Fiction Friday

Sundown in Zion

Chapter Five

Our hero just finished visiting with a young friend and reading a note from an old friend. It's early and adventure awaits.

After Nelson had cleaned the dining table, he picked a book from a box and sat down to read. He examined the title of the book and the inside cover. Then he turned to the first chapter. As he read, he began to smile. In the narrative, a young child was talking about his parents’ tombstone.

            Nelson read, “The shape of the letters on my father's, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, ‘Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,’ I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly.”

            Nelson lowered the book to his lap. “Also Georgiana, wife of the above,” he said aloud. He closed his eyes drew a deep breath. “Also Georgiana,” he repeated. He put the book aside and stood. He went to the front door and walked onto his porch. The night offered one of those mid-March evenings of balmy weather with a freshening breeze from the north-northwest. Nelson sat for a while in a porch-lounger and watched the street where the truck had parked earlier. Then he checked his watch. It was still early in the evening so he rose and went back into the house. He grabbed light jacket from a rack and secured the house. After checking both ways, he turned north toward Ninth Street, his hands stuck deep in his pockets and his jacket zipped against the night breeze.

            A few blocks from his home, Nelson entered a neighborhood micro-brewery. Although it was early, the place had started to fill. Nelson purchased a house special and took a seat at the last empty table, a small two-seater located in a quiet corner. He sipped his beer and watched the young and lively crowd.

            Nelson appeared deep in thought when a strong feminine voice from beside him intruded.

            “Join you?” it said. Nelson looked around. A tall woman, probably in her early-thirties stared down at him. She had dark auburn hair that fell softly to her shoulders and then curled upward. He skin was flawless and her dark eyes danced for him. She wore a long-sleeved sweater-top of a muted color with crocheted ruffles around the neckline and down the front. It emphasized generous breasts that seemed both proud and comfortable. A dark gray knit skirt extended to mid-thighs of long shapely legs. A small pendant hung from a thin gold chain around her neck. She placed a hand on a hip and smiled.

            “Don’t mean to be forward,” she said. “I’ve just been on my feet all day and I’m bushed.” She looked at the empty chair. “Are you expecting someone?”

            “No,” Nelson said, and he motioned for her to take the chair. She sat her beer on the table and slid into the empty chair, extending a hand. “Tina Barrow,” she said. “No relation to Clyde.”

            He shook her hand. “Gideon Nelson,” he said. “No relation to Baby Face.”

            They both laughed. Tina wrapped both hands around her beer and leaned forward. “Haven’t seen you here before.” She said it as a fact but apparently intended it as a question. She waited for an answer.

            “Just a couple of times,” Nelson said. He took a short drink from his mug.

            Tina said, “Nice place. It’s what passes for a neighborhood bar in Little Rock.

            He nodded. She leaned back and observed the room. “Mostly the young crowd,” she said. “I like it though. I meet some of my students here from time to time.”

            “You’re a teacher?”

            “Sociology,” she said. “UALR.”

            “The University of Arkansas at Little Rock,” he said.

            “That’s the one. You new around here?”

            “Been in the area for a year and a half or so. Just moved to the city.”

            She leaned back toward him. “Now you know what I do. Want to tell me what you do?”

            He smiled. “I recuperate,” he said.

            She looked for a smile but saw none, started to speak but stopped, then nodded. “Don’t we all.”

            They both settled back and regarded the crowd for a few minutes. A young couple entered the bar and the man spotted Tina and waved. She returned it and the two walked to where she sat.

            The man said, “Hey Dr. Barrow. Out slumming?”

            She smiled. “Keeping tabs, Mr. Osterman,” she said, “caring for your sheep is a Biblical injunction don’t you know?”

            “It’s Friday night,” the man said. “Students are allowed to howl on Friday night or life ain’t worth living.” The girl with him giggled.

            “Granted,” Tina said, raising her mug in mock salute. She waved it toward Nelson. “Meet Gideon Nelson, a recovering American.”

            The three shook hands all around the couple wandered toward the bar. Tina leaned in close to Nelson, and laughed. “Making students nervous and curious makes it all seem worthwhile. My life’s dream is to catch one doing something truly untoward and cause them to wet their pants.”

            Nelson laughed. Tina raised her mug in salute and he touched it with his. He said, “Here’s hoping you achieve all your dreams.”

            “Now that I’ve shared one,” she said, “do you have any? Secret dreams that is?”

            Nelson thought. “To tell you the truth, I would like to have a college degree someday. Fact is, I’m looking into your university to maybe take a course or two.”

            “Not sociology, I hope.”

            “You don’t like older students?”

            “I love them,” she said. “They actually want to learn.” She took a sip of beer. “But sociology, I’m afraid, isn’t all that valuable in the marketplace. Someone once described it the study of it as ‘an elephant giving birth to ant’ and I find it increasingly difficult to dispute that description.”

            Nelson eyed her carefully. “But,” he said, “you chose it.”

            “I was idealistic. It was the 1990s and things in America were good, probably for the last time. The field wasn’t crowded and besides, my husband was going to make loads of money and I wouldn’t have to worry about supporting myself.”

            Nelson said, “What does he do, your husband?”

            She drank and sat down the mug. She looked at Nelson as if to say something but changed her mind. She looked away and then back at him. “He currently occupies a small patch of ground in a large cemetery on the east side of town.” She sighed. “It’s marked by one of thousands of little white tombstones.”

            “Military.” He said.

            “He owed the army a tour for putting him through med school,” she said. “We had almost finished it stateside when that little prick of a president we had decided to invade Iraq.” She pointed to the diamond pendant on her chest. “This is all I have left of him. It’s from our first anniversary.”

            Nelson drew a deep breath then exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said.

            “Oh don’t be,” she said. “After all, I will get to march in the ‘Widows of Freedom Fighters’ Parade, if they ever decide to have one.”

            Nelson didn’t react. He waited for her to continue.

            She smiled. “It’s been awhile,” she said. “It comes and goes now—the bitterness.”

            He nodded in a show of understanding.

            “You ever serve in the military?” she said.

            Nelson thought for a few seconds. He seemed to be considering alternate replies. Finally, he looked into her eyes and said, “That’s what I’m recuperating from.”

            She dropped her chin onto her chest. “You men.” She raised her gaze to his. “They say he would still be alive if he had minded his own business.”

            “I imagine they could say that about a lot of folks,” Nelson said.

            She brightened, “Hey,” she said, “I didn’t intrude on your privacy to bring in a black cloud. To freedom fighters.” She raised her mug again and clanked it against his.

            Nelson eased the conversation to a starboard tack. “Are you from around here?”

            “A little postcard of a town a few hours away. Ever heard of Eureka Springs?”

            He thought. “The tourist town?”

            “That’s the one. Ever been there?”

            “It’s on my ‘thinking about things to think about doing list,’” he said. “I have a couple of friends who I think would like it, from what I’ve heard.”

            “Well gather them up some weekend and I’ll take you on the grand tour.”

            “They live in Austin, Texas,” he said. “Maybe next time they are here.”

            “Maybe so.” Now it was her time to change the tack. “Do you like it here? In Little Rock, I mean.”

            “I’m beginning to,” he said. She smiled. He smiled in return. “Let me ask you something,” he said.

            “Maybe a bit soon for my phone number,” she said, “how about my email address?”

            He laughed. “More of an information-seeking question,” he said. “Are you familiar with this place called Connorville?”

            “Connerville?” she said in surprise. “The town up north of here?”

            “That’s the one.”

            “Don’t be going up there,” she said.

            “Why?”

            “Bad actors,” she said. “Are you familiar with the Latin term ‘anus mundi’ by any chance?”

            He thought and the thought produced a smile. “I think so.”

            “That’s the place. It is a throwback to what folks in our state used to call a ‘sundown town’ and those who live there now couldn’t be prouder of the title.”

            “Sundown town,” he said. “What is that?”

            She looked at him closely. “You really don’t know?”

            “I don’t.”

            “Where are you from?”

            “The northwest.”

            She drained her mug and started to rise. “Can I buy you a beer?”

            “Let me buy you one,” he said. “Payment for information about to be received.”

            “Hey,” she said, handing him the mug, “a girl’s gotta live.”

            When he became obscured by the crowd at the bar. She reached for her purse, opened it, and withdrew a small compact. Opening it, she regarded herself in the mirror. She straightened a strand of hair, and smoothed the makeup under her eyes. The she pursed he lips twice and slid the upper one against the other. Leaning back, she regarded herself again before placing the compact back in the purse and lowering it to the floor. When he returned with fresh beers, she took hers and smiled at him with a kind expression. “Merci,” she said.

            “Now,” he said, “tell me what a ‘sundown town’ is.”