Amerigo and Charles Go To New Orleans, Part 1

During the flood, there must have been a time, perhaps when the water was at its deepest, or perhaps when the rooftop cries reached their loudest, or perhaps when God heard the slowing heartbeats of the submerged, that New Orleans became still. At that moment, the long-dead, awash in the breeching flotsam, stirred in their crypts and shallow graves and came alive. And out from the city's voodoo roots, ghosts emerged in elongated wisps and dispersed through the canal streets humming their funeral jazz. So, when that last water drop made its way to heaven, the ghosts had reclaimed their instruments and sat on stoops and streetcorners to play dirges and celebrations to their mournful city.

The joyous Mama rocked to and fro as she carried her keyboard and crates out of the alley. Wheezing midblock on an empty street, she stopped and delicately assembled herself: first the keyboard atop the crates and nearby bucket for a stool, then a whiteface from her powder compact and a careful glazing of red, red lipstick. With the sidestreet still brightening in the morning sun, the joyous Mama dusted off her red bib dress and shoes, then took out the compact again and straightened her white bonnet in the mirror, patting around her grey curls. Satisfied, Mama gingerly bent and sat down on the bucket, moving her big rump side to side. She sighed at the keys, then turned on the keyboard's power.

From the shadows of the blacksmith shop, Blind Johnny appeared from the right and sat at the corner piano. He felt around for his sheet music books and peeled one open to a familiar page. Blind Johnny noted the music with his fingers, then laughed at the frayed, warped pages, closed the book and threw it against the far brick wall. With the gentle uplighting of his face, Blind Johnny appeared transparent, his skin only a lamina around a skeleton as he stared and mumbled. His fingers smoothed along the keys. The music began first in his mind.

So they all were, playing, and that music has since never stopped. And through a chilly April afternoon, Amerigo and Charles were to bear witness along their decadent path.