doctor shouted, and the Beaulieu boys cut that ice last winter on the lake, and the ice is native and free to melt on the ankle of the trader, or on anyone in need of an ice pack. The trader smiled, the doctor cursed, and the nurses snickered when the agent officiously announced that the lake was federal trust land, and the ice was under his jurisdiction.
Odysseus raised one hand, gestured to the greyback agent, and started to chant the words of âGoober Peas.â The nurses and patients returned to the porch to participate in the tease of the federal agent.
Sittinâ by the roadside on a summerâs day,
Chattinâ with my messmates, passing time away,
Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees,
Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
Everyone on the porch, even the doctor, encouraged the agent, who had never taken part in any native ceremonies, family wakes, or reservation activities, to join the trader, nurses, and patients in the first chorus of âGoober Peas.â The Union was blue, the reservation was blue, the trader was blue, the ravens were blue, and the war continued with blue ironic stories.
Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas!
Eating goober peas!
Goodness, how delicious,
Eating goober peas!
The porch humor was memorable that night, and the dreary greyback agent never quite realized at that moment that he had been deliberately distracted with a dippy southern song of the Civil War. The trader was our captain storier that night, a trader of deliverance on the reservation. Yet the ironic participation of the antsy agent was a draw because he soon returned to fidget with his watch chain and continued the hospital inquiry.
⺠6 â¹
P EYOTE O PERA
â â â â â â â 1912 â â â â â â â
Odysseus was sentimental at times about the old traders and chantey music. His trail stories and songs about soldiers and war were picturesque, slightly romantic, original by every recount, but never mawkish. Even so the winsome trader was teased for the first time last summer about the many songs he chanted from the American Civil War.
Foamy, the federal agent, mocked the popular war lyrics and reminded the trader that the War Between the States was ancient history. We were astonished by the taunt because no one had ever observed the agent at play. Augustus, our uncle, was convinced the agent had taken to government whiskey.
Glory, Glory Hallelujah.
Odysseus raised his white hat, gestured to the testy agent, and then turned to several students near the government school and sang a few lines from âAlexanderâs Rag Time Bandâ by Irving Berlin. The students were silent, but the agent shouted the same lines right back at the trader.
Come on and hear! Alexanderâs ragtime band!
Itâs the best band in the land!
So natural that you want to go to war.
Foamy never seemed to grasp the tricky tease of native stories, or the creative run of irony. Honoré, our father, said the agent had no sense of natural reason or presence, and no totemic associations in the world. Foamy was separated by name and disconnected by war and culture. He abided with the wrong sides, against emancipation and natives, and against the Union in the American Civil War. His new teases and greyback taunts were no more trouble than slow water over the smooth stone at the headwaters.
Calypso raised her ears, neighed, and ambled past the vested agent, the mission, post office, the bank, the gray wooden walkways, and straight intothe livery stables at the Hotel Leecy. Bayard the packhorse waited in the shadows to be unloaded. The trader stacked the huge bundles of goods in a locked cage at the back of the stables, and then whispered to his horses. We listened every summer, year after year, but we never heard or understood what the trader told his loyal mares.
Odysseus walked with a limp.
John Leecy had invited the trader
Odysseus raised one hand, gestured to the greyback agent, and started to chant the words of âGoober Peas.â The nurses and patients returned to the porch to participate in the tease of the federal agent.
Sittinâ by the roadside on a summerâs day,
Chattinâ with my messmates, passing time away,
Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees,
Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
Everyone on the porch, even the doctor, encouraged the agent, who had never taken part in any native ceremonies, family wakes, or reservation activities, to join the trader, nurses, and patients in the first chorus of âGoober Peas.â The Union was blue, the reservation was blue, the trader was blue, the ravens were blue, and the war continued with blue ironic stories.
Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas!
Eating goober peas!
Goodness, how delicious,
Eating goober peas!
The porch humor was memorable that night, and the dreary greyback agent never quite realized at that moment that he had been deliberately distracted with a dippy southern song of the Civil War. The trader was our captain storier that night, a trader of deliverance on the reservation. Yet the ironic participation of the antsy agent was a draw because he soon returned to fidget with his watch chain and continued the hospital inquiry.
⺠6 â¹
P EYOTE O PERA
â â â â â â â 1912 â â â â â â â
Odysseus was sentimental at times about the old traders and chantey music. His trail stories and songs about soldiers and war were picturesque, slightly romantic, original by every recount, but never mawkish. Even so the winsome trader was teased for the first time last summer about the many songs he chanted from the American Civil War.
Foamy, the federal agent, mocked the popular war lyrics and reminded the trader that the War Between the States was ancient history. We were astonished by the taunt because no one had ever observed the agent at play. Augustus, our uncle, was convinced the agent had taken to government whiskey.
Glory, Glory Hallelujah.
Odysseus raised his white hat, gestured to the testy agent, and then turned to several students near the government school and sang a few lines from âAlexanderâs Rag Time Bandâ by Irving Berlin. The students were silent, but the agent shouted the same lines right back at the trader.
Come on and hear! Alexanderâs ragtime band!
Itâs the best band in the land!
So natural that you want to go to war.
Foamy never seemed to grasp the tricky tease of native stories, or the creative run of irony. Honoré, our father, said the agent had no sense of natural reason or presence, and no totemic associations in the world. Foamy was separated by name and disconnected by war and culture. He abided with the wrong sides, against emancipation and natives, and against the Union in the American Civil War. His new teases and greyback taunts were no more trouble than slow water over the smooth stone at the headwaters.
Calypso raised her ears, neighed, and ambled past the vested agent, the mission, post office, the bank, the gray wooden walkways, and straight intothe livery stables at the Hotel Leecy. Bayard the packhorse waited in the shadows to be unloaded. The trader stacked the huge bundles of goods in a locked cage at the back of the stables, and then whispered to his horses. We listened every summer, year after year, but we never heard or understood what the trader told his loyal mares.
Odysseus walked with a limp.
John Leecy had invited the trader
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