Johnny Gator

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “All right, honey, here goes,” Ronnie said.

  Nola scribbled the directions down on a piece of paper, then read them back to her aunt. As soon as she hung up, she headed out to her car and set out.

  The roads wound around the lake and in some places were so narrow that the trees on both sides of the road met overhead in a green canopy. She drove slow, hands gripping the wheel, and wondered what in the hell she would say when she drove up into Johnny’s yard. I should’ve taken a Xanax, she thought, a sure sign of her anxiety, because under normal circumstances she steered clear of medication.

  What would he say, she wondered, and what would he do?

  Nola had no clue but she intended to find out. She missed his companionship, and she wanted to share another kiss to see if the wild passion it ignited was real or just a fanciful dream.

  Chapter Three

  Although she brought the speed down to a slow crawl, the narrow lane leading to Johnny’s place became so rough Nola feared she might get stuck. Tall weeds on either side of the driveway whipped her car as she passed. Surely he’d hear her coming and walk outside to meet her, but when she reached the wide clearing beside the lake she saw no one.

  She parked the car near his old truck and climbed out. “Hello!” she yelled. “Anybody home?”

  No sound but the hardwoods and the sweep of the wind through the tall cypress trees. A far-off cry from a loon echoed lonesome through the late morning and Nola twisted her lips into a frown. She shaded her eyes and looked toward the lake. When she saw Johnny’s johnboat tied up at the makeshift dock, she headed toward the water. She figured he must be nearby, and she intended to find him. She decided she’d check inside the house if she didn’t see him fishing by the lake.

  A few feet from Caddo, she stopped when a water moccasin slithered across the path ahead. Nola shuddered and glanced around for a stick or something she could use to shoo it away if it returned or another came in her direction. Instead, she saw Johnny stretched out on the shore, arms tucked beneath his head as if he were sleeping. He should’ve heard me calling his name, and he shouldn’t be so still.

  She advanced with cautious steps and knelt down beside him. Dried mud covered his naked body and the soles of his feet bore small cuts in many places. Either the left one was filthier than the right or there was something not quite right about it. Nola peered at it. The skin appeared rougher there, almost like a hide, not human skin. Weird, she thought and stretched out her hand to touch it.

  “Whatcha doing here, cher?” Johnny said and she shrieked. She almost toppled over into the lake and might have if he hadn’t grasped her hand.

  “You’re awake,” she told him. It ranked as the stupidest thing she could have said.

  He sat up and stretched, face slack with the aftereffects of a deep sleep. “Mais oui, I am. I didn’t expect to find you kneeling over me. Why did you come? Is something wrong?”

  “It’s been several days since you came around and I was worried. I thought you might be sick or something.”

  “No, no, I’m good.” He sounded thick-tongued and sleepy, though.

  Nola narrowed her gaze and raked it over him. “You don’t sound so good, Jean Batiste. What’s wrong with your left foot?”

  Johnny’s eyes locked onto it and after a few seconds, he shifted position so it wasn’t as visible. “Nothing but a little dirt, that’s all. It’ll wash right off.”

  Something wasn’t right and she knew it. “How’d you get so muddy anyway?”

  “I must’ve fallen in the lake,” he said after a pause. “How else would it be?”

  “I don’t know but you’re pretty dirty.”

  His eyes shone and he grinned. “A little water, a little soap, I’ll be clean, cher.”

  He sounded like the man she’d come to know, the one she wanted with body and soul. Some of the concern she had carried for the past few days receded. Maybe she had worried for nothing. Leave it to me to get carried away, she thought with a rueful smile.

  “Maybe I can scrub your back,” she said. “And other hard-to-reach places.”

  “Tre bon,” he replied. “I’d like that, very much. Before I go inside, though, I want to hose off a little. C’mon, let me do it and then we’ll go in.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Johnny turned and padded toward his home. Nola fell in step behind him, intrigued by the way the mud made patterns on his back. For some reason, it appeared thicker in the middle.

  “Hold still,” she said and touched it.

  Beneath her fingertips, his skin seemed rough and hard. Perplexed, she spread her hand over it and shook her head. Tougher than calloused skin, it had an olive cast. “Does this hurt?”

  He halted. “No, cher, it’s just dirt.”

  “I don’t think so. Did you fall on your back? Maybe it’s bruised or something.”

  “No, no, let me go wash.”

  A desperate note crept into his voice and she fired off a series of questions. “Why were you sleeping on the ground without any clothes? What’ve you been doing the last few days? And why in the name of the good Lord are you so filthy?”

  “Nola.”

  The way he said her name sounded like a prayer or plea. “I’m waiting for answers,” she said. After all the worrying the past few days, her nerves and patience were both shot. She liked this man, maybe even starting to love him. She wanted to get intimate with him, but if there were issues now was the time to discover them.

  “Cher, I can’t give you any, none you could understand.”

  His green eyes met hers, bright with emotion. The expression he wore was sad but Nola steeled herself to ignore it. “I’m not stupid,” she said. Her throat tightened with emotion and an urge to cry. “I’m sure I could comprehend.”

  A flash of amusement lightened his features for a few seconds, then vanished. “Oh, woman, this is beyond anything you’ve ever known, believe me. It’s probably better if you go.”

  Here we go again. Resisting an urge to roll her eyes, Nola said, “No, it’s not happening. I won’t go unless I have a good reason and so far I don’t. What’s going on, Johnny?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I tried to tell you.”

  Johnny moved forward to the side of his house where an outdoor faucet connected to a long, green hose. He turned on the water and started washing off. Nola stood back a few paces, arms folded across her chest, and watched. As the caked mud and dirt sluiced away, his bronze skin emerged. He stood facing her so she could see his flat belly appeared normal, the skin soft and supple. Unable to bear the suspense, she stalked over, snatched the hose from his hand, and said, “Turn around. I want to see what your back looks like clean.”

  He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender and pivoted. Nola aimed the hose at his back where the skin had appeared thick and rough. As the water washed off the grime, she stared in amazement. His back appeared absolutely normal. She touched it and found it smooth beneath her fingers. “What in the hell happened? A few minutes ago, this was messed up big time.”

  After a shrug, he said, “I don’t know. I can’t tell you.”

  Doubting what she knew she’d seen, Nola shook her head back and forth. “I know I didn’t imagine it.”

  “What it is?”

  A burst of anger cut through her confusion and concern. “You know what! This skin was rough and bumpy in patches, more like hide than skin…”

  Nola went silent. What she’d seen and touched had been more like alligator skin than anything human. But she knew that would be impossible. Remembering how his left foot had appeared odd, she glanced down. It seemed normal now, just a big, bare foot. A vague uneasiness crept over her. I’m not sure how it connects or what I’m trying to think here, but it’s insane, totally and certifiably nuts. His secretive attitude fueled her fantasies, though.

  Washed clean, Johnny stood stark naked and met her gaze with those unfathomable eyes. After what seemed like a long pause, he sighed. “I’m gonna
go take a bath now, cher, and get cleaned up. Then if you’re still here, we’ll talk.”

  It was what she needed to hear but a chill shot through her body. “Do you promise?” she asked.

  “Oui.”

  A sigh expanded from deep in her chest and blew from her mouth. “All right,” Nola told him. “I’ll wait.”

  Inside his small home, Johnny bolted into the bathroom and shut the door. Nola glanced around at the place, curious despite her inner turmoil. Everything had a place, she noticed, and the neatness had an almost military precision. There were three rooms, a large main one, with the kitchen tucked along one end and a bedroom. She heard sounds coming from behind one of the two doors, and guessed the first was the bath and the second must be a closet. One more room adjoined it and must have been added on at a later time than the original construction. She pushed through the half-open door and found herself in his studio.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows, and there were no curtains to block the view of the lake. An easel rested against one wall. Three blank canvases were beside it, and she spotted the paintings along the opposite side of the room. Unable to resist temptation, she walked over and turned one around.

  “Wow,” she said. It depicted a night scene on the water, mysterious and almost eerie, yet heartbreakingly beautiful. Spanish moss drifted down from the tall trees like an old man’s beard above the almost-black waters. Small details included an owl perched on a branch and a lone gator swimming in the lake. Nola hadn’t known what to expect from Johnny’s artwork but she hadn’t thought his work would be this exquisite. She looked through them all. Caddo Lake figured prominently in each one, by day and night and in every season. Some focused on a particular bird or creature of the wild backwaters. A few were of the old cabins, like his and her grandparents’. Johnny had painted fishermen on docks, pirogues gliding across the water, and a couple sharing a kiss in the moonlight. They were lovely and captured the scenes so beautifully, though the last one disturbed Nola. Unlike the rest, the portrait focused on a single person, an older woman with wild, white hair flowing over her shoulders. Her dark eyes seemed to stare from the canvas with living force and dark malevolent power. She turned it back toward the wall and wished she hadn’t seen it. Now it would haunt her.

  “She’s some gnarly, huh?” Johnny spoke from the doorway.

  Nola whirled around. He stood, dressed in his usual faded blue jeans and a Western shirt, wet hair combed back from his face. His expression combined weariness with wary tension.

  “Yes. Who is she?”

  “Her name is Delphina Davis and she was a mean ol’ bitch,” he said. “Witch, too, and some called her the ‘Witch of Caddo’.”

  “You knew her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Oh, yeah, I knew her and loathed her. I should’ve feared her, too, but I was stupid.” His tone remained as level as a parking lot but Nola noted the tense set of his shoulders and his tight expression.

  “How did you know her?”

  He advanced into the room and sat on a stool. “I had a thirst for knowledge, boo. I wanted to know all I could. I thought Delphina could give me information I needed.”

  Repressing a shudder at the woman’s remembered image, Nola said, “Like what?”

  Johnny glanced down at the floor. “My grand’mere, she was a traiteuse, a healer. I dabbled in herbs and such myself, thought maybe I could fill her shoes after she passed. I got a reputation for a while as a traiteur. I made the mistake thinking that’s what Delphina was, too, but she wasn’t.”

  “What was she, then?”

  His emerald eyes held hers and his expression soured. “A witch,” he said. “A goddamned, black-hearted, evil witch from hell. Her potions and powers were for bad, never good—but I learned that the hard way.”

  Nola shivered with a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather. She rubbed her arms and wrapped them around her torso. Whatever was coming, it was bad and she knew it, but she had to ask. “How, Johnny? Tell me.”

  Somehow she knew it had to be the key to everything she didn’t understand. She wanted to know but she feared the answer.

  Johnny sighed and stood up. “I’ll tell you, I will, but I need coffee first, lots of it. Come to the kitchen with me. I started a pot and it should be ready by now.”

  She groaned. “Can’t you just say what she did? Then we can talk about it over a cup of coffee. The suspense is killing me.”

  He shot her a look. “You won’t believe me. At least I don’t expect you that you will, and you’ll probably leave. Don’t blame me for trying to spend a few more minutes with you, cher. Maybe you don’t know but I’m gonna tell you true now. I love you, Nola, and if things weren’t the way they are, I’d want to be with you forever.”

  His declaration, delivered in an anguished tone, struck her heart like an arrow and hurt.

  “I think I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened, why everything changed the other evening. I don’t know what I did or said…”

  Tears choked her throat and threatened to stifle her voice. Johnny crossed the floor and pulled her into his arms. “Moi, je t'aime. Don’t cry, you, not over this, not over me. I want you happy.”

  “I’m happy with you, Jean Batiste.”

  Without another word, he kissed her hard and fast, his mouth delivering the same message. His lips were tender but urgent. Nola leaned against him, caught fast in his embrace and cried. This had been what she wanted and needed. She inhaled his clean scent, the smell of his soap and beneath it, a hint of masculine musk. His strong arms cradled her and she thought she’d like it fine if she never left their circle. With mouths locked tight, she knew she’d never felt such deep emotions for any other man and no matter what his flaws, despite what he would tell her, she wanted Johnny Loutrel.

  “J’ai gros couer,” he muttered. Then he released her. “Let’s go have coffee then, cher, and talk.”

  So he wanted to cry? Nola wanted to, but she didn’t and wouldn’t. She trailed him to the kitchen area of his small house and sat down at the scarred old wooden table, waiting with the heavy heart of a prisoner about to receive an execution sentence.

  Chapter Four

  Nola held the cup between both hands and inhaled the rich aroma of the dark roast blend. Then she stirred a couple of spoons of sugar into it and drank. Across the table, Johnny sipped his black coffee, his eyes intent. She said nothing and asked no questions until she finished her first cup. He refilled their cups and waited. So did Nola as she committed every small detail to memory because she sensed a pivotal moment was about to happen. Her five senses were very aware as she caught the fragrance of Johnny’s soap and aftershave. She breathed in the outdoor essence of the lake and late-blooming honeysuckle somewhere close. Beneath her feet, the sturdy old warped wooden floor slanted at a slight angle, and the graniteware cup she held retained the heat of the coffee. The pressure that often preceded a headache increased in her temples and her eyes ached deep within from lack of sleep.

  “Okay, so tell me and get it over with,” she said. She didn’t mean the words to sound harsh but they came out a little sharp anyway. “The suspense is killing me.”

  “Oh, mon cher,” Johnny said. He sighed, his breath heavy and harsh. “If you want, then I will.”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t think you will believe me.”

  “I’ll promise to try.”

  “All right, then.” He put down his mug and laced his hands together. “I graduated from school and did a few years in the Army. I did a little time over in the Persian Gulf. When I got out I didn’t want to be around nobody much, so instead of going home to Acadia Parish I came here. I knew a few Cajuns around but I figured I could keep to myself as much as I wanted, so I did. I spent a lot of time out on the lake and after a while, I felt like me again, you know?”

  Nola swallowed hard. “I do.” His words described how she’d felt after getting to know him.

  “I start
ed painting and some people liked my pictures. Then I got interested in being a traiteur. Healing runs in my Mamere’s family and I had the knack. ‘Fore long, a few people started coming around to my door, asking me to help, and I did. I heard about Delphina long before I met her. I thought I could learn things from her, ways to help people, so I called on her even though I knew she also practiced voodoo.”

  She felt like she had to say something. “Where did she live?”

  “Way out on one of the most remote arms of the lake, cher,” he told her. “It was hard to find but I did,.and when I dragged my boat out of the water, she met me with a shotgun and told me to get gone or she’d shoot me. I stood my ground, me, and she didn’t. When she found out what I wanted, she acted pleased, said she’d help me. So I started going over there on Saturdays and she taught me. I learned a lot, at first, herbs and old grass cures and such.”

  Johnny paused and stared down at the table. When he remained silent for more than a minute, Nola prodded him to finish. “And what happened then?”

  “She got it into her fool head she wanted me,” he said. “By then, Delphina had to be somewhere the backside of eighty years old and me just thirty. She could’ve been my grandmother and I sure didn’t feel an attraction but I guess she did.”

  It took a lot to bring French to Nola’s lips but that was enough. “Mon dieu!”

  He gave her a faint smile. “I told her I wasn’t interested but she didn’t want to take no for an answer. I quit coming around and she came to me.”

  Nola glanced around and squelched an urgent need to scrub with lye soap. “Here?”

  “Oui, where else? And I told her to go away, don’t come back.”

  “Of course, what else would you do? What could she have possibly thought you would do?”

  “Delphina thought I’d climb into her bed, boo. She’d put some herbs into my tea that should’ve made her irresistible but the combination made me sick. It didn’t work and I puked it up, but she wasn’t aware. So when I spurned her it made her mad, and that’s not something you want a voodoo woman or a mambo to be, cher.”