A Cajun Man's Place; or: An Experiment in Storytelling after Binging on Justin Wilson
How y’all are? Me, I’m casting
mah eye back and having mah enjoys seeing wat I see: I don’ wanna’ forgot the
good stories and the wondermous Cajun frien’s dat I had an’ still got, I
garontee!
How y’all are? Me, I’m casting mah eye back and having mah enjoys
seeing wat I see: I don’ wanna’ forgot the good stories and the wondermous
Cajun frien’s dat I had an’ still got, I garontee!
Wat did you said? “Who m’I and why am I
talkin’ at all ya’ll?” Well… Le’ me tol’ y’all a thing or three or
two about mahself (I mus’ tol’ you about dis fore I forgets to tol’ y’all
altogether). Murphey mah fron’ name, Guitreau mah behin’ name, an’ I’m a cook
at Scivique’s truck stop on the Gulf down hare in Louisiana.
I wasn’ always a truck stop cook, though, no, that’s for
true. I was born an’ reared on a farm between Amite City an’
Roseland, Louisiana. When I was about nine year’ ol’, I din’ much
like to work in dem fields none. Nuh-uh. So when Mama
tol’ Père she needed help in the kitchen, I volunteered immediately. Naturally,
I din’ start cookin’ immediately, but I watched a great deal, and by osmosis I
couldn’ help but learn many things. Not jus’ about cookin’,
no! Mah Mama was a wondermous storyteller (an’ a damn good cook,
too, I garontee!) and like I tol’ you, I couldn’t help but learn many things,
not jus’ about cookin’, but about wat it mean be Cajun an’ wat life is like for
mos’ folks down hare… Or, at least, how life used be…
You see, frien’, although some Cajuns is rich as thick
cream, mos’ of them ain’t got the money to buy them fancy suits and cuts of
meat and high price’ cars. An’ dat’s where the imagines comes
in. The rat attitude is made up from two things: You’ imagines and
you’ common ol’ horse sense, which the Cajun has hisself a barrel of.
I membrin’ now a good story mah Mama tol’ me once when I
axed her if I shouldn’ be out in them fields in mah place with all the other
men. An’ she tol’ me then like I tol’ y’all now: “Ain’t no such
thing as a ‘man’s place.’ An’ it just plumb crazy to think there
such thing as a ‘woman’s place’ neither! Dare ain’t no question
about dat, no!”
Dare be dis’ couyon back behin’ a ways, who din’ have the
rat attitude. He done think dat the man’s place was out in them
fields, and the woman’s place be in the kitchen, mah Mama tol’ me then like I’s
tellin’ you now. An’ one mornin’ he done wake up next his wife and
said, “I’m tired, I don’ wan’ go out to dat thare field no
more.” (He was a lazy man, too, I garontee!)
“Wat ch’you gonna do instead?” his wife axes him.
An’ he says, “I don’ know. I ain’ gonna stay
roun’ here, though, no. This here be the woman’s place” (in the
house, you see), “an a man’s place is out workin’. Maybe I’ll jus’
rest today and go back out the field tomorrow.”
Well, his wife be real Cajun, wit plenty a good ol’ horse
sense, an’ she got rat mad at wat he done tol’ her. Her face get all
red like, and her hands begin a tremblin’, an’ she tol’ him then, “Is dat
so? Well, you think it so easy workin’ in this hare kitchen, YOU
stay home and do the ‘woman’s work.’ I’ll go an’ do your ‘man’s work’ in the
fields.”
He jus’ laughs and laughs and she gets ornerier and
ornerier until he tol’ her, “Fine, you think yous a man, you go do the man’s
work. Can’t be dat hard to work roun’ hare, anyhow, if you kin do
it.”
An’ shakin’ red with anger like a crab in a cookin’ pot,
she tol’ him, “Fine. Den here’s wat you got’s to do: wash the
laundry, feed them chickens and the horse, cook us up some dat jambalaya from
the day behin’, and clean the house up some, too.”
“Dat’s it?”
“Dat’s all.” An’ she throws on her boots and
storms out the door like a hurricane.
He watch’ her go, an’ think to hisself that he could do
all dat work in an hour or three or two and so lays his head back and begins
snorin’ like befo’ he done woke up in the firs’ place. (Like I tol’
you, he was dam’ lazy, too, I garontee!)
Well, he wakes hisself five or four hours
later and takes a look roun’ the house, decidin’ wat he want do
firs’. Now, he don’ have much horse sense, but he gots plenty the
imagines, so he decides to do the laundry firs’ and leave the res’ for when he
get back.
You
see, back in dem days we din’ have none a dem fancy accoutrements of
civilization like we done today. An’ (even though he didn’ have to)
he done thought he had to take the dirty things to the river and wash them all
by han’ (an’ that be dam’ hard work, dare ain’t no question about dat,
no!). Well, he gets to imaginin’ as he’s ridin’ the horse to the
river… (An’ jus’ to tol’ y’all about how he imagines when he gets to imaginin’:
the horse’s name was “Chien,” which means “dog” in French)… An’ he thinks he’ll
save hisself some time if he jus’ let the clothes soak in the river dare for an
hour or three or two while he gets the other things done back
home. “Then I don’ have to work so hard at cleanin’ the clothes in
the firs’ place,” he thinks.
So he sets down the clothes on the river shore dare and
sets some rocks on top dem an’ then he looks at wat he done and gets to
imaginin’ again. He imagines to hisself, dat he can save hisself
some time if he throws the clothes he got on in the river, too. “Den
they be clean, too,” he thinks. “An’ the mos’ best thing is, I don’
have come back an’ do dem, neither.”
An’ he got back up on Chien floppin’ freely like ol’ Adam
in the Garden of Eden. (His horse din’ seem to mind, none,
though. Ol’ Chien been walkin’ roun’ naked for as long as he could
remember, I garontee!)
Back at the house he let his horse roam freely
dare. He din’ tie him up or nothin’, jus’ to let him graze for
awhile. (Den he don’ have to feed him, he thinks to hisself.) Then
he gets to imaginin’ how he’s gonna’ feed them chickens without workin’ too hard. An’
an idea come to him jus’ like that (I jus’ snapped mah fingers at ch’ya, but
how you gonna’ know dat ‘less I tol’ you I done?).
He
goes in the chicken house with some string and ties all their feets together,
then he let’s dem all out the house to peck and poke the grass dare like the
horse done. “Dare,” he says to hisself, “now they won’ be runnin’
away none, and I can watch dem all from the kitchen as I cook up the jambalaya.”
So
he goes in the house and looks out the window in the kitchen at wat he done
dare on the lawn, ol’ Chien chompin’ away at the grass and a whole mess of
chickens pecking at the groun’, jus’ peckin’ themselves in
circles. An’ he smiled to hisself, “Women’s work ain’ so hard, dare
ain’ no question about dat, none, no, I garontee!”
Well, no sooner does he got the jambalaya out on the
table when he sees a big shadow swoop across the grass through the window, an’
he knows rat quick that a chicken hawk be circling his yard.
He
don’ panic none, though, no. He jus’ laughs a little to hisself
again and thinks, “Hows he gonna’ pick up all dem chickens wat I tied
together? Huh? How big a chicken hawk he thinks hisself
to be?”
Mus’
thought he was a pretty big one, ‘cause shore enough he loops aroun’ the
chickens for awhile, an’ they all get to squakin’ and flappin’ and tryin’ get
away but all they done do was run roun’ in circles all tied together
like. So the hawk glides down and grabs one of dem an’ starts to fly
away. An’ while the man in the kitchen be laughin’ hisself to tears,
he sees the hawk pick up that chicken… An’ den he flew away.
…Draggin’
a line of chickens along the groun’ like pearls on a string.
The man races out after them, but it’s too late. They
up an’ gone.
An’ that thare chicken hawk be eatin’ wondermous good
that night, I garontee!
Knowin’ that dare ain’ nothin’ he could do about it none
then, he says to hisself, “Les’ see dare, now. I can’t make up mah
head whether we’re gonna tell mah wife wat I done or not.” (But you can tell by
the look on his face that he gonna’ lie like a dog when she come
home. Dare ain’ no question about that none, no!)
So
he walks back in the kitchen to finish up the cookin’, when wat he find dare
but ol’ Chien eatin’ up the rest o’ the jambalaya and lickin’ his lips
like. So he shoos the ol’ horse out the house and tells hisself,
“Mos’ everyone gonna’ agree, it wouldn’ tasted too good none,
anyhow. That jambalaya sure would have made nice new half-soles for
my shoes, though, I garontee!”
An’ he tells hisself, “I’ll jus’ catch some crawfish down
by the river when I gets me dem clothes I set dare. An’ you talk
about good! They’ll give you indigestion, but they’re mighty fine.
I’ll have time to imagines somethin’ to tell the wife, dare, too. That ol’
Misissippi is a plumb good place for me to do my contemplate, I garontee!”
So he hitches ol’ Chien up again and rides down to the
river shore. Course, he shoulda’ known that his clothes would be up
and gone by the time he gots dare. One big barge come through and
the waves washed his clothes straight on down to Mexico, I garontee!
He
knows now that he’s in a real sore spot, an’ it ain’ gonna be none better when
his wife come home, neither. So he decides to ride into town and buy
some new clothes and some more chickens befo’ she ever fin’ out wat he done
while she was gone workin’ in the fields. But he knows dat he can’
be ridin’ around like Lady Godiva, so he pulls up some of them rozoe weeds
that grow dare by the water an’ makes hisself a grass skirt to hide his shame,
as you might call it, an’ looked over at ol’ Chien and axed him: “Ooh,
boy! Dat’s a relief, I garontee! Dis jus’ got to be
good. Dat’s all dare is to it. If some of you frien’s
don’ like dat I t’ink dey better call the doctor quick an’ fast ‘cause dey is
plumb sick!” An’ Chien jus’ look down at that grass skirt and licked his lips
like.
Le’
me tol’ you the mos’ wondermous part about us Cajuns (and ol’ Chien was a real
Cajun Cajun, dat’s for true!): We don’ need no appetizers ‘cause we
got an appetite. The kind of appetite we got wake up wit’ us in the
mornin’. An’ that jambalaya din’ done nothin’ to slack that ol’
horse’s hunger, that’s for true! So he takes one last look at
that tasty grass skirt the man be wearin’ and takes a big bite out of it…
When the man’s wife come home, wipin’ the sweat from her
forehead with her skirt like, tired and hungry and ornery all over, she looked
aroun’ an’ found her beau layin’ in bed jus’ like she left him. So
she give him a kick an’ axed him: “Where are our clothes?”
An’
he had to answer: “I los’ dem in the river.”
So
she give him another kick an’ axed him: “Where the chickens be?”
An’
he had to answer: “I los’ dem, too.”
So
she give him two kicks an’ axed him: “An’ wat about the jambalaya?”
An’
he had to answer: “I los’ dat, too.”
So
she give him another two kicks an’ axed him: “An’ wat about your
dick? That’s all I ever needed you for in the firs’ place, I
garontee! You still got dat, or you los’ dat too?”
An’
he had to answer: “I los’ that the second I decided to do woman’s work!”
Rat then and dare mah Mama got to laughin’ so hard she
had to wipe the tears from her eyes with her apron. Course the joke
was a bit ol’ for me at the time, an’ when she look’ down at me an’ saw the
terror in mah eyes at wat she done tol’ me, she laughed all dat much harder.
“But
Mama!” I cried, “don’ dat mean I might lose mah…” (somethin’ very dear to me at
the time, even though I din’ quite know all the wondermous things I might do
wit’ it some day) “…for bein’ in the kitchen wit’ you hare in the firs’ place?”
Still
wipin’ the tears from her eyes, she tol’ me then like I tol’ y’all now: “No,
boy, you ain’ gonna’ lose nothin’ by workin’ hare with me in the
kitchen. You don’ lose your manhood by workin’ at ‘woman’s work,’
no. You can do anything you dam’ well please, dare ain’ no question
about dat! You only lose your manhood (an’ womanhood, too) if you do
wat you do an’ do it lazy… So don’ you never be lazy, you hare?”
An’ I ain’ never been back in dat field, never since,
dat’s for true. An’ I ain’ never been lazy never since,
neither! I garontee!!
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