Louis Maistros - The Sound of Building Coffins

West knew in his heart that his uncle would have understood perfectly the importance of buttons left behind. Would have understood without explanation or debate. West spent the remainder of his waiting time imagining a big, button-filled house where he could live with Uncle Dropsy, just the two of them. Wrestling around and kidding all day long, building immense button towers that could never fall down. Boy, that sure would be a time , thought West.

Lost in his imaginings, West had no idea how long he’d waited before the sound of footsteps began clicking up the hardwood of the stairwell. West frowned at the noise; most likely some fool grown-up loaded with questions about what a kid might be doing sitting all by himself in the upstairs hallway of a whorehouse. West held his breath with one eye closed as the steps got louder. Finally, the owner of the footfalls came into view.

“Hiya, West.”

West brightened, and his chest blew out nervous air in relief. “Hey! Uncle Typhus!”

Typhus was no Dropsy by any means, but he was easy enough to get along with and had never been the bossy kind of grown-up. At four and a half feet tall, Uncle Typhus wasn’t even much taller than West.

“Here to see my mama? You done passed her door. She in there.” West pointed helpfully.

“Nope, ain’t here to see yer mama tonight,” said Typhus. He walked right up to West before stopping.

“What ya got there?” West noticed a heavy looking bulge in Uncle Typhus’ burlap coffee bag.

“You sure got a lot of questions, mister.” Typhus smiled. “Got something for Miss Hattie.” He raised his hand to knock.

“I think she takin’ a baff.”

Typhus rapped hard three times anyway. “That’s all right. If she don’t want to answer, I imagine she won’t. Can always come back later on.”

“Well, if she comes to the door,” West said hopefully, “tell her I left my buttons in there. I be needin’ ’em so I kin get on back to the ante-room like Mama said.”

“All right then, Mr. Buttons. I’ll see what I can do for ya.” West’s deadly concern over a bunch of old buttons gave Typhus a chuckle-but as Hattie cracked the door he lost the smile out of respect. He knew Hattie was having a hard time since the night of her cure. In fact, Hattie’s pain was the reason Typhus had come by tonight.

“Evenin’, Miss Covington.”

“Diphtheria done left, Typhus. She’s in her room-”

“Didn’t come for Diphtheria, Miss Covington.” Typhus searched the questions in her eyes. “Brought you a little something might put a smile on yer face. I hope this ain’t a bad time.”

Hattie’s face softened some. Seeing the man who’d taken her baby from her as she lay miserable and bleeding on Doctor Jack’s examining room table was exactly what she didn’t need right now. But she couldn’t blame Typhus for a decision she’d made of her own free will, and he certainly was a pathetic creature; a grown man in such a small body. It was hard to be anything but kind to a man who so resembled a child.

“Well, Typhus, it’s mighty nice of you to call on me, but I be doin’ just fine. I have to get dressed now.” Typhus just stared as if she’d spoken in Chinese, and so she added, “if you don’t mind, please.”

Typhus’ stare wasn’t from lack of understanding, though. Hattie had been the only real woman he’d ever had occasion to lie down with in his life, most likely the only real woman he’d ever lie down with now that he had Lily to tend to. As empty as his experience with Hattie had been, he now found the sight of her slender, perfect body dressed only in a robe an unexpected catalyst that connected certain previously unconnected things of heart and mind. The robe she wore was pure white, nearly as pure as Lily’s gown, and the contrast of Hattie’s smooth, light skin against the robe sent a shiver all the way to Typhus’ knees-caused his heart to skip a beat, his ears to boom. Hattie stood patiently while Typhus took a deep breath to compose himself.

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m sure sorry, Miss Covington. I did catch you at a bad time.”

West tugged at Typhus’ shirt; a gentle reminder to mention his buttons before the door closed.

“That’s all right,Typhus,” said Hattie. “Nuther time maybe.” She made a move to shut the door but Typhus had wedged a foot in its path.

“Trouble is, ma’am-I mean, I hate to be a bother…”

“Well, what then?” Hattie’s eyes had lost their softness. The idea of pinkening your own bathwater took some courage and getting used to and Typhus’ interruption had begun to weaken her resolve.

“Ya see, I got something here for you that won’t keep proper.” He pointed to the bulge in his burlap sack. “Perishable item.”

Hattie’s curiosity stirred. Something about the sight of the bag gave her pause. “Well, what is it, then?”

“May I come in?” Motioning again to his burden: “Awful heavy, this.”

Hattie eased out a defeated sigh as she swung the door open wide. Typhus stepped in quick, fearful she’d change her mind and slam it before he could get all the way through. West followed close behind.

“All right, now. Yer in.” Her tone no longer made attempt to hide her annoyance. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off Typhus’ bag; trying to recall where she’d seen it before. Then she remembered.

This was the same bag he’d put her baby in that night. She stared at its bulge and wondered if there was a baby in there right now. Perishable item. But the lump was too big to be a thing so small. Crazy thought , she reprimanded herself, holding back angry tears.

“Thanks indeed,” Typhus said, lugging the sack over to the thick, wooden table near the stove. “I have me a hunch you ain’t been eatin’ right lately.”

This was true, she hadn’t eaten in days.

He laid the bag on the table ever-gently.

“Been eatin’ just fine, Mr. Busybody. As if it’s any of yer damn to-do what, when, or how I eat.” This talk of eating made Hattie uneasy. She’d decided she didn’t care to know what was in the bag. And she was quite certain it wouldn’t be anything she’d want to put in her mouth.

Typhus just grinned. “Well, you’ll be eating good tonight, that’s for sure.” He held the bottom corners of the bag between thumb and forefinger, then lifted upward-dumping its contents onto the cutting board before Hattie could protest further. “Ain’t it pretty?” said Typhus.

On the cutting board lay the strangest looking catfish Hattie had ever seen. Pink skin instead of brown. Green eyes instead of black. Rubbery, thick whiskers. She took one cautious step towards it.

“What kind of fish is that?” she asked, surprised at the crack of emotion in her own voice.

“Catfish, Hattie.” It was the first time Typhus had called her by her first name. “ Your catfish.”

“Well, I s’pose it is.” Hattie couldn’t fathom the meaning of her own acceptance. Her catfish? What was that supposed to mean? And why did the idea give her such a strange, warm feeling? What kind of feeling was that?

“Now, I know you was getting ready for workin’, but maybe you could save yerself some time by skipping that bath.” Typhus seemed to know about her bathwater-pinkening intentions. Not only knew, but understood. This couldn’t be possible, but was so just the same. “Skip that bath and have yourself a little mealtime. You just sit back and let Typhus do the cooking. Just relax now. All right?”

West had already resumed his button stacking ritual by the door. As he worked, West grimly resolved to never, ever leave his buttons behind again. They were his buttons and he had a responsibility to take good care of them. He would not be so careless again.