CHAPTER 15

© 2010 GREG DUNAJ

15.

        Many, many crawfish heads were piled before him. Red and oozing, the little crawdad faces ogled him curiously from their heap as though pondering the very meaning of life. But what conclusions could they arrive at? Was this their only purpose in this world, to feed this monster? They stared with their round, beady, black crawdaddy eyes at the gaping maw that had devoured their flesh, that had pinched their tails, that had sucked their brains dry. But their only thought was how wonderful it would be if they could twitch their long, delicate crawdaddy whiskers one last time. Alas, they instead had to endure the final indignity of watching several of their brethren used as props in a finger puppet show.

              “What’s happening?” said one

              “I’ve gone to pieces,” said the other.

              “Looks like you’ve got your proctologist out on a date with you. Or is that your shrink?”

              “I’m not sure. I can’t quite put a finger on it.”

              The doubly defiled creature whirled around and looked into Harry’s eye. It was so close...so close... he could stab it with his whiskers, poke out the monster’s eye and gain revenge for its ignoble death. Instead, he bobbed up and down, poised at the tip of Harry’s finger. The little crawdaddy head whirled around to the other little crawdaddy head that patiently waited for a report.

              “I can’t tell,” Harry said, in his rendition of a high, squeaky, crawdaddy voice.

              “Maybe it’s a lawyer?” Harry’s voice went deeper.

              “Naw,” he said, after the crawdaddy peered back at Harry’s tantalizing eyes again and a quick look-see up a nostril. “He doesn’t look smart enough.”

              “Say, does it hurt?”

              “What?”

              “Having a finger shoved into your head!”

              “I dunno, I haven’t thought about it.”

              Carlo sucked at a Shiner Bock and grinned at the waitress who stood mouth agape over the theatrics before her. Harry noticed her too and directed the finger action toward her. Twin crawdaddy heads nodded approvingly at the blonde girl before him, a flash of a thorny-shaped tattoo ringing her tanned arm, a pierced belly-button floating eye level to Harry.

              “Uh, take your time with the bill,” she said, pressing her hips against the table and dropping the tab before backing away a couple of steps. “There’s no hurry.”

              “Hey,” said one little crawdaddy head, nodding at the waitress, “I’m from New Jersey.”

              “Uh-huh,” said the waitress.

              “Hey,” said the other little crawdaddy head to the first. “So, am I!”

              “You’re from New Jersey!?”

              “Yeah! I’m from New Jersey!”

              “Yeah, so am I!”

              “That’s great.”

              “How soon you going back then?” The waitress said smiling broadly, a syrupy sweet smile blooming with the whitest teeth Carlo had ever seen. “Not too soon we all hope,” she said, her voice dripping with an enthusiastic twang that struck both men of sarcasm, though they would never be able to determine or care if this was her intent.

              The crawdaddy, speaking for Harry, cried out in its shrill crawdaddy voice, “Never...I’m never going back to New Jersey!”

              “You ain’t going nowhere,” the deeper voiced crawdaddy said to the first, “unless you thumb a ride.”

              “Oh, man,” moaned Carlo. “You’re getting worse!” He drank his Shiner Bock and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

              Harry ignored Carlo and maneuvered his little friends toward the waitress. The little crawdaddys nodded at the waitress from their perches atop Harry’s finger and then ogled her adorned bellybutton. It was a little dangling, bejeweled crawfish.

              Harry shrieked in a high-pitched crawdaddy voice, “Uncle Edgar!”

              The waitress giggled and flicked Uncle Edgar with her index finger. He too nodded appropriately.

              “Perfect for the Boiling Pot, doncha think?” She beamed brightly at the two men, her smile threatening to blind them both. “Y’all here for the Pecan Festival or just passing through Austin?”

              “Is that what’s going on out there? It’s a Pecan Festival?”

              “No, no,” said Carlo, “Pe-caan Festival...Pe-caan. Long ‘A’.”

              “Long ‘A’. Isn’t that a short ‘a’? In Jersey it’ll be pecan...like can.”

              “You’re not in Jersey. Talk right already.”

              “Don’t matter how you say it, we’re all happy y’all stopped by. I’ll take the bill when y’all ready to go, but play with those critters all day if you like.”

              She flicked Uncle Edgar once more, a lascivious smirk poised on her lips, and she sauntered away from their table.

              “Ummm, ummm, ummm,” growled Harry at the receding butt, “pecans.”

              Carlo had his feet set on another chair and nearly fell over with laughter.

              “I’ll play with them critters all I want and then some,” said Harry, affecting a drawl. “Fine, fine, fine,” he said, slowly, staring after the waitress.

              Carlo leaned into his friend and whispered in his ear that if he did not look away his heat vision will burn off the waitress’ pants.

              “Ummmm, pants...off...,” Harry said in a low visceral growl. His gaze never left the waitress who was now covering her mouth and laughing with another woman at the hostess position across the crowded and noisy Boiling Pot restaurant. Harry snorted lowly as he continued to stare, but said in a much more lucid voice, “am I that overt?”

              “Uh, yeah,” said Carlo slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Like a schoolboy with them hormones raging.”

              “Yeah, well, what’re you going to do? You think I gotta chance?”

              “With her?”

              “Yeah, she liked me. You saw the way she looked at me and flicked Uncle Edgar.”

              “You’re supposed to flirt with the customer before you hand them the bill. It helps with the tip.”

              “Come on,” said Harry, sitting back in his chair and licking his fingers clean, “she wants me. You’re just jealous.”

              Carlo laughed a bit and threw some money onto the table and got up to leave.

              “Let’s go see the Pe-caan festival before we take off.”

              Sixth street was closed to vehicular traffic and thousands of people were milling around the Old Pecan Street Arts Festival, the original name of Sixth Street and the official name of the two-day fete. Food and art vendors filled  the center of Sixth and music stages featuring different acts were set up on Trinity and Neches and San Jacinto. Rock and reggae bands blared their sounds mixing with the clatter of people drinking and carousing. A latin stage featured a Flamenco dancer and guitarist. The accordion of a Tejano band on another stage danced whimsically over all the rest.

              Carlo stopped to listen to a trio called Hot Monkey Love. Their antics and slashing guitars had caught his attention. Loud and fast, Hot Monkey Love flailed and postured their way through two minute songs, beginning another one before the final notes decayed on the last. Carlo smiled at the grating punk, though he could not understand a word they sang.

              At the end of one song the lead singer paused and leaned heavily on the microphone stand. He sneered out into the crowd. With teeth gnashing and eyes glaring through the dyed black hair that hung in his face he drawled, “Welcome home, honey.” The crowd went nuts. Hot Monkey Love then launched into their signature song, “Home For The Holidays.” The group leaped especially higher, their guitars screeched noticeably louder, and the jaw tightening feedback they coaxed from their amps caused dogs in the neighborhood to roll over and play dead.

              “Throw that turkey against the wall…,” he sang, or so Carlo thought. “I don’t wanna be here anymore….” Carlo got jostled by audience members contorting along with the music. They twitched and shoved and flailed, forcing Carlo to edge away from the stage in an act of self-preservation. A few bars into the song a bald, tattooed, pierced and vertically challenged man entered the stage from the wings and soccer dribbled a fake roasted turkey on the stage. The crowd roared its approval. The short, angry man flailed his arms and shouted obscenities as he kicked and stomped the plastic bird. The crowd shrieked with enthusiasm and contorted as though caught in a violent hurricane as the little guy began to wrestle with the turkey as he rolled around on the stage.

              Carlo did not leave the stage area for Hot Monkey Love but instead was sort of squeezed out by the crowd and he oozed his way back onto the relative serenity of Sixth Street. With the band’s saw tooth staccato still reverberating in his fillings, he turned to look for Harry, but he had disappeared. Carlo smiled to himself. He wasn’t worried, he had the car keys. He weaved through the crowd, half-admiring the arts and crafts on display at the many booths and smiling widely at any woman who caught his eye. There were quite a number of pretty women walking through the Pecan Festival and more than once Carlo bumped into someone when he did not watch where he was going.

              He walked the length of Sixth and exited the Festival, admired for a moment or two the Texas state capitol and then turned to reenter the throng. It was a hot, bright, sunny, Sunday afternoon and Sixth was buzzing like a swarm of insects. Suddenly though, as was his typical approach to everything in life, Carlo became anxious and wanted to get moving again. The missing Harry put a kink in his impulsive travel plans.  He walked through the crowd again, avoiding Hot Monkey Love, with his eyes narrowed to slits in the sunshine, scanning the crowd for Harry. They had parked down near the highway, the opposite end of Sixth. It would be good if Harry was at the car already, sleeping off his last meal, but somehow Carlo knew he would not be there. He lit a cigarette and weaved through the crowd, staring at the faces. He wanted to go.

              He found him, appropriately enough, gnashing at a skewer of alligator kebobs in front of a cigar shop, chatting up a woman. She was giggling at Harry as he pulled at the chewy gator, rolling his eyes and baring his teeth. Carlo felt a pang of jealousy at seeing Harry with her. Before strolling up he watched the two from a distance through the crowd. She was pretty, with short, black hair and pale skin. Petite, finely boned and short, she was quite the opposite of Harry’s wife, Kris, with her high cheekbones and broad shoulders and almost boyish limbs. Carlo finished his cigarette, sighed and waded through the crowd.

              Her name was Apple June. She said her parents had a misguided appreciation of country living, what with them all living in an apartment in Dallas. Apple June had a brother named Grass and a sister named Salamander. There were both older. Apple June insisted on being called Charley. She lived in Austin and was attending college there.

              Charley had been standing near a stage watching a folksinger strum a guitar and warble some song about driving all night to see his dog when Harry first caught a glimpse of her as he weaved through the crowd. With his alligator kebob in hand Harry had been looking for Carlo. He too was done with this festival and wanted to start off again for whatever destination Carlo had planned for them. As he searched the crowd Harry tactfully avoided all public phones so he would not feel guilty about calling home. Harry figured Kris would just yell at him and demand his return. He knew that was the correct thing to do, but right now he was having a fun time. He wanted to ignore his guilt a little while longer. He would deal with it when he returned home.

              As he savored his alligator kebob and he scanned the crowd for Carlo, Harry saw someone who would make him forget about all guilt for awhile. The crowds parted, like curtains on a stage, and revealed Charley. To Harry she was stunning.

              “Well,” he mumbled to himself, his mouth falling open.

              As if on cue, a shaft of light, reflected from a pane of glass, bathed the woman in an angelic glow. It all seemed ridiculous, but to Harry, she looked beatific even as he watched her pick at her cuticles and a cigarette danced on her lower lip. He admired her through the shifting throngs. Her short, black hair was disheveled and messy. It was a ‘look’, but it could not detract from her beauty. She wore ruby colored lip gloss and flashed such a bright smile to something that had caught her eye in the crowd that Harry nearly dropped his alligator-on-a-stick.

              Then, she was gone! The crowd swallowed her up and Harry cried out. He swooned. The fleeting image of Venus was lost! He pushed hurriedly through the crowd to reach her. He had to see her again. He had to get close to her. He eventually jostled and jockeyed into a position a scant two feet behind this vision, nearly falling into her in the process. There, he hovered. He was so close to her he was afraid his pounding heart would betray his voyeurism. He breathed quickly through gritted teeth. His eyes traced her jaw, her dark eyes, her ears, the nape of her neck, her pale skin that glowed, not from a weakened pallor, but as though illuminated from within. How it contrasted with her dark hair and ebony eyes giving her a classic, timeless beauty. Her pouting lower lip, how it graced her face in a lovely arc. Her nose, how it curved so delicately and did not soar with abandon. Her tender shoulder, how it was seductively exposed by a loose-fitting t-shirt.  Her graceful neck, how it seemed to tilt in his direction awaiting his caress. Harry trembled as he imagined how he would perch his lips on its delicate bones.

              He had come this far and had gotten this close, but Harry did not know what to do next. Surely she would think him to be an old, depraved coot. He inched closer, sniffing the air. He wanted to smell her at least, wanted to furtively trace his fingers along a supple arm, feel her body warm and delicate, subtly brush against her. His nerves crackled with desire.

              Harry then paused in his quest. An ironic brief thought came to him. He had never felt this way about anyone before. He had never had the distinct pleasure of being so smitten to risk all sensibilities to throw all caution away. Even upon seeing his wife the first time did not have the same impact on him. “Nice tits,” he had thought to himself then, when he first saw Kris in a similar crowded situation at a party. But here, this woman, petite and soft and beautiful was more than an object of lust. He wanted to fall into her arms, wanted to be illuminated by her glowing smile, wanted to be caressed by her deep, dark eyes. A tear welled and coursed his cheek.

              Charley did not know there was a leering man behind her. She attacked an itch on her left shoulder, exposing more of her skin to the stalking lecher. The indistinct, muffled whimper that Harry emitted did not reach her ears. Harry had gotten so close to her he could see the length of her bare back. Harry’s eyes fluttered at the prospect of helping her scratch that itch. He imagined his hands on her shoulder and then down her back. His mouth searched for her ear lobe, his tongue trailed down her neck, his other hand searched out her breast. She was warm and soft. He coaxed a nipple to stand at attention…

              “Hey,” said a voice, awakened Harry from his trance. “Hey.”

              It was her.

              “Could you help me with this? I have this itch.”

              Harry blubbered something. He wiped alligator kebob au jus on his t-shirt and made for her bared shoulder, his hand trembling violently.

              “No,” she said, pulling away. “I can do it. Just hold my bag. The ground’s kinda wet and I don’t want to put it down.”

              “Oh, yeah,” he said, smiling weakly. He slung her day backpack over his shoulder and watched the object of his fantasy indelicately claw at some spot underneath her shirt. The bag was heavy. Her cigarette danced on her lip as her eyes rolled between Harry, the sky and the stage where the folksinger, having finished his mini-set, steered his wheelchair toward the wings. She stopped her scratching and abruptly started cheering and clapping loudly for the artist, startling Harry.

              “He’s great,” she shouted, over her left shoulder at Harry. Again, Harry blubbered something. He was a bit stunned. Charley continued her cheering and clapping and started to jump up and down. The blur of her head was dizzying and Harry took a step back to avoid getting hit. He watched her jump up and down and listened to her hoot and clap. He then noticed her t-shirt. Emblazoned across the shoulders were the words, “Fly, Fly Away.”

              “Hey,” he said, intrigued by the words on her shirt. “What’s this all about?”

              Charley stopped her clapping and cupped an ear.

              “Your shirt,” he traced a finger across the words on her back. He did it slowly. So this is how lechers get close, he thought to himself.

              She turned to look up at him, her eyes squinted, her jaw set, her lips pursed, looking angry. He blew it, he thought, he shouldn’t have touched her. But, Charley was not angry. Instead, she broke into a bright smile that bathed Harry in its unrelenting glow, making him feel exposed and naked. Her eyes twinkled; the coal black shimmered as if flecked with diamonds. Between her twin rows of immaculate, white teeth the tip of her tongue peaked out. Her grin threatened to knock Harry over. She was so adorable! Harry could have remained like that for ages, staring back at this beautiful person. So enraptured with her beatific glow Harry failed to hear Charley say, “Dedalus. You remember Dedalus, don’t you?”

              Charley executed a full turn to face Harry, exposing the front on her shirt to the stunned man. He clutched at his kebob like a schoolboy fumbling under the covers at night.

              “Huh,” he said, climbing out of the deep pools of her eyes.

              “Maybe you’re not old enough,” she said, being kind.

              Harry began coughing and nearly stabbed himself in the eye with the skewer when he sought to cover his mouth. She was wearing a Dedalus t-shirt, though it was worn and faded and torn appropriately and tethered in places by safety pins. There he was, staring out into the Old Pecan Street Arts Festival like a moody elder, a cigarette poised on his pouting lower lip. He looked angry in the picture. He was staring right at Harry, looking angry.

              “’I have to go‘, he’s saying,” she said.

              “Of course I remember him,“ said Harry, nodding his head and trying to keep his heart from jumping out of his body and planting a wet lugubrious kiss on the woman before him.

              “Yeah, that‘s something, huh,” she said, rubbing the shirt, her breast as Harry would have it, with her left hand. “I’m a big fan.”

              Harry stood silently before her for a few seconds, admiring her. Not only was she beautiful, she was a fan of Dedalus! Harry knew from past experiences you’re not supposed to compare the women in his life, but Kris flat-out hated Dedalus. Charley watched Harry’s wane smile for a few seconds before she pointed out to him juice from his alligator kebob was dribbling down his wrist. He wiped the juice away on his pant leg.

              “How do you know him?” Harry said, speaking as if he did not just have that momentary dip into fantasy. Still, he took this opportunity to ogle the sweep of her breasts while admiring her t-shirt. “I mean, he’s not done anything for at least a decade. How would you even know about him?”

              Her eyebrows arched in a pained look. “I know,” she said, tilting her head slightly to the side and giving Harry a slightly comical frown. He wanted to hug her right there. “He’s so, so beautiful. His words, his music, are so, so sad and pained and special.”

              Harry pinched his left thigh to keep his hand from flitting to her and painfully exuding a fake aura of nonchalance he tore into a savory alligator tidbit and thanked the gods his trembling hand didn’t cause him to stab anything with the skewer.

              “Uh-huh,” he said from behind his alligator.

              “It’s like he could never find peace. He was always searching for something and he never, ever found it.”

              Harry whimpered, but covered it up by feigning that an errant drip had to be wiped from his chin.

              “Oh, I’ll take my backpack back,” she said, reaching for it and briefly touching Harry’s shoulder. Sparks of electricity arced from her fingertips and coursed the body of the alligator man. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips in an attempt to restrain his feelings and leaned towards her to help slip the backpack off his shoulder. His face came that much closer to her angelic smile. He caught a whiff of her; a mixture of musk, cigarettes, peppermint and coffee.

              “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said as he searched her face for some mutual attraction, but her only concern seemed to be for her bag. “I’m a big fan too, you know.“

              “Yeah, I guess that’s why you’re here too. It’s something, huh? Everyone always says he’ll show up here,“ she said, batting the air with her hand, “but it’s all just talk…“

              “Wait…,” said Harry, his nerves audibly crackling. “You mean…here?”

              “Yeah. Sometimes on a stage or in one of the bars. But it hasn’t happened in a long time. A couple of years, at least. I personally never have seen him, but I’m always hoping. The best we get is somebody doing a cover or two. Only the most hardcore fans think he’ll show up. If I didn’t live in Austin, I wouldn’t bother making the trip. At least the Pecan Festival is fun.”

              “But…but…” Harry was waving his alligator kebob like a baton. “You mean he comes to Austin, here? Why, here?”

              “I thought you said you were a big fan?”
              “Evidently not,” he said sullenly.

              “Well, I’m a big fan. I have all his cds. Mom & Pops started me on Dedalus.”

              Harry blushed, forgetting about Dedalus for a moment and thinking about his little sexy vixen instead. He asked how old her parents were and thankfully found out they had him by at least 10 years.

              “Whew, I thought I was old enough to be your father.”

              “Well,” she said crinkling her nose and biting her lower lip and rolling her eyes, “they did have me late. I was a ‘love’ child. Quite unexpected.”

              “That’s just great,” said Harry tearing into a kebob and rolling his own eyes.

              She knew what Harry was talking about and laughed. She placed her hand on his shoulder and her grin got wider. Harry didn’t know what to say and instead popped his last kebob into his mouth. Carlo walked up to them just then. He had been watching them through the crowd.

              “Hey,” said Carlo to Charley, ignoring Harry. He smiled widely. Charley smiled back and twisted her body to look at Harry. He was obviously avoiding Carlo’s stare and was wiping alligator juice off his lips with a wrinkled and soiled napkin that looked like it had been balled up in a corner of his pocket for the entire trip.

              “My name’s Carlo,” he said, a little coldly. He extended a hand to shake. “He’s with me.” Carlo nodded in Harry’s direction.

              Charley shifted her eyes between the two. “What’re y’all mean by that? Are you gay? I didn‘t want to butt in then.”

              Harry got suddenly animated. “No, no, no,” he protested. “What gives you that idea?”

              “It’s just that Austin is…”

              “There you go again, cheating on me. I can’t leave you alone for a second.”

              With hands held akimbo, Carlo shook his head slowly side-to-side. Harry was mortified, but Charley was laughing.

              “Fleet’s In!” she cried out in a singsong voice.

              “That’s right darling. You stay away from MY man.” Carlo draped an arm over Harry’s shoulder as he laughed and wagged a finger at Charley.

              Harry darted his eyes desperately between the two. He was clearly put off by the both of them and their joking. Pulling away from Carlo’s embrace, Harry bumped into someone else in the crowd and apologized profusely, though that person did not give Harry a second look as they passed.

              “No, no, we’re going to see…Dedalus…too,” said Harry. Sweat trickled down behind his right ear. The back of his head was sweaty. “We’re road trippin’ all the way from New Jersey to see him.”

              Charley gave them each a leveled stare. “It‘s either an excuse to get away from the house, or you are really big fans. That’s a long way to go.”

              “And, we’ve been going the hard way, Missy,” said Carlo with a nod of his head and his thumbs hooked into the rungs of his jeans. He looked and sounded like he was imitating John Wayne.

              “But,” she said to Harry, “you didn’t know about his Austin connection?”

              Harry shrugged his shoulders.

              “The way this trip has gone, I first expected to see him at Great Adventure in Jersey. Now, I think I’m going to visit him at his home. Whatever, at this point, I’m along for the ride. I’ve let go…let go,” Harry said, smiling finally.

              “Road trippin’, little missy,” said Carlo with another flourish of his head. “It’s a great, big world out there, and we’re, going for it.”

              Charley laughed at Carlo. “Stop that!”

              All three of them laughed, suddenly happy with their lot in life.

              Charley knew Dedalus had a homestead somewhere in the Texas Hill Country, but was not sure where.

              “Outside Utopia,” said Carlo.

              “How far is that?” Harry shot Carlo a sharp look.

              “I thought you said you ‘let go’. Don’t worry about it. Are you having a good time or what?”

              Harry shifted his eyes between Carlo and Charley and mumbled a yes.

              “Utopia is out there,” said Charley. “That’s way out there. When are you going? What’re going to do, camp out in front of his place?”

              “It’s one of those things,” said Carlo in a normal voice now. “We’re off on this great adventure and we don’t know what the future holds. We’re just enjoying the present right now. We’re a couple of cowpokes adrift here, but we‘re leaving right after this.”

              “Nobody back home,” said the ultra-intuitive Charley, looking between the two men. “Can’t believe you two good-looking guys are single.”

              Harry blushed and said nothing. Carlo sidled up to his boyhood friend and gave his cheek a squeeze.

              “Will you stop that,” said Harry, pushing Carlo’s hands away. “She’s gonna start believing we’re really like that. For God’s sake, stop! I’ve got a wife at home and a toddler. I’m not gay, and neither is he! He’s just fucking around.”

              “I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” said Carlo. “Anyway, we were just leaving to go to there.”

              Charley did not say anything at first. She stared at Harry for a few seconds and half smiled. Harry looked back at her and rolled his eyes and wagged his head a bit, sorry that he blurted out the bit of information about his family.

              “Well, Little Missy,” said Carlo, “you’re welcome to come along. It‘ll be fun.”

              He smiled broadly.

              Charley and Harry darted their eyes between Carlo and the other and Harry shifted his weight between his feet. Charley fingered the strap of her backpack. Her gaze was distant now as she considered the possibility of such a trip. She twisted slowly from side-to-side while thinking about it and then rocked on the balls of her feet.

              “That’ll be great!” she announced suddenly. “I’d never seen him before, and like, this’ll be cool to maybe really meet him. How long will you guys stay there? I can run down there for the day. It’s not that far. We can be back late tonight? Oh, it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m so excited.”

              Harry smiled and nodded his head slowly. “Yeah, it’ll be good. Really good.”

              Carlo smiled broadly. He splayed his hands to his two traveling companions and said, “Andiamo.”