 |
| It was time. |
Louis Shalako
Well, it was time and Éliott took a deep breath.
He had gotten out of his little hidey-hole. He had retreated the same way he had come in, and he was now about two hundred and fifty metres back up the trail. Outlandish as it might be and surely was, the noise would carry, and this had to be convincing.
He had the mouth organ, and he’d always had a good voice, or at least he’d always thought so. He started walking, and blowing little riffs, just tuning up and wetting the thing, which seemed to help as he recalled…
Half walking, half skipping, he began to play, and sooner or later, in spite of all the background noise, the hermit was bound to hear him. The smoke had still been rising, and the smell of bacon still strong when he had left his observation point. The key thing was not to waste too much time. Going along, he warmed up to the task, the act as he thought of it, and surely all of the world was a stage—and men are but fools.
The song was an old familiar one, very popular in its time and well-known.
It was by Leonard Joy.
Wonderful! Oh
it's wonderful
To be in love with you.
Beautiful, you're so beautiful,
You haunt me all day through.
Every little breeze seems to whisper
"Louise."
Each little rose tells me it knows I love
you.(love you)
Every little beat that I feel in my heart
Seems to repeat what I felt at the start.
Each little sigh tells me that I adore you,
Louise.
Just to see and hear you is joy I never knew,
But to be so near you thrills me through and
through.
Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss.
It had to be, but the wonder is this:
Can it be true, someone like you
Could love me, Louise.
He had his own special lyrics, having worked on them, and he threw those in too.
The birds and the bees seem to whisper Louise
All the little trees, seem to
whisper Louise—
The wind and the breeze, seem
to whisper Louise
The birds in the trees seem to
whisper Louise.
And I shall love you for
evermore.
Just a few more metres to go, just one more corner, and he would be there.
***
Éliott had blown one more little riff, just to make sure he’d been heard, and he was just stepping out around a slight bit of cover, when his heart practically shot out of his mouth—
It was the girl, coming up the trail from the other direction, and she had her basket and her glorious hair, and sure as hell it had to be her, and she was coming this way, still seemingly oblivious to his presence. No cape or bonnet this morning, it was more of a bright floral dress and a tan shade of sandals. Short sleeves, worn off the shoulder. She was a bare thirty metres away.
My God—
He stood there, rooted to the spot.
His hermit came out the door, turning towards him with a cross look on his face, obviously following the sound—but the girl saw the other man first and she called out.
Startled, the hermit turned her way.
It was only when he stepped forward a little further and gave another short blast on the harmonica that she stopped dead, and, uttering a little scream, her free hand flew up to her throat and she almost dropped the basket. It was like she danced and juddered in place for a moment.
“Jesus Murphy! Holy Mary, Mother of God, and all the Saints. Allez vous, faire foutre, Monsieur.”
The man spun on one heel, staring just as the girl was.
God, she was cute, and it was all Éliott could do but to keep on with his insane little song and to hope for the best.
 |
| ...every little breeze. |
“…every little breeze, seems to whisper Louise…”
As for the hermit, proud possessor of two bags of groceries that didn’t really belong to him, and now, with the girl coming along with what sure looked like a resupply, it was a good thing he didn’t have the shotgun. Just this once and he was sure glad to see that. Also, the man was looking pretty puzzled and it was only a matter of time before he figured something out.
He would recover—
The girl had recovered sufficiently, and those incredible eyes were on him…still gulping for breath and hand on her heart. Whether his own heart had just skipped a beat, or perhaps the entire Universe had come crashing to a halt for one brief moment of time, but it was like nothing would ever be the same again.
He stuck the little mouth organ in a side pocket, it didn’t look like he would need it from here on in.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. Bonjour, Mademoiselle.” He doffed the hat with a theatrical bow.
The gentleman’s face was getting a little red, and he was clearly flustered.
“I see your lovely granddaughter has brought lunch, sir.” Whipping out the harmonica, he blew a couple of cheerful little notes and put it away just as quickly again. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce the lady.”
In one must play the fool, then one must play it to the hilt. He went into a soft-shoe shuffle, tossing in a little bit of the Charleston, and no wonder they thought he was mad…
“…every little breeze…seems to whisper Louise…right, sir?”
The man stood there, agape. His mouth opened and closed, having no idea of what to do with this unwelcome stranger. Then there was the girl, and she had to be considered as well. He was like a tiger, confronted with a birthday cake or something, he had no idea of what to do with it. It was like Éliott could just see the thoughts revolving around and around in there.
Slowly, the idiotic grin faded and he heaved a sigh.
“…do I really have to get out the mouth-organ again? Sir.”
Just when he thought he had lost, the man’s shoulders slumped a little, he gave his head an odd little half-shake and then the lowered face came up and he spoke.
“And I suppose those were your groceries.” He sighed. “Did you go off for a big long poop or something? Argh. I suppose you might as well come in…for a second.”
The girl was making strange signs with both hands, the basket on the ground at her feet by this point.
The hermit gave him a long look.
 |
| Not my granddaughter. |
“She’s not my granddaughter. Her name is Capucine. It’s a kind of very beautiful flower.” He made a few awkward hand signs of his own. “She’s about as deaf as a fucking stump, and it’s no wonder you scared the living be-Jesus out of her.”
He could barely tear his eyes off of her—deaf, you say—
Putain de merde.
Her face lit up again, she smiled, she made more signs, and then she picked up the basket. She proffered a hand in a universal signal, you first.
There was no sense in arguing with a deaf person.
Wordlessly, he turned for the door. It was up to Éliott to decide, whether he really wanted to go in there, where undoubtedly that old shotgun was right to hand. On the other hand, there was the girl.
Truth was, he wanted to know more.
Maybe even a lot more.
END
Previous.
Chapter Thirteen.
Louis has books and stories
available from Google Play.
Thank you for reading.
