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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