Alligator Bayou Read Online Free PDF Page A

she cooks ’gators.
    I gnaw on the crusty end of the bread.
    Carlo serves the meat. We have this kind a lot. Boys trade it for fruits and vegetables. Suddenly I sit up tall as the idea comes: “Is this ’gator?”
    “Possum,” says Francesco.
    “What’s that?”
    “We don’t have them in Sicily,” says Carlo. “Long tails. They hang from trees.”
    “Nasty things that run around at night,” mutters Giuseppe.
    “But nasty tastes good,” says Carlo. “Eat.”
    We don’t talk much. After a long day of work, eating is too important to interrupt with words. We save talk for between courses.
    We’re just getting to the salad and the plate of batter-fried zucchini flowers when there’s a thump on the ground out front. Then another. Then lots.
    Someone knocks.
    My eyes go to the gun in the corner.
    But Francesco stays seated; he jerks his chin at me. I get up and force myself to open the door as if it’s nothing special.
    Joe Evans stands there, hat in hands. Three goats run around him, butting each other and chasing our rooster off into the bushes.
    “Let him in,” says Francesco in Sicilian. We don’t have to use English in front of Joe. He works for Francesco in the fields. Lots of men work for Francesco on and off, but Joe’s worked for him steady for a long time.
    Joe comes in.
    So do two of the goats—Bedda and Bruttu. Bedda’s our oldest doe and Bruttu’s our only adult billy. I herd them back out with my knees.
    “No, no.” Francesco beckons. “Bedda can come in. Not Bruttu. Just Bedda.”
    Bedda clambers over my knee and scampers to Francesco. He swears that doe understands Sicilian, and I believe it. I hold back Bruttu and shut the door in his face.
    “Evening, sir,” says Joe.
    “Evening,” says Francesco, switching to English. He rubs Bedda with a closed fist on the top of her knobby head, right between the ears. She lifts her chin to push up against his hand in pleasure. Francesco laughs at her and gestures to Joe with his other hand. “You want sit? Carlo get plate. Sit. Please. Sit.”
    I’m not sure Carlo knows the English words, but he understands. He gets up.
    Joe stares at the bright orange zucchini flowers. “No, no, sir. Thank you, sir. Generous, sir. Much obliged, but no. I’m here on a errand.”
    “Wine? Whisky?”
    “No, thank you, sir. I brought a message.”
    “I listen.” Francesco folds his hands on top of Bedda’s head.
    “Dr. Hodge said enough. Your goats were on his porch again. He told me to bring them here. Right to the front door of your residence. That’s what he said.”
    Francesco lifts an upturned hand. “That all?”
    Joe shakes his head. “He told me you can listen to them tramping back and forth, back and forth.” He rubs his chin, then pulls on his fingers. “He say it again: back and forth, back and forth. And he say it worse at his residence, because of his fine wood porch and all. They clatter on the wood. He can’t sleep. Not a wink.”
    “He say his ‘fine wood porch’?”
    “Yes, sir. Exactly.”
    “The big doctor, he want go to bed now?” Francesco’s mouth twists. “Now? Now is for eat.”
    “He ate hours ago.” Joe’s voice has a certain ring. I know he means that everyone did. That’s how it is in America. And even we would have eaten by now if Francesco hadn’t come home so late.
    “Goat go where goat go. Is nature. Is how God want. Who can prevent?” Francesco shrugs. “Not me.”
    “Dr. Hodge say you got to.”
    Francesco leans back from Bedda and folds his hands in front of his chest.
    “That’s the message, sir.” Joe’s eyes shift nervously.
    “No worry, Joe. You bring message. You done. I talk to doctor.” Francesco turns. “Carlo …”
    Carlo’s already standing beside Francesco with a pile of okra. He wraps it in newsprint and hands it to Joe.
    “Much obliged, sirs.”
    Francesco gives a nod.
    Joe holds the bundle to his chest and hesitates. “And they’s a second message. The doctor say he wants