A Savage Wisdom

by Norman German

  “Get out the sun! How you ‘spect it to do in the shade, fool?” The men couldn’t decide whether it was cooler with their hats on, shading their faces, or off, using them as fans.

  The foolish man moved back enough for Annie to see the halves of an eggshell on the walk, the yolk gaping at the burning sky.

  “Two more minutes,” said a man shouldering his coat. Annie and Harold paused. Thirty seconds later, a heavy-set man swabbing his brow and face with a handkerchief while avoiding the cigar jammed in his mouth, said, “That’s it! Told you it wouldn’t take no ten minutes for that thang to skin over. It’s hot as a fryin’ pan out here. Pay up and let’s get in the shade. Damn fools.”

  Some of the streets they walked on were paved with bricks. Annie looked at the wrought-iron balconies. Pairs of faceless nuns glided by dressed in black. Annie marveled at how cool they looked. She tried to imagine herself in their habits. Where were they going in the heat of the day? What would they do when they got there? How did they decide on such a life?

  Around every corner, there was a cathedral or a movie house. Some of the cathedrals opened their doors temptingly, exposing cool interiors. The signs on the theaters competed with the churches. “Take in a matinee. Twenty degrees cooler inside. First feature 2:15.” Annie looked across the street. Two thermometers registered ninety-eight and ninety-five.

  At St. Louis Cemetery Number 1, Nevers showed her the grave of Marie Laveau. During antebellum nights, the mulatta voodoo queen hypnotized her customers with a black snake named Zombi. She convinced more than one skeptic of her infernal powers by pretending to conjure secrets she had learned from them by day in her other guise as a hairdresser. After mothering twelve children, she lost six in the 1832 yellow fever epidemic.

  “I guess her voodoo wasn’t powerful enough to save them,” Nevers remarked after telling the story.

  Next, the amblers bought two lemonades from a street vendor and sat on an iron bench encircling an oak tree with a whitewashed trunk.

  “Let’s sit out the heat in that theater.” Annie pointed. “How’s it pronounced?”

  “Like ‘low.’ Loews State.” Harold glanced at his watch. “Sounds good to me. We’ll just make the matinee if we hurry.”

  When Annie walked into the lobby of the Loews State Theater, her mouth dropped open. She didn’t know where to look first: up, at the massive chandelier, or down, at its luxuriant, baroque carpets, or all around, at the marble columns and curving staircase a queen might descend at any moment. The interior of the movie palace looked like a cross between the Vatican and a millionaire’s mansion at Christmas. The auditorium’s plush seats and cool darkness revived Annie, and by the time Jezebel was over, she was ready to attack New Orleans again.

  The two walked a block down Canal. Annie heard the sound of firecrackers growing louder as they neared the intersection at University Place.

  “Shoeshine boys,” Harold replied to Annie’s questioning frown. After they had crossed the street, Annie watched three boys working on their customers by the entrance of the Roosevelt Hotel. The lone black boy finished first and looked at Harold.

  “Step right up, mister.” Nevers had not intended to get his shoes polished, but the boy charmed his foot onto the sole-shaped platform of his box before he could say no.

  “Yes sir, mistah, I sho is glad you stopped. I been watching you for fi-six days now. These the finest shoes on or off Canal, musta cost fifty dollah, huh?” The boy had already swabbed black paste onto the shoe.

  “Whoa there, podnah,” Harold said. “I like to get to know the man that handles my intimate articles of clothing. What’s your name?”

  Looking up, the boy rapidly worked the polish into Harold’s shoe with a brush and never even grazed his socks.

  “Name Daar-nell. Wha’ chore name?” During the whole conversation, his name was the only word Darnell said slowly.

  “Hapscomb,” Nevers said. “But my friends call me Happy.”

  “Well, Mr. Happy, I sho is glad you stopped. These the finest shoes I seen in two-three months, ain’t that so, Beanie Boy?”

  The boy who had not yet acquired another customer glanced indifferently at Harold’s shoes.

  “I seen better,” he said.

  “Not this week, you hain’t. And probbly not this year.” The boy whipped a rag from his back pocket and began rubbing the shoe. “Don’t pay him no mind, Mr. Happy. His momma say he constipated all the time’s what make him so ornery.” He released one end of the cloth. It popped across the shoe with a loud report and faster than Annie could see how he did it, he had the rag around the back of the shoe and buffed it a couple of times, then snapped it again and finished off by spitting on the top of the shoe and spanking it three or four times with the rag. “Hah!” he said and slapped the shoe off the stand while reaching for Harold’s other foot. “Bet you never got a better shine than that, Mr. Happy, now, admit it.”

  Nevers laughed. “You got me there, Darnell. Until a year ago, I always did my own.”

  The boy looked up at Nevers with a puckered face, like he had just sucked on a lemon. “Rich man like you? Shoot, you don’t fool old Daar-nell. You probbly just th’owed ‘em away when they got dirty, huh, Mr. Happy?”

  When the boy was done, Harold reached in his trousers and pulled out a handful of change. He flipped one nickel, then another high in the air towards Darnell, who snatched the first with his left hand, the second with his right.

  Nevers was about to return the change to his trousers when he got an idea. He picked out a quarter and dumped the rest of the coins in his pocket.

  “Say, Darnell, you feeling lucky today?”

  The boy tiptoed and tried to look in Harold’s hand.

  “‘Pends on what kinda odds you laying.”

  “Heads or tails. You win, you get my two bits. I win, I get my nickels back.”

  Darnell inspected the nickels lying in his palm. He licked his lips thoughtfully.

  “You on, Mr. Happy.”

  Nevers flipped the quarter high in the air.

  “Call it before it lands.”

  “Heads!” Darnell shouted and skipped, clapping his hands once.

  The coin hit the pavement and rolled in a slow semicircle before falling.

  “Hah!” Nevers said. “Tails.” He retrieved the quarter and held his hand out for the boy’s earnings. Darnell slapped the nickels into Harold’s hand with a dejected look on his face.

  “Can’t win every time,” Nevers said.

  “Nawp. Sho cain’t.”

  Harold pretended to walk away. Darnell returned to his shoeshine box.

  “Darnell,” Nevers called. The boy looked at him.

  “Catch.” Harold pitched the quarter in a high arc towards him. Darnell caught the coin and examined it. “That makes us both winners,” Nevers said. “I got your two nickels and you got my two bits.”

  The boy beamed.

  “Thanks, Mr. Happy. You come back anytime, hear? I’ll be on whichever’s the shady side of the street. And don’t confuse me with these other boys. You can tell me on account of my name’s Daar-nell.”

  Annie and Harold rounded the corner onto Canal, where Nevers stopped her with his arm.

  “Listen,” he said. He crept to the corner of the building and leaned against it. Annie heard the rags popping.

  “Yes sir, mistah, I sho is glad you stopped. I been watching yo shoes walk by here for fo-fi days now. Finest shoes I ever seed, musta cost you fifty dollah, huh? Look at these shoes, Beanie. Ain’t they the finest you ever seed?”

  Annie and Nevers laughed, and Darnell heard them. As they walked away, the boy’s raised voice reached around the corner. “Except o’ course for Mr. Happy Hapscomb’s shoes. You know Mr. Happy? Well, you ought to. Fine man . . .”

  “Yeah, that’s real funny,” Nevers said. “The only problem is that almost every man you see around here used to be one of those boys. They know every scam in the book. They could stick a dull knife in you and make
you think it feels good. And they’ll eat you alive unless you learn to think like them. Listen. How can I put this?” He thought for a few steps. “There’s some places where the only sin is innocence. In New Orleans, goodness is dangerous. You practice it and you’re likely to end up like Wendel.” They walked for a bit in silence. “You see what I’m saying?”

  * * *

  After supper at Antoine’s, Harold took Annie to the Famous Door to listen to some Dixieland jazz. The tempo was too snappy for her mood, and she complained of the smoke after fifteen minutes. The blues at the 500 Club didn’t move her, either. She had never been sad enough to understand the music.

  Nevers snapped his fingers. “I know what you’d like.”

  Half an hour later, they arrived at the Roosevelt Hotel. In the Blue Room, Annie saw a few older couples waltzing on the dance floor. They were surrounded by dozens of young people soaked with sweat and seated on the sidelines, a prowling look in their eyes. Harold and Annie observed the young dancers, who looked like foxes scanning a flock of chickens for the weak one.

  “Say, Harold,” said a man with an ill-fitting suit.

  “Weasel, my man! How’s it cooking?”

  “Copacetic. Can’t complain. Cuttin’ the rug with a chick or two. And you?”

  “Nothing much. I’m not with it, but that’s a zoot with a real reet pleat you’re sporting.”

  Annie would have burst out laughing at the gibberish, but she didn’t want to miss a single word. The waltz ended and the older dancers broke up and walked to their tables. The band leader spoke into the microphone. “This next number is for you young jitterbugs.”

  Lightbeams from three directions hit a large, mirror­-faceted ball hanging from the ceiling, ricocheting multi­colored splinters of light around the room, and a screaming rush of bodies charged the parquet as the band hit the first notes.

  A boy in a college sweater spun his girl away from him and jerked her arm so hard Annie felt the pain. The girl popped towards him, they touched palms, and he pushed her away as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted her or not. Again she whipped towards him like a yo-yo. For a split second, Annie was embarrassed for the girl as she slipped and fell, but the boy sent her sliding under his legs and back again, where she rebounded three feet off the floor, twisted completely around in the air and fell into a half-split. Annie squealed with fear and delight as the boy grabbed his girl by her ponytail and pulled her to her feet.

  They were dancing. She had heard about it on the radio, seen pictures in Life magazine, but she had never witnessed the dance in motion. It was something between a haywire ballet and a gypsy troupe’s gymnastics. Shoulders shrugged, spines snaked, necks popped, arms flailed.

  It was Swing.

  A girl did a back flip over her partner’s arm and showed her underwear to anyone who cared to look. Back to back, they locked arms, then the boy bowed and catapulted the girl over his head. She landed on both feet with a smack, bounced off the floor, spread her legs, and swung down on his hips, gripping him obscenely around the waist. Then she went limp and leaned back, her arms and hair touching the floor as he took large mechanical strides backwards to the beat of the music, whipping her back and forth, her hair mopping the dust and sweat off the wood.

  Coming to herself, Annie realized she was clutching Harold’s coat with both hands. His perfect teeth glowed while his eyes reflected the sparks from the mirrored globe.

  “This is so—.”

  “Hep,” Nevers said.

  “Hep,” Annie repeated softly as she gazed out across the floor. The man named Weasel slapped Harold on the back.

  “Her first time, huh?”

  “For everything,” Nevers said with a wink. He jerked a thumb towards the band. “These cats can scoot some bitchin’ scat, huh?”

  “Can’t understand a word they’re saying.”

  “That’s the whole point. Long as it’s between a scream and a moan, it’ll send the ickeys into the groove.”

  The men spiced up their conversation with the animated vocabulary: alligator, killer-diller, spank the skin, send me down. Annie could stand it no longer. She nearly yanked Harold’s coat off his shoulder.

  “What are you saying? I need to know!”

  “I have no idea,” he said.

  “Liar!” she laughed. “Tell me.”

  “Look.” Nevers pointed to a woman sitting a few feet away. Tilted back, her head lolled from side to side. Her eyes were closed and Annie could tell she was somewhere between drunkenness and ecstasy. “Listen to the music and watch her.”

  Annie began to mimic the woman’s movements in miniature as she felt the rhythms. A clarinet came to the front of the tune and hit a few up-tempo notes, then squailed into a long caterwauling cry. The woman’s mouth opened. She frowned and squinched her eyes tight. Her arms flopped to her sides and she moaned in pain.

  “She’s an ickey,” Harold said. “You could watch her all night and she’ll never move from her seat, just sit there and go through all those contortions. It’s the damnedest thing. Some of them have to dance and some of them—. The music sends them into a kind of trance, like that.” Harold nodded towards the woman. “And you’d better know the difference. You get in the way of a jitterbug—that’s the kind with the heebie-jeebies—and you’re likely to get trampled when he makes for the floor.”

  Annie shook her head in amazement. Nevers ordered a Coke for himself and a Jax draft for Annie. While drinking, they watched the ickeys and jitterbugs through a couple of numbers. Annie could feel the wooden floor pulsating like a giant heart as several tons of dancers jumped and swung and flung to the same beat.

  “I’m outta here,” Weasel called over his shoulder as two girls from the sidelines dragged him onto the floor and he began working one like a top and the other like a yo-yo.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Nevers asked. Annie smiled at him and nodded.

  “So which are you,” she said, “a jitterbug or an ickey?”

  “Well, I’d hate to think of myself as something called an ickey, but I guess I’m an ickey. I must be missing—.”

  “Harold!” a wildly drunken man shouted from the dance floor. He was throwing a girl around whose hair looked like Christmas tinsel. It was Arkie Burk.

  “Arkansas!” Nevers called out. “I didn’t know you were an alligator!”

  “In sheep’s clothing!” he hollered back before disappearing in a hurricane of arms, legs, and twirling skirts. After the number, Arkie retreated to the table streaming sweat and flopped in a chair.

  “Whew! Knock me out! I’m almost done anyway.”

  “Who’s the canary you were slinging?”

  “Never saw her in my life,” Arkie said. “Hope I never see her again. She’ll be the death of me, sure. I’m too old for this stuff.” He looked lazily over at Annie and perked up. “Say! I know you.” He closed one eye, tilted his head, and aimed at her with his hand in the shape of a pistol. “Annie something, Annie Beautiful or something like that.”

  “Annie Beatrice,” she laughed.

  “Annie.” He slid back into the chair in a quasi-stupor. “Annie the blessed,” he said as if from a dream. He closed his eyes and caught his breath. After a minute, Annie thought he had fallen asleep or passed out.

  A voice from behind them said, “Picture, sir?”

  In a split second, Arkie went from zero to a hundred.

  “By golly! That’s just the thing! What say, Harold? Let’s make a memory.”

  Nevers reached in his pocket. “I guess I’m paying for this memory, right?”

  Arkie stood up and tilted, waving Nevers away. He reached for his pocket and missed.

  “To hell with that. Arkie Burk makes his own way in this world.” He reached in his trousers and looked down at his hand working under the fabric. He turned the pocket inside out and gaped at Nevers, then at the dance floor. “That cheap, hustling, no good, two-bit—.”

  “Ah-ahn,” Harold said. “A lady’s presen
t.”

  Arkie sobered slightly and stared at Annie.

  “This city,” he hissed. “This city,” he said as if he were saying it all and it would all be understood. Nevers helped Arkie to a chair and arranged his suit good-naturedly.

  “I’ll be glad to drop the money,” Harold said. “Better take a picture now ‘cause you won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

  The photographer licked the contact of a large bulb and plugged it into the camera’s silver dish. Holding the camera in one hand, he peered through the viewfinder and motioned with his other.

  “Closer together. Closer. That’s it. Now, say Swiiing.”

  “Swiiiiing,” the three said.

  The bulb popped with a blinding flash.

  Chapter 8

  July 1938

  Annie studied the curled photograph on the dresser in Harold’s bedroom. She was looking to her left at Nevers, who smiled into the camera. On her right, Arkie was gazing at her. She couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. She examined herself in the large mirror on the wall and smiled.

  Nevers stepped from the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel. “That was some band, huh?”

  “Hep,” Annie laughed.

  “That heat was something, too. How do they stand it?”

  Harold picked up a clock from the dresser. “Three o’clock!” He looked at Annie. “And you’re not a pumpkin yet?” He draped the cloth around his neck.

  Annie smiled and said nothing, content to watch him move around the room. It was the first time she had seen him without a tie. He picked up the jacket folded over a chair back and walked to the closet. When he opened the door, a baseball bat fell and bounced on the floor with a ringing noise followed by a clattering racket that frightened Annie.

  “What’s all that?” she asked.

  “Baseball bats.”

  “I can see that. What are they for?”

  “Hitting baseballs,” Harold said. “Or so I’m told.”

  “Mr. Clever.”

  “Remember Beekman’s?” Annie frowned at him. “Beekman’s on St. Charles.”

  “With the funny awning like a bonnet?”