all.'
"Now Boudreaux he say, 'I don' mean no such of a t'ing, Broussard.
Ev'body on dis bayou know Broussard no fool, you. And dey know
Broussard, he don't put up no lights nor set him up a tree, no. But
lookee heah, Broussard.' An dat when Boudreaux, he show my pa de
towsack wid all the Chris'mas pretties in it.
"My daddy, he say he had him a weak moment, Satan mus' a reach out
to him, because he tooken dat towsack full a li'l pretties, him, 'stead
of dat fi' dollah what Boudreaux still owe him."
Jubal had a good laugh about that, and I laughed with him, because I simply loved the way he told a story. Not laughing
at
his preposterous Cajun accent, but because of how it just made me
listen
harder to every word.
"My pa, he brung in dat towsack and open it up on de flo', an all
dese Chris'mas pretties dey tumble out. Dey was lights on wires... and
my pa laugh, him, and we all laugh, 'cause we don't have no 'lectric,
no!
"Dere was little angels cut outta tin, an' my pa he give dem to my
li'l sister Gloria and tol' her to tie 'em up to de tree anywhere she
want. And dere was silver strings. And dere be fo' or fi' dozen roun'
balls, all colors. I drop one an it break... yessum, it did.
"An' den my ma, she tie candles to dat Chris'mas tree, six or seven of 'em, and she say it was de pretties' t'ing she evah see."
He said nothing for a moment, tasting the memory I think.
"Bedtime, Ma, she put out de candle lights.
Ma père,
he go out jacklightin' deer with Fontenot an' Hebert.
Junior
Hebert, not Alphonse.
"An' I got me outta bed and I light dem candle again so Santy Claus
kin fin' de house, him. And what do y'know, dat tree it kotch fire and
burn down de whole house. We sleepin' in leaky tents de res' a dat
winter, we did, till de new house done got build." He chuckled again.
This time I wasn't tempted to laugh along with him.
"Pa, he come home firs' light, see dat ol' shack jus' smokin' ashes
and his family standin' dere in de only clothes dey own. He tole us,
'Dat's what Almighty God t'ink a Chris'mas trees, boys. And dere be
y'all's Chris'mas. Yo firs' an yo las'!'
"And den he wallop me upside de head!"
He smiled again, and for the first time I could see, the way the light hit him, that there
was
a dent in the side of his head. I'd thought Dak was exaggerating. It
was partly hidden by wispy white hair, but I could have laid three
fingers in it.
I was at a loss what to say. Clearly, the story was over, but Jubal
hadn't answered my question. I wasn't sure now I wanted it answered.
"So that's what those are?" Dak asked him, nodding toward the jar. "Some new kind of Christmas tree ornament?"
Jubal said nothing, just took the lid off the jar and handed a bubble to Dak.
...who immediately had it slip from his hand. He quickly reached
down to catch it before it hit the floor, but it just hung there.
His eyes got wide, and he smiled. But the smile didn't last long. I
shut up for the next ten minutes, letting Dak repeat the kind of
experiments I'd done already. Finally he gave up and scowled at me. He
probably felt like a fool. I know I'd felt that way.
"So what is it, and what's it for, Jubal?"
"Tol' you I got no name for it, me. You
could
hang 'em from de Chris'mas tree."
"Anything else?" I asked. I was trying to be careful, remembering
what Dak had told me about Jubal and his limitations in practical
matters.
He looked back and forth at us, then smiled like a little child with a secret.
"I got some ideers, me. Come look." He led us to another workbench
across the room. There was a device there, I saw it was made from two
video game controllers, one with a couple small thumbwheels, another
with a pistol grip. It was held together with twisted copper wire and
pieces of duct tape. Small plastic labels had been glued over the
places where a particular button's function used to be.
The only label I could read was on one of the control wheels, and it
said SQUOZE and DE-SQUOZE, with arrows pointing to the left for the
"Now Boudreaux he say, 'I don' mean no such of a t'ing, Broussard.
Ev'body on dis bayou know Broussard no fool, you. And dey know
Broussard, he don't put up no lights nor set him up a tree, no. But
lookee heah, Broussard.' An dat when Boudreaux, he show my pa de
towsack wid all the Chris'mas pretties in it.
"My daddy, he say he had him a weak moment, Satan mus' a reach out
to him, because he tooken dat towsack full a li'l pretties, him, 'stead
of dat fi' dollah what Boudreaux still owe him."
Jubal had a good laugh about that, and I laughed with him, because I simply loved the way he told a story. Not laughing
at
his preposterous Cajun accent, but because of how it just made me
listen
harder to every word.
"My pa, he brung in dat towsack and open it up on de flo', an all
dese Chris'mas pretties dey tumble out. Dey was lights on wires... and
my pa laugh, him, and we all laugh, 'cause we don't have no 'lectric,
no!
"Dere was little angels cut outta tin, an' my pa he give dem to my
li'l sister Gloria and tol' her to tie 'em up to de tree anywhere she
want. And dere was silver strings. And dere be fo' or fi' dozen roun'
balls, all colors. I drop one an it break... yessum, it did.
"An' den my ma, she tie candles to dat Chris'mas tree, six or seven of 'em, and she say it was de pretties' t'ing she evah see."
He said nothing for a moment, tasting the memory I think.
"Bedtime, Ma, she put out de candle lights.
Ma père,
he go out jacklightin' deer with Fontenot an' Hebert.
Junior
Hebert, not Alphonse.
"An' I got me outta bed and I light dem candle again so Santy Claus
kin fin' de house, him. And what do y'know, dat tree it kotch fire and
burn down de whole house. We sleepin' in leaky tents de res' a dat
winter, we did, till de new house done got build." He chuckled again.
This time I wasn't tempted to laugh along with him.
"Pa, he come home firs' light, see dat ol' shack jus' smokin' ashes
and his family standin' dere in de only clothes dey own. He tole us,
'Dat's what Almighty God t'ink a Chris'mas trees, boys. And dere be
y'all's Chris'mas. Yo firs' an yo las'!'
"And den he wallop me upside de head!"
He smiled again, and for the first time I could see, the way the light hit him, that there
was
a dent in the side of his head. I'd thought Dak was exaggerating. It
was partly hidden by wispy white hair, but I could have laid three
fingers in it.
I was at a loss what to say. Clearly, the story was over, but Jubal
hadn't answered my question. I wasn't sure now I wanted it answered.
"So that's what those are?" Dak asked him, nodding toward the jar. "Some new kind of Christmas tree ornament?"
Jubal said nothing, just took the lid off the jar and handed a bubble to Dak.
...who immediately had it slip from his hand. He quickly reached
down to catch it before it hit the floor, but it just hung there.
His eyes got wide, and he smiled. But the smile didn't last long. I
shut up for the next ten minutes, letting Dak repeat the kind of
experiments I'd done already. Finally he gave up and scowled at me. He
probably felt like a fool. I know I'd felt that way.
"So what is it, and what's it for, Jubal?"
"Tol' you I got no name for it, me. You
could
hang 'em from de Chris'mas tree."
"Anything else?" I asked. I was trying to be careful, remembering
what Dak had told me about Jubal and his limitations in practical
matters.
He looked back and forth at us, then smiled like a little child with a secret.
"I got some ideers, me. Come look." He led us to another workbench
across the room. There was a device there, I saw it was made from two
video game controllers, one with a couple small thumbwheels, another
with a pistol grip. It was held together with twisted copper wire and
pieces of duct tape. Small plastic labels had been glued over the
places where a particular button's function used to be.
The only label I could read was on one of the control wheels, and it
said SQUOZE and DE-SQUOZE, with arrows pointing to the left for the
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