CHAPTER THREE
Irene stood listening to the blowhard on the truck, talking about change and making their city better.
“Pfft,” mumbled Irene. “Better? How do you make something that’s already just fine, better?”
A man next to her smiled down at her and nodded.
“I agree, chére. Ain’t no reason to change somethin’ that’s been workin’ for three hundred years.”
“Fool politicians,” she muttered.
“We will make New Orleans the gem that she should be. We’ll start right here in Jackson Square.
Look at it. It’s dingy and dirty, so-called artists and psychics around her fence.
Thieves, drug dealers, murderers wandering these grounds after dark.
We need to clean house and level the whole thing. It’s a joke!”
“It’s New Orleans!” yelled Irene. The man stared at the old woman, inclined to ignore her, but he just smiled.
“We will create a better New Orleans. It’s time to get rid of all of this. We will level the Square, build up the levees, and create beautiful living spaces, rising high above the Mississippi. People will come from all over the world to live in our city and enjoy our food and people.”
“People already do that in case you haven’t noticed. Millions every year. How many more millions do you think we want? Nobody’s gonna enjoy what you’re creatin’,” said Irene.
The man stared at her once again, frowning. He looked as though he could spit fire, and Irene was fairly sure he would at any moment. Leaning to a man next to him, he whispered something, and the man nodded.
“Those old live oaks are a disgrace. We tear those out and create a new image.”
“Those live oaks, unlike you, have history in this city. They’ve been at the center of every historical event in this area.
Yes, some of it is dark history, and some of it good.
But if you try to erase it, we’re only doomed to repeat it.
If you really knew our city, you’d know – ouch! ” yelled Irene.
She turned to see a man with a small black bar in his hand and frowned. Turning back to the man, she tried to continue, but the man poked her again.
“Madam,” said her ghostly companion, “I believe he’s using something called a cattle prod on you. I seem to remember hearing men talk of its use at one time.”
Furious with the man, she turned toward him, grabbing his wrist with more strength than he believed she could have. His eyes went wide, and she glared at him, staring into his face. He swallowed, staring at the old woman.
“You do not want to touch me again, little boy. This will not end well for you.”
“Leave Mr. Snow alone, or you will not like the outcome. He’s campaigning, and he will win this election and level this disgusting Square,” said the man.
“He won’t win nothin’ without the right support.” He laughed, pulling back hard on the cattle prod.
“He’s got the support and the money,” he laughed. “Go away, old woman, or you won’t like where this ends for you.”
“Old woman?” she laughed. Irene stepped closer, staring up at the man. He actually took a half-step back, and she reached out, laying her hand flat on his abdomen. “Seems like you got stomach trouble. Boy.”
He didn’t understand at first, then he felt the rumble and roll of his stomach. The familiar bubbling and gurgling of his intestines was leading to one thing. Then he noticed the distinct smell of something that wasn’t possible. No. No, it wasn’t possible.
He smelled shit.
“Seems like you messed your pants, little boy. Go on home and let your mama change them. Or I can do it for ‘ya.”
The man’s face turned red, and he backed up, cattle prod in hand.
“That was wonderful to watch,” laughed Grover. Irene nodded and then looked at her ghostly companion.
“Grover, I’d be forever grateful if you could help me to my car. I do believe I’m injured.”
Irene didn’t even bother to go to the clinic. She knew what the reactions of the others would be, and at least for now, she wanted to keep it from them. Instead, she got to the docks and took the small skiff to her island, finding her longtime friend.
“I knew you were comin’,” said Ruby. “How bad is it?”
“It burns somethin’ terrible, but I don’t think there’s any other damage,” she said, wincing as she got out of the boat.
“Come with me. I got a poultice ready for it. Then we’ll go out to the pond, and it’ll be fine. No one will know.”
“I’ll know,” said Irene. “That man is trouble, Ruby. Big trouble. He was talkin’ crazy about destroying the Square, the trees, all of it! Who would listen to that kind of nonsense?”
Ruby helped Irene into her cabin, grateful that the men were all on the other island working. The area at her side was blistered, red, and looking very angry. The moment Ruby placed the poultice on it, the heat dissipated, and the blistering disappeared.
“You’re a miracle, Ruby,” smiled Irene.
“We’re both miracles to be alive,” laughed the woman.
“I met a new spirit. Grover. I didn’t get a last name, but I know that he had a rough introduction to New Orleans when he arrived. They hung him, Ruby. Hanged him right there in the Square on that old live oak.”
Ruby shook her head, making a clucking sound with her tongue.
“You and I both know there were a lot of ‘em, Irene. More than we could count. That poor boy is stuck there, ain’t he?”
“I believe he is, but there’s somethin’ else keepin’ him there. I just don’t know what it is yet. Maybe tomorrow, you and me could go back and talk to him.”
“I could use a day in the city with my dearest friend,” smiled Ruby. “Besides, Sven’s been like a rutting bull lately. That man acts like he’s twenty-five, not a hundred and five.”
Irene laughed, nodding at her.
“Matthew’s the same. Don’t get me wrong. I love all the hugs and kisses, the sweet talkin’, and when that man reaches for me at night, my, my my. Aren’t we lucky girls?” She giggled with her friend.
“We are that. What do you say we go to the big house and do some research in the library? Maybe we can find out who this poor child is and help him.”
“Let’s go,” nodded Irene.