Black Beans & Vice (8 page)

THE REST OF THE workweek passed
quickly for James. Between the high
school students researching topics for
their senior projects and the flood of incoming applications for the part-time librarian position, time buzzed by quickly.

On Thursday, just as James was about
to duck into his office to review the paperwork on a fresh batch of candidates, a middle-aged woman
with a very long ponytail of ash-blond hair turning to gray walked
up to the circulation desk. She had several rolled posters tucked
under her right arm.

"I was wondering if you could hang this in the lobby right
away?" she inquired with a friendly but determined air. "The Wellness Village is sponsoring a Fresh Food Festival this weekend. I
know it's late to be promoting the event, but we don't have much of an advertising budget and are hoping to attract people through
word-of-mouth."

James reached for the poster. "May I?"

The woman unfurled one for him and laid it gently on the
counter. The central graphic showed a picnic basket overflowing
with fruits, vegetables, and a loaf of bread. Each corner was embellished with drawings of a farmer's life. One showed him plowing
his field, another featured him selling wares at an outdoor market, the third was a close-up of him handing a little boy a plump
peach, and the final picture depicted the farmer sitting down to
eat a meal with his family. James thought that the farmer bore a
close resemblance to Santa Claus. The red suit had been replaced
by denim overalls and a straw hat, but the man had the same kind
face and laughing eyes. In addition to the date, time, and location of the event, a stream of text ran around the perimeter of the
poster. It read, Save Our Farms! Buy Fresh! Buy Local!

James couldn't agree more. Having lived in the Shenandoah
Valley most of his life, he rubbed shoulders with members of the
agricultural community every day. He believed there were few individuals who worked harder or with more dedication than the
farmers he had come to know in his years as head librarian.

"I'd be glad to hang this for you. In fact, if you have any extras
I can assure you they'll be prominently displayed in the windows
of Quincy's Whimsies and The Yuppie Puppy. Both of those proprietors support the farming community. As do I" James couldn't
help but add.

"Thank you!" The woman beamed at him. "My name's Roslyn Rhodes, by the way. I'm a herbal healer and have an office in
the Wellness Village." She handed him a business card. Under her name were the words, Holistic Medicine and the slogan, Let Nature
Heal You. Beneath those lines her office phone numbers, address,
and hours were listed. James noticed that Roslyn's Health House
was right down the path from Harmony's.

For some reason, James wanted to show just how open-minded
he was, so he informed Roslyn that he'd received a hypnotherapy
treatment on Monday from her neighbor at A Better State of
Mind.

"Good for you!" Roslyn's praise was genuine. "I've heard a
great deal of positive feedback about Harmony's sessions. She's a
lovely person and has been an incredible help putting this festival together." She gave a self-effacing laugh. "We flaky types aren't
always in top form when it comes to organization. Ask me about
any herb on the face of this green earth and I can tell you all about
its properties, but ask me where my checkbook is and I'll be at a
total loss!"

James walked Roslyn out to the lobby and the two of them exchanged small talk while he hung the poster. "It says here that we
can eat lunch at the festival. My son has recently become a vegetarian. Will there be something else for him to eat besides farm stand
fruits and vegetables?"

Roslyn nodded in excitement. "Oh, yes! There will be dozens
of wonderful dishes to choose from. Trust me, I've been a vegan
for fifteen years and I'm already daydreaming about all the tasty
things I'll be sampling on Saturday. Your whole family is in for a
treat. Come hungry, my friend."

After Roslyn left, the Fitzgerald twins wandered into the lobby
to examine the poster. The two brothers consumed more food
than James deemed humanly possible for individuals with such tall, lanky frames and the slightest reference to anything edible
caused a glimmer to appear in their hazel eyes.

"Food festival! Sweet!" Francis declared and tried to peer
around Scott's shoulder. "What kind? Greek? Italian? Lebanese?
Barbeque?"

"Locally grown," Scott answered. "You know what that means?"

The brothers exchanged hungry grins and in perfect unison
shouted, "Pie!"

Francis elbowed his brother away from the bulletin board and
gazed at the poster with a dreamy expression. "Apple Brown Betty,
peach crisp, pear crumble."

"Blueberry cream cheese, lemon meringue, chocolate peanut butter pie!" Scott finished the list and then turned to James.
"Oops. Sorry, Professor. We didn't mean to torture you.

James gave a light-hearted shrug. "Believe it or not, I'm not
drooling onto my tie. Three nights of listening to my hypnotherapy CD has really helped stop those sugar cravings."

"That's good, Professor," Francis said. "Because that's the tie we
gave you for Boss' Day last year and it's dry clean only."

Looking down, James picked up the end of his tie and gave it a
shake. "I know. It's my all-time favorite. I became a librarian hoping that one day I could wear a garment that says, `Don't Make Me
Shush You!' and now I can."

Scott poked his brother in the side. "I wanted to get you the
Librarian Drinking League tie, but Francis said Mrs. Waxman
wouldn't approve."

"Probably not," James agreed with a laugh and then sighed. "I'd
better get back in there and look over those applications. So far, no one's worthy of even licking Mrs. Waxman's boots, let alone filling
them."

As James reviewed applications from college students in search
of an easy summer job, retirees who wanted a permanent part-time
position but didn't want to work the hours the position required,
and a young mother who wanted the job but only if she could bring
her three-month-old infant along, he began to despair.

Finally, toward the bottom of the stack, James came across a
very promising application. A graduate student from U.V.A. was
looking for evening and weekend hours as he had classes every
weekday morning. The young man was working toward a Master's
in English Literature and was not only well read, but also mentioned that he was interested in pursuing a career in public service.
Feeling optimistic, James was just reaching for the phone to schedule an interview when his gaze fell on the application line reading,
Wage Sought.

The young man had written that he needed to make a minimum of twenty-five dollars an hour to cover his cost of living.

Spluttering, James slammed the phone back into the cradle.
"Where are you living? In a mansion? With a butler and a personal
chef? The nerve!"

He was just warming up to his indignation when the phone
rang. It was Jane calling to assure him that Eliot's pediatrician said
that their son could receive all the nutrition he needed from a balanced vegetarian diet.

"As long as he's eating plenty of protein, taking his vitamins,
and not subsisting on potato chips and fruit roll-ups, he'll be fine."
James heard a hesitation in her voice. "The doctor also seemed to
think this was merely a phase. Apparently, it's quite common for kids to experience feelings of guilt about eating animals at some
point in their childhood."

"So what do we do?" James asked. "Encourage him or try to
convince him that he doesn't need to feel guilty?"

"I think we should support his decision, but we need to sit
down with him this weekend and explain animal husbandry a bit.
I want him to realize that raising livestock or eating meat does not
make a person bad."

Jane's suggestion caused an idea to form in James' mind. "Why
don't we let him talk to a farmer? There's a food festival in town
this weekend and a bunch of local food producers have been invited to sell their products to the public. After we give Eliot his
Livestock 101 talk, we can bring him to the fair."

"Sounds good to me," Jane replied. "But James, we have to be
honest with him. You and I both know that animals raised for food
consumption don't always have decent lives or humane deaths. I
know he's only four, but I don't want to deceive him."

James didn't like the direction in which the conversation was
headed. "We're not going to tell him boldfaced lies, but I'm not going to go into detail about slaughterhouse practices either. I think
we should focus on the message he got from this Fay Sunray person. I'll search around on the Internet and see if someone posted
a recording of her Nashville performance. She started this whole
thing, so I want to know exactly what she said that upset Eliot so
much."

"I wish my parents could remember. Of all the times for me to
have dashed off to the restroom!" Jane lamented. "I feel like I've
lost my mind since he made his announcement during dinner. I
wouldn't be so worried if my friends at work hadn't freaked me out by recommending family therapy and links to a dozen parenting websites." She grew quiet for a moment. "I've never secondguessed my maternal instincts until now. I don't like feeling so uncertain, James. Like I'm going to emotionally scar this kid if I don't
handle this situation perfectly."

Though James knew precisely how Jane felt, he also suspected
they were both overreacting. "First of all, we won't be perfect parents and that's fine. Eliot doesn't need perfection. He needs the
love and guidance you've been giving him since birth. Secondly,
I've been perusing quite a few parenting books in my spare time. If
these people had their way, the three of us would be in therapy until Eliot has a family of his own! Don't buy into this insanity. Stick
to your instincts-you, we will figure out what's best for our son."

"There's something else you should know," Jane added reluctantly. "Eliot's been having nightmares about dead animals. Someone played a really cruel practical joke on us before we left for
Nashville and it's affected him more than I'd realized."

James brushed aside the pile of job applications and sat forward in his chair. "What kind of joke?"

Clearly, Jane was reluctant to speak of it, but after some coaxing she gave in. "Someone put a dead robin in our mailbox. Probably a disgruntled student. You remember what it was like during
midterm exams. Between all the overnight cram sessions and cans
of Red Bull, the kids can lose their heads. Didn't a freshman student vandalize your car with shaving cream?"

Recalling the words, "Professor Puff Sucks!" written across his
windshield as though it were yesterday, James muttered something
unintelligible.

"Unfortunately, Eliot was expecting his Big Backyards magazine and so he ended up opening the mailbox," Jane continued.
"The bird was way in the back, but when he pulled out the magazine and the usual stack of junk mail, the body fell right on his
chest. I've never heard such a scream."

James shook his head in dismay. "Poor little guy. That would
have spooked most adults."
"

I know, but after Fay Sunray's comments about animals, whatever they were, I think Eliot now has this illogical fear that they'll
come after him if he eats them." She made a growling noise. "You
know, if I had a backstage pass to the next Fay Sunray Show I'd
choke her with her own guitar strings. Child entertainers should
leave their personal platforms out of their performances. I don't
care how noble the cause!"

The parents discussed their son's meal selections for the weekend and then said their goodbyes. James stuck the sheaf of job
applications into a folder, dropped it into his desk drawer, and
sighed.

Change is never easy, he thought.

That night, he had his own frightening dream about birds.
These were not robins, like the stiff red and blue body Eliot pulled
from the mailbox, but black crows with malicious eyes and sharp,
hooked beaks. Gathered on a leafless tree at the far end of the front
yard, they suddenly flew at him en masse, forming an ominous
cloud of shadows and feathers. Their caws grew louder and more
aggressive as they raced toward him through the purple night sky.
James' dream self darted inside his house and slammed the front
door. Terrified, he scuttled down the hallway to his bedroom, hop ing to draw the curtains before the crows could reach his window,
but just as his fingers closed on the cotton drapes, the impact of a
dozen beaks smashing into the glass made him cry out in terror.

James bolted awake in his bed, his heart drumming in his
chest. He glanced nervously at the window, but exhaled in relief as
he realized the rapping on the glass was merely raindrops and not
a murder of hostile crows.

The spring storm persisted for most of Friday, but by Saturday
morning, the sun was bathing the Shenandoah Valley in warmth.
The flowers James had planted the week before had produced new
buds and were inviting the attentions of honeybees, monarch butterflies, and hummingbirds. Squirrels chattered at him from their
nests in the dogwood tree while he swept the front walk and raked
stray leaves and pine needles from the lush grass.

After his outdoor chores were done, James took a shower and
settled in front of the computer with a large glass of iced tea. He
went to YouTube's homepage and searched for Fay Sunray, clicked
on one of her videos entitled, "We Love Our Earth," and sat back to
watch. Fay had golden hair styled in pigtail braids and large, bright
blue eyes. She was in her late twenties, but sang with a very high
and girlish voice. She wore a navy dress covered with sunflower
designs and a pair of green galoshes. As she sang about recycling
and water conservation, a group of flower puppets with smiling
faces provided background vocals.

"Nothing offensive there," James mused. "She seems pretty and
sweet. The little boys probably all have crushes on her." He scrolled
farther down the page. "I've got to find a link to that Nashville
show."