Viva Jacquelina! (10 page)

But then again, I have no food, no money, and with my whistle being gone, no way to get any, and it's a long way from here to Lisbon. Besides, once there, what would I use to book passage?

I look upriver.
Madrid is up there. If I go to that city, I will still have no food, no money . 
.
 .

As if adding its voice to the discussion, my belly rumbles. I know I have eaten today, but tomorrow that belly will demand more, and it will be most insistent. I face north and begin walking.

To hell with it. Let's see what Madrid's got. At least it's closer.

The sixty miles from Papa Padron and his mule to the city of Madrid are some of the hardest miles I have ever traveled, be they at sea or on land.

I do not lack for water, for there is plenty of that along the River Manzanares as I work my way into Madrid. Remembering how I had gotten mighty thirsty on the way here, I fill up my wineskin for future use. I do, however, lack for food. My empty belly comes up to rest against my backbone yet again.

But the weather is mild, so I resolve to stop whining and make the best of things and push ever on, stopping only at night to sleep under a convenient tree or bridge. Most of the traffic along the river is by canal boats far out in the stream, so there is scant chance of my catching another ride. I know oranges grow in Spain, but I sure don't see any. There is some sort of root vegetable growing in a field that borders the river, but when I go to investigate, I am chased away by an angry farmer waving a very lethal-looking pitchfork.

Oh Lord, it's been three days since I've had anything to eat and your poor girl is so very, very hungry . 
.
 .

I see nothing of the edible plants Professor Tilden had told us about back on the
Dolphin.
When first I came to this slow-moving stream, I had gone down the riverbank to see what I could find. There were reeds sticking up out of the water all around me and I choked down a few of their leaves, but they were bitter and my belly rebelled and threw them right back up. When I was with the Shawnee, back there on the Mississippi, Tepeki and the other Shawnee girls showed me the good things to eat that grew along their big river, but there sure ain't no cattails nor wild rice around here, no. I've been gnawing on about everthing I can find, but I ain't found nothin' edible yet. Things are looking grim. My belly is flat and I'm still a long way from Madrid. What I would give for a nice, fat turnip, even though I don't really like turnips . . . or didn't used to.

Ah, dear Amy.
Yes, it's me again thinking of you and the dear old Lawson Peabody and in particular those wonderful breakfasts that Peg would serve—eggs fried sunny-side up, the yolks all gleaming golden yellow, crisp bacon browned just right, melted butter oozing off a hot, fluffy biscuit. Oh Lord, please . 
.
 . Wait, what's that?

That
is a mushroom, a big mushroom, standing right over there. It is a rather pretty mushroom, considering it's growing out of what looks like an old pile of cow flop. I squat down to pluck it up and I gaze at it closely. It's got a shiny orange top and its gills glisten with a purplish iridescence. It looks uncommonly juicy out here in all this desert dryness. My mouth waters . . .

And yes, I did eat that mushroom. I closed my eyes and ate it. It felt good in my mouth, tingling even on my tongue, but it wasn't very filling, so I just swallowed and pushed on down along the riverbank . . .

 

I don't get very far when things start to look a little . . . strange . . . weird, like.
Must be the hunger,
I'm thinkin'. The sun is hot and beatin' down on me brain and
what was that?
From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a mouse skitter away . . . just a little mouse, but in a white suit of clothes and a top hat, of all things. Curious, that. I swear he tipped his hat as he skittered off.
Wot the hell?
I shakes me head to clear it, but that don't help much, no it don't.
There seems to be a slight purple haze around the edges of things . 
.
 . geez . 
.
 . I blink my eyes and my vision clears, but I dunno . 
.
 .

I go on staggerin' along the river, turnin' over rocks, looking for anything,
anything,
to eat—a nice fat grub don't seem all that disgusting right now. But all I find is slimy centipede-like things and I ain't quite ready for that. Ain't seen no people in a while—the last ones I did see was too poor for me to beg anything off of so I didn't even bother, no, just keep pushin' on.

I'm on my hands and knees in the reeds and suddenly I hear
Mary . 
.
 . Little Mary Faber . 
.
 . Come to me, my child,
and I look up and, wonder of wonders, there is a white-robed figure, surrounded by a brilliant purple haze, standing on the opposite bank, his face glowing with a heavenly radiance, his arms upraised and beckoning to me. It's . . .

Jesus? Lord? You've finally come for me! Oh, yes, Lord!

I stretch my own arms out to Him, but then I blink my eyes and Jesus is gone. In His place is the trunk of an old, dead tree, its outstretched limbs withered and sere.

Must be the sun,
I'm thinking, and not too clearly at that. I lean forward and duck my face into the cool water.
I wish it had been you, Jesus. I'm sure You would have given me something to eat. I just know You would've 'cause you loves me . 
.
 . Manna from heaven, and this water turned into red, red wine, milk and honey, loaves and fishes, even, oh, yes . 
.
 .

It's then that I see him. He's right over there, 'cross a little stretch of water. No, no, not Jesus again, no . . . It's a big,
big
ol' bull, bullfrog. I peer through the reeds and see him right over there, across the shallow water, sitting on a hollow log—yes, he is a mighty bullfrog. A nice
fat
bullfrog. Must be a good two, three, maybe four pounds, if he's an ounce. As I watch him, drool beginnin' to pool in my mouth, he puffs up his big throat till it looks like a big shiny ball and then he lets out with a big . . .

BARRROOOOOOMMMM.

Shedding my pants and shirt, I flip them and my bag over on dry land and slip into the water. I find, as I move forward, the water betwixt the frog and me is about waist deep.

My mind, which is busy doin' some real funny things, goes back to that time in the Caribbean with Joannie and Daniel on the
Nancy B.
with Jemimah Moses tellin' her animal tales, and my crazy brain slips right into it . . .

Hello, Brother Frog. How you been?

The bullfrog brings his big googly eyes to look upon me.

Well, hello, Sister Girl. I been jus' fine. Whatcha got on yo' mind?

My mind is to eat you, Brother Bullfrog—legs, belly, croaker, and all, that's what.

Hmmm . 
.
 . I might be havin' a bit of a problem wi' dat, Sister Jacky. What makes you tink you can 'complish dat t'ing?

It's 'cause I'm low and cunning and powerful hungry and I'll get it done, you'll see, Brother. You be restin' in my belly soon.

Y'know, Sister, I recalls that Brother Fox and Brother Bear tried alla time to eat Brother Rabbit but it never happened, no. And Brother Heron and Sister Crane alla time tryin' to bag my skinny ass, too. Brother Black Snake give it a try or two, as well, but it ain't happened yet, no Ma'am. Don't 'spect it's gonna happen here, neither.

Yeah, but I'm smarter and quicker and a whole lot hungrier den dose brothers and sisters and I'm afraid it is gonna happen to yo' sweet self.

Ahhhh . 
.
 . uuummmm. We see.

Y'know, Brother Bullfrog, I done et up a bunch o' froggy legs when I was in France, all fried up crispy and crackly, and they was right good, you bet. Yer legs'll be good, too, even though I ain't got nothin' to cook 'em on.

I mourns for my poor French brethren, but this here's Spanish land, Sister. You'll find me a whole lot cagier than them other poor frogs. I got some gypsy frog in me.

We'll see, Brother Bullfrog, we'll see 'bout dat. You'll notice I'm creepin' closer and closer to your delicious self, movin' smooth through dis water just like any Mississippi bayou gator.

My big googly eyes do see dat, Sister.

You jes' sit still now, Brother.

Cain't do that, Sister Girl. Been good talkin' to you, but I gotta be off on my bidness.

With that, the frog gathers his strength and launches himself into the air above my head, chucklin' to hisself.

I, however, gather my own strong legs and leap high out of the water and grab his slippery self right behind his big ol' belly and wrap my hands around his nice, plump legs.

Got you now, Brother!

Oh, Lawsy, I think you does, Sister Girl! I'm one gone bullfrog!

That you is, Brother, that you is. Prepare to meet de Lord!

Just then a bunch of little frogs on the bank set up to peeping—
peep peep, peep peep, our Big Daddy's got hisself caught, peep peep!

Dat's true, chillun, looks like yer Big Daddy's goin' off to heaven. He gon' croak in dat Heavenly Choir! Hallelujah!

Dat's right, Frog,
says I, hardenin' my heart and tightenin' my grip.
I hears dey needs a good bass-o pro-fund-o up dere and you be just the ting, I'm t'inkin'.

Yo' prolly right, Sister Girl, buts now I gots to say goodbye to my fam'ly . 
.
 . Ahem! You peepers be good to Big Mama now and help her when Big Daddy done gone off to his reward . 
.
 .

We do dat, Big Daddy, but oh, peep peep, we hates to see you go, peep peep!

.
 . 
.
and you tadpoles swimmin' 'round Sister Girl's toes, you grow up big and strong and make yer Big Daddy proud, y'hear?

Hmmm . . . I do notice somethin' messin' about my feet, and bubbles, little purple bubbles, rise to the surface by my knees and each one pops with a
peep
when it bursts.

Peep peep, peep peep,
the tads go,
peep peep peep, please, Sister Girl, don't take our daddy, don't take our daddy . 
.
 . peep peep peep.

No, t'ain't no use, tads. Sister Jacky has hardened her heart. Big Daddy gotta go, chillum. He bein' called up yonder.

Oh, Big Daddy, please don't go! Peep peep!

Oh, he's a-goin' all right,
I says as I lifts him up, open my mouth, and bare the Faber fangs.
He's a-goin' straight down inta my belly! Oh, yes!

Sister Girl, I gots one last request 'fore I goes off t' join dat heavenly band.

And dat is, Brother?
I say, takin' his head outta my mouth and lookin' in his big ol' eyes.

I wants to give one last big croak so's Saint Peter be knowin' I'll be showin' up at the Heavenly Gates.

Awright, you do dat, Brother Bullfrog, but make it quick.

The frog huffs and swells up his throat till it looks like a big shiny ball again and then lets it out . . .

BARRRROOOOOM!

. . . right into my face.

Oh, Gawd, Brother, that is so foul!
I say, gasping for breath.
What the HELL have you been eatin'?

Oh, just the usual, Sister Girl, flies and moths and sluggly bugs. Hey, wait'll you get to gnawing on my belly—lots o' surprises in dere.

I fall to my knees in the shallow water and despair of my fate.

Peep peep, peep peep,
the tads go,
peep peep peep!

I'll let you go, Brother Bullfrog, on one condition,
says I, givin' the rascal a good squeeze such that his eyes bug out even more.

And dat is, Sister Girl?
he wheezes, unable to draw breath.

THAT YOU TELL THEM TO SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET OUTTA MY HEAD!

Peep peep, peep peep . 
.
 .

Awright, quiet down now, chillun,
says Brother Bullfrog, and the swamp goes silent.

I gently return Big Daddy to his pond and watch him as he kicks slowly back to his log, not hurrying a bit, oh no, as that is plainly not his style. He then climbs back upon it, in the same spot where I first laid eyes on him.

Looks like you won, Brother,
I says, still on my knees in the water with my head down.
And I'll prolly be joinin' the heavenly band 'fore you, as I am feeling mighty weak right now, and I am gettin' ready to slough off dis mortal coil and go be with the angels.

Now, Sister Jacky, don't despair o' dis world jus' yet,
says the Bullfrog, fixing me with his googly eyes and smilin' all 'cross his face.
Y'know, under the flat rock yo see over dere? Yeah, dat big shiny black one . 
.
 .

I looks over and sees the one he means.

Now, under dere you just might find some crawdaddies—yep, the very same smartass crawdaddies what have been pinching at Big Daddy's webbed feet after I told 'em not to, and you know dat ain't right, no. See you later, Sister Girl, you keep well now, y'hear?

 

Later, as I trudge along, my mind now clear, I spot some more of those mushrooms and I pick them. I don't eat any more of 'em, oh no. What I do is spread them out on rocks to dry when I stop for a rest, and it don't take long for them to shrivel and dry up real small, so's I can stash them in my bag. Specimens for Dr. Sebastian, I tell myself. But who knows?

And, as I push on toward Madrid, I wonder just how much of the last hour was real. I dunno . . . But what I do know is that three nice crawfish tails now rest in my belly, giving me some sustenance, and three well-sucked heads now lie empty on the bank of the river.