A serialized short story mostly written in 2007 / 2008 and finally serialized here after a few years have past…
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Andre stood atop the Poland levee, trying to find the barge. Mosquitos were eating him up and niether the torches nor Ms. Mary’s oils was keeping them off.
“Goddamn skeeters!” Giles screamed, slapping himself on the face and neck. “These mahfuckers gettin’ worse and worse!” Then he lit another bottle rocket.
Andre agreed about the bugs but knew anything he said about them would encourage more of Giles’ chatter. He had endured more than he could stand. The late barge made it longer. The mosquitos made it worse.
“This capn’s jerkin’ our chains man! They ain’t comin’! They aint riskin’ it for our trade. They aint got the heart neither.”
Up the river, the houses were lighting up with warm amber glows. Careworn villagers were coming out to their screened porches and visiting with neighbors, and Andre could see by their body language that they too were wondering when the barge would get there. There was a nervous energy among them, as they looked down river at the small group of makeshift stevedores that gathered to unload the barge.
Andre was concerned about the barge. Perhaps the inbred idiot Giles was right. The captain was afraid he wouldn’t make it here and back. It was more than a night’s travel up to the Control Structure and the celebration wouldn’t wait.
Giles lit a bouquet of Roman candles. He was ready. The fireworks were the beginning of his celebration. These moments were why he endured season after season. He had seen too much. His family had been here since the beginning of it all and he was the only one left. He believed in the spirit of the land and was well aware of it sinking beneath his feet. He told Andre once his family drove a totem so far into the alluvial silt they hit bedrock and that it was some sort of divine decree of his birthright here on this “new” land.
The top of the totem is still above water on their frontage plot upriver so he claimed.
Andre didn’t care much for his conversation but respected the blood, even if they started going crazy a hundred years back. His inane personality passed down from generation to generation and got worse copy after copy.
A horn blew twice, paused, and as Andre listened intently, blew a third time. The barge was coming into the crescent.
“Let’s go,” said Andre.