Page 30 of A Boy Called Lovesong

It was a tinkling sound, like a windchime.

It was coming from behind me.

I spun about, then jumped with surprise at the sight of a young boy no older than eight or nine, atop a wooden crate on the side of the road. His arms and legs were skinny, and his clothes were too big for him, his trousers needing a pair of suspenders to hold them up, and in one hand he held a pair of spoons.

No, he wasn’t holding the spoons.

He was playing them.

Tappety-ting-ting-clatter-clang-ching.

His feet danced to the melody he made, his tattered shoes clunking against the old crate, and on his face was a grin that let slip a giggle when he saw me. “What be shitting you, mister?”

For a moment I didn’t answer him.

I looked around, up and down the crossroads again.

Again, I saw nobody else around.

I was also pretty sure this kid and his spoons weren’t there when I first pulled up.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

“Some believe it be science. Some believe it be storks. Some believe it be a miracle.”Tappety-ting-ting-clatter-clang-ching.“You need a lesson in the birds and the bees, mister?”

“What? No. No, I’m not talking about the birds and the bees. I’m talking about you. Here. Now. Where did you come from? You weren’t there when we pulled up.”

“We? Is you a we? I don’t see nobody else here.”

“The ‘we’ is me and my dog. Chet.”

At the sound of his name, Chet clambered across his seat and mine to peer out the open driver’s door of the car. The second he saw the kid, his tail started wagging. He barked with delight, then jumped from the car and ran over to the boy.

The kid beamed with just as much joy, jumping down from his crate and opening his arms wide to hug the pooch as Chet began slobbering the kid’s neck and face.

The boy giggled even louder. “He be an angel!” the boy cackled.

“Yeah, he’s friendly. You still haven’t told me where you came from. What the hell are you doing out here?”

“My job.” As though the words reminded him of his task, the kid jumped back up onto his crate and continued playing his spoons. “I’s just here doing my job.”

I scratched my head. “And what job is that?”

“I be fendin’ off the Devil. That damn Flim-Flam Man hates the spoons. This way I be keeping the cotton pickers safe.”

Tappety-ting-ting-clatter-clang-ching.

At the foot of the crate, Chet barked excitedly, jumping up on his hind legs.

I was becoming increasingly confused and annoyed by the boy’s words, and irritated as all hell by the sweat that drenched my shirt and dripped down my back. I felt like a stranger in a strange land, having a strange conversation with a strange boy, and the entire encounter became quickly jarring. Chet’s barking rattled me even more, and I snapped at him. “Chet! Stop it!”

“He just be havin’ fun! The Devil hates dogs too… at least the good ones. Let him do his job.”

“Listen, kid, it’s been swell…” Oh God, did I just use one of Margot’s stress indicators? “I mean, it’s been nice meeting you. But I gotta be honest, I’m not getting a whole lot of sense out of you. Unless you can tell me how to get to Clara’s Crossing.”

The boy pointed to the sign. “You here already. Can’t you read?”

“Yes, I can read. But I’m looking for a town… I think. I’m looking for someone who lives in a town called Clara’s Crossing. I didn’t expect to simply arrive at a crossroads.”

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