He’s the same sort.”
“He’s right about that. You listen to Tom, he thinks he can be mayor of St. Louis. Between you, Tom and good ol’ Booker T., I guess it won’t be long ’til a Negro’s voted president.” Louis suddenly shook his injured hand, as if playing had aggravated it. His eyes drifted back to the window.
“Another razor fight planned for later?” Scott said.
Louis shook his head. He took a long time to speak, unusual for him; and when he did, his voice carried a weight Scott had never heard before, as if the boy had aged by many years. “I got somethin’ to say to you, and after tonight we ain’t gonna speak of it,” Louis said.
The lack of jest startled Scott. “Agreed.”
“I got the dog, Scotty.” Louis didn’t look at him as he said it, still staring out of the window. The room suddenly felt chilled despite the fireplace.
“Of course you don’t,” Scott said, although he couldn’t dismiss the idea completely, with Louis’s habits. “You might get sores, but it isn’t always…”
“The sores are long gone, but it ain’t just that. I heard it from the doc. Anyway, I knew ’fore he told me.” He held his hands out, palms downward: Scott saw an unmistakable trembling in his fingers, more severe in his right hand than his left, but visible all the same.
The breath left Scott’s mouth. “Lord Jesus,” he whispered.
“I ain’t told nobody but you, so leave it quiet.”
“Of course.” Scott blinked, and his eyes prickled, already gathering tears as he realized how trivial his earlier concern about Louis’s razor fight was. Syphilis could permanently disable him! Scott moved toward Louis to hug him, but the smaller man pushed him back.
“Hey, hey, watch out,” Louis said. “I ain’t your candy man. And don’t bury me yet.”
Despite his worry, Scott chuckled. “You can’t hear it in your playing,” he assured him.
“Damn right. And when you do, that’s the day you better shoot me as dead as Stack Lee shot Billy Lyons down at the Curtis Saloon.”
“You’re being treated?”
Louis sucked his teeth, which made him sound petulant, all the more boyish. “Mercury makes my breath stink, and I hear it turns your teeth black. You know I can’t muss these pretty teeth. ’Sides, I felt sicker with that shit than without it. They say mercury don’t do nothin’ ’cept make you feel like you doin’ something. Ain’t no real doctor’s cure for the dog, Scotty. I found me a hoochie-coochie man from New Orleans, though. He say somebody underworlded me with a spell, all right, but he’s fixin’ me up.”
“For pity’s sake…You should hear how you sound. That’s silly superstition.”
“You’ll see your way ’round to hoodoo one day, Scotty.”
“And that’s the day you shoot me . Take my advice: Listen to your doctor.”
“That doctor’s tryin’ to put me in the ground ’fore I’m twenty-five, by what he says.”
Scott didn’t dare ask if Louis was exaggerating. His dinner had turned to stone in his stomach. Syphilis was a horrible death, the musician’s plague. And no wonder, with so many sweet-faced angels of death within such easy reach.
Louis kneaded his hands together, as if he felt the cold, too. “Anyway, I didn’t tell you so you could give me that sad-eyed look…”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I only—”
“Don’t you worry about me. I got bags of luck to spare, an’ I’m burnin’ so many candles I’ll set my bed on fire. There’s more to it than what I’ve said, and there’s a reason I said it to you .” Louis’s eyes gazed at him so solemnly that Scott felt his throat constrict with dread, expecting worse news. Still, he couldn’t have imagined Louis’s next words: “It’s Rose that gave it to me. I guess I don’t know that for a fact, but she took sick. She’s got it, too.”
Scott’s skin turned to ice. He wrapped his arms around himself, stunned silent.
Rose was a beautiful octoroon with
“He’s right about that. You listen to Tom, he thinks he can be mayor of St. Louis. Between you, Tom and good ol’ Booker T., I guess it won’t be long ’til a Negro’s voted president.” Louis suddenly shook his injured hand, as if playing had aggravated it. His eyes drifted back to the window.
“Another razor fight planned for later?” Scott said.
Louis shook his head. He took a long time to speak, unusual for him; and when he did, his voice carried a weight Scott had never heard before, as if the boy had aged by many years. “I got somethin’ to say to you, and after tonight we ain’t gonna speak of it,” Louis said.
The lack of jest startled Scott. “Agreed.”
“I got the dog, Scotty.” Louis didn’t look at him as he said it, still staring out of the window. The room suddenly felt chilled despite the fireplace.
“Of course you don’t,” Scott said, although he couldn’t dismiss the idea completely, with Louis’s habits. “You might get sores, but it isn’t always…”
“The sores are long gone, but it ain’t just that. I heard it from the doc. Anyway, I knew ’fore he told me.” He held his hands out, palms downward: Scott saw an unmistakable trembling in his fingers, more severe in his right hand than his left, but visible all the same.
The breath left Scott’s mouth. “Lord Jesus,” he whispered.
“I ain’t told nobody but you, so leave it quiet.”
“Of course.” Scott blinked, and his eyes prickled, already gathering tears as he realized how trivial his earlier concern about Louis’s razor fight was. Syphilis could permanently disable him! Scott moved toward Louis to hug him, but the smaller man pushed him back.
“Hey, hey, watch out,” Louis said. “I ain’t your candy man. And don’t bury me yet.”
Despite his worry, Scott chuckled. “You can’t hear it in your playing,” he assured him.
“Damn right. And when you do, that’s the day you better shoot me as dead as Stack Lee shot Billy Lyons down at the Curtis Saloon.”
“You’re being treated?”
Louis sucked his teeth, which made him sound petulant, all the more boyish. “Mercury makes my breath stink, and I hear it turns your teeth black. You know I can’t muss these pretty teeth. ’Sides, I felt sicker with that shit than without it. They say mercury don’t do nothin’ ’cept make you feel like you doin’ something. Ain’t no real doctor’s cure for the dog, Scotty. I found me a hoochie-coochie man from New Orleans, though. He say somebody underworlded me with a spell, all right, but he’s fixin’ me up.”
“For pity’s sake…You should hear how you sound. That’s silly superstition.”
“You’ll see your way ’round to hoodoo one day, Scotty.”
“And that’s the day you shoot me . Take my advice: Listen to your doctor.”
“That doctor’s tryin’ to put me in the ground ’fore I’m twenty-five, by what he says.”
Scott didn’t dare ask if Louis was exaggerating. His dinner had turned to stone in his stomach. Syphilis was a horrible death, the musician’s plague. And no wonder, with so many sweet-faced angels of death within such easy reach.
Louis kneaded his hands together, as if he felt the cold, too. “Anyway, I didn’t tell you so you could give me that sad-eyed look…”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I only—”
“Don’t you worry about me. I got bags of luck to spare, an’ I’m burnin’ so many candles I’ll set my bed on fire. There’s more to it than what I’ve said, and there’s a reason I said it to you .” Louis’s eyes gazed at him so solemnly that Scott felt his throat constrict with dread, expecting worse news. Still, he couldn’t have imagined Louis’s next words: “It’s Rose that gave it to me. I guess I don’t know that for a fact, but she took sick. She’s got it, too.”
Scott’s skin turned to ice. He wrapped his arms around himself, stunned silent.
Rose was a beautiful octoroon with
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