wanted to hold her in that moment, and for her to hold him. Not the way she held her boys to chase their fears away, but the way a woman held a man.
“I'm sorry I dumped this on you. Enough about me, let's talk about you.”
Joelette removed her hand and cleared her throat. “Yes I have, though perhaps not in the exact way you meant.”
“What?” Mansir answered confused.
“You asked if I'd worn anything second hand. My answer is yes, not underwear but everything else I've ever worn until I learned to sew. Even the house I live in is second hand. Everything I have, except my boys. They're all mine. I'm working on making enough money to give my boys education and a dream they can fulfill. Maybe a house of their own.”
“What's wrong with the house you live in?”
“Nothing, I love it. But it is MaeMae's house. Otis told me he owned it, but that was another lie. I have a small savings and it's growing. When this field produces, I know I'll make enough to buy a new second hand truck. This enables me to take my teas to another level.” Joelette stood and wiped her hands on her pants. “Back to work. This field won't clear itself.”
Mansir went back to work right along side her. They worked quietly for a while.
“Hey, Joelette, MaeMae, she done told me I could find you here with your helper,” a man’s voice said. He was a short, tan man with a thick Cajun accent, much more pronounced than MaeMae’s or Joelette’s. “Me, I went to town today and the Mouton sisters they told me about your helper, so I come see for myself.” He nodded his head to Joelette. “What you doing now, girl?”
“Mansir, meet Possum. Possum this is Mansir. He is helping me clear this field.”
“Hello, Possum, nice to meet you. Possum, the man on the houseboat, is that you’re given name?” Mansir asked.
The man wore a large warped straw hat cocked to one side and a huge smile. Dimples creased his cheeks, and his eyes were the same dark brown as Joelette's. He held out his hand to return the shake. “My given name is Raymond Sonnier. But if you call me that I won't answer, no not me. Everybody calls me Possum, every since I was a tiny bébe. Is Mansir your given name?”
Mansir grinned. “Yes it is, for now. A little boy named me.”
Possum kicked at a clump of dirt and looked over the field of undergrowth. “Can I help? The shrimp, they're not running too good this week. But if that cool front moves through, whoo-ee, that'll change. I’ll just sit back and watch the shrimp, they’ll be jumping in my boat. I'll have to wear goggles to keep the salt out of my eyes.” There was a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eyes.
“What do you say Cher?” Possum asked. “Come on, Joelette, give this old coon-ass something to do.”
Mansir liked this Cajun man, but he didn't like the way Possum looked at Joelette.
“I can't pay you. You know that, Possum,” Joelette said.
“Now you done it. You insult me.” He put his hand to his chest like she’d actually wounded him. “Did I ask you for pay? No, I don't think so.” The frown left his face as fast as it appeared, and the mischievous grin replaced it. “Unless you pay me in kisses. What you think, man?”
Joelette put her hands on her hips. “Possum, don't even start.” But she returned his smile, a genuine smile that lit up her face. Mansir couldn’t help but stare.
“Okay, how about a pot of shrimp gumbo. I need something to keep me warm tonight,” he said winking at Mansir.
Mansir wondered if there was something between them. Possum seemed nice enough. This was a man with something to offer. It sounded like he had a job and owned a house, sort of, even if it was on w
ater.
Mansir looked at the woman standing across from him smiling. He certainly held no claim on Joelette, and he certainly had nothing to offer her.
With a third pair of hands, the work went faster. Tired and sweaty, Mansir sighed in relief when Joelette called a halt on the day's work.
“Thanks, Possum. I'll drop off that gumbo later.” Joelette picked up the quilt and handed the jug of water to Mansir.
“I'll take the gumbo. The walk will do me good. You’re the one who lives right down the road, right?” Mansir asked.
“I would rather have beautiful Joelette deliver my dinner than your old long self.” A deep belly laugh shook Possum's whole body. “Just making some fun. Come on over. I'll show you my home,” Possum said. Then he waved goodbye, and walked down the road whistling.
“Hey Possum, see you Saturday night?” Joelette called.
“With bells on, Cher, with bells on,” he hollered back.
They walked in silence for a moment before Mansir asked, “Do you like him?”
“What do you mean do I like him? He's a very dear man. You saw him help us, all without expecting payment.”
Joelette wiped her face on her t-shirt she pulled free from her waist band.“ I need a bath. And so do you, your hair is no longer blonde but black with dirt. You have mud and sweat all over your face.” Joelette's chuckle rang through the breeze. “You look like a dirty, tired little boy.” He’d stopped walking to listen to all the words coming out of her mouth so she grinned, then said, “Coming?”
“You on the other hand m'lady, look great.” Mansir turned and walked toward the house.
It sure sounded as if Joelette and Possum had a date. But if they were so close why hadn't Possum been over?
Joelette's long stride kept up with Mansir.
“Where are you running to?” she asked.
“Maybe I'm not running to anything. Maybe I'm running away from something.”
He regretted that statement the minute he saw the look on her face. Her soft dark brown eyes widen and she nervously pulled at the ends of her hair. Annoyed with the way he handled the situation, he slowed his steps. She was beginning to relax around him. He’d meant it as a joke, the truth of the matter she didn’t know him and had no reason to trust him.