“You sure can sing a song,” I said, as he ordered a soda for the road. “Is this how you make a living?”

Big Abe let out a belly laugh that shook the ramshackle building. “I wrassle alligators during the day,” he said, “cause Mama John says she wants it that way. But to tell you the truth, I do feel dandy, cause this ten-dollar bill will sure come in handy.” Abe took his ten dollar payment from the bartender, stuffed it into his jeans pocket, and said, “Mr. Hare, I don’t mean to impose, but could you give me a ride a ways down the road?”

“Absolutely,” I said, collecting my change from the bartender. “I have something to talk to you about anyway.”

We walked out to the truck, and in minutes were driving down a one-lane dirt road so narrow, the swamp grass and reeds were inches from either side of the fenders.

“Try to avoid the swamp if you can,” Abe said, “or we’ll never be seen, nor heard from again.”

...

Mama John sounded like a lovely woman, and I couldn’t wait to meet her. If I looked at her as my opponent, then I’d have to get to know her better. “Tell me about your mother, Abe.”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and looking nervous. “She dips snuff and does stuff even men won’t do, but no woman around can touch her alligator stew. She’s so good with a rifle she can hit a bird flyin’, probably patch herself up if she thought she was dyin’. She’ll clean up horseshit in the blink of an eye, and her favorite thing to do, is watch her dinner die.”

Wonderful, I thought, I’m on the road to hell.

Abe spoke only one more sentence in the twenty minutes it took to get to his house. “She’s just a mean country mama. She makes me do things I don’t wanna.”

Go Back to The Village of Butt: Number Two Excerpts