The Ballad of Trenchmouth Taggart by Taylor Glenn

Author:Taylor, Glenn [Taylor, Glenn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Blue Door
Published: 2009-12-24T04:30:00+00:00

He came back the following Saturday. Hands were shaken and bellies were filled. Then, Rose was afforded evening-time sleep. Zizi went quiet the moment she was put in the arm crook of Chicky Gold the baby man. She slept under a beard blanket and did not stir. Not even when the little front yard on a mountain bald became a two-man show. Clarence Dickason and Chicky Gold the harmonica man, an impromptu mess of harmonica and beat-up guitar. Vocals in the style of gospel and blues and shouting mountain jug bands. Holy hell blues, folks would later call it.

On a break, Chicky Gold looked down at the baby girl in his arms and then up at the stars in the sky. He didn’t say much in the company of his new neighbors. Clarence pulled the slag glass cover off of the small lantern in the grass between them and lit two cigarettes. After they were smoked, Chicky leaned to one side and pulled the derringer flask from his backpocket. The time was right.

‘Uh-oh,’ Clarence said.

Chicky would not tell his new neighbor about the magical quality of the flask, that it refilled itself endlessly. He simply handed it over. Clarence looked to the house, his tee-totaling saint of a commonlaw wife inside. Then he spun the cap off the strangely heavy thing and put it to his lips. He tilted. Then he tilted back some more. Nothing came. Clarence shut one eye and peered down the hole with the other.

‘It’ll fix you up just right,’ Chicky told him.

Clarence looked at him and nodded, confused. He decided not to say anything about the flask being empty. But it was. It was dry as cremated bone and smelled like it had been for twenty years. Clarence wondered about the faculties of the man who held his youngest then. For a short time, as he had been before and would be again, he was scared as hell of the man.

Chicky took it back when offered. He swigged its non-existing contents and said, ‘Ahhh.’ Re-screwed the cap. Then Clarence sang and fingerpicked a version of John Henry called ‘Gonna Die with a Hammer in My Hand.’ His sidekick picked it up halfway through. He accompanied with a mouth harp wail so high and so lonesome that if anyone had been in earshot, they’d swear the player held that Hohner with two hands, not one. They’d swear it was a hillbilly Sonny Boy Williamson blowing that air.

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