Page 46 of A Boy Called Lovesong

“Oh God, do you need help? Let me help you!”

I grabbed the hand holding the spoon to steady him, and suddenly he snorted with laughter. “It’s okay, I’m just shittin’ you. I know how to eat.”

I let go of his hand, annoyed. “Oh funny. Real funny. Who’s the asshole now?”

“I am. But it was so worth it. I just wanted to see if you had a sense of humor, that’s all. You give off a serious kinda vibe. Has anyone ever told you that?”

I hmphed. “Yeah. All the time. At least lately.”

“I figured my dad’s sermon didn’t help. I mean, it weren’t exactly a knee-slapper. Like I said before, he gets carried away sometimes about the whole ‘something wicked this way comes’ thing. He thinks the Devil is everywhere, and hey, I’m not saying he’s wrong. But you? I know you ain’t him.”

“How do you know?”

Lovesong leaned in close. “Because Maybelle told me you met Iggy.”

I went blank for a moment. “Who?”

“Iggy Spoons. She said you met Iggy at the crossroads.”

“You mean the kid with the spoons? Yeah, he was kinda… strange. No offence. Where does he live, anyway?”

Lovesong gave a half smile and a shrug. “Nowhere. Everywhere.”

“He’s homeless?”

“No. He knows exactly where his home is. And he knows exactly what his job is.”

“To play the spoons? He told me his job is to play the spoons.”

Lovesong’s half smile turned to a full smile. “And don’t he do it well.”

I had to admit, of all the buskers and theatre acts I’d seen playing the spoons over the years, Iggy was up there with the best of them. Perhaps even better. Not that I was about to give too much of myself away. “He seemed rather good at it. Then again, are spoons really an instrument? Mine’s full of jambalaya right now. I’d hardly call it a harp.”

To be clear, this was not my personal opinion. Being with Joel, I’d learned that just about anything—anything—could make music. I guess I was just testing Lovesong’s limits. Seeing how smart he really was when it came to music.

He hitched one eyebrow in my direction. “You don’t think you can make music with spoons?”

I grinned, knowing he couldn’t see me. “I’m just saying a piano is a piano… and a spoon is a spoon.”

He raised his other eyebrow. “You’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice. You’re baiting me, ain’t you.”

“Maybe,” I toyed.

He laughed. “Oh definitely. Let’s play, shall we?” He turned to the rest of the table, his blind eyes floating over them as he said, “My dear friends, we have a challenge. Our wayward traveler here would like to hear a symphony of sound and a choir of voices… without the use of a single instrument, at least in the traditional sense. Oh, what a happy day!”

The others at the table laughed knowingly, and looking back I probably should have seen what was about to happen. And yet, I’m glad I didn’t, because the surprise of it was half the magic.

“Leroy, that wooden spoon on the rim of the grits bowl please,” said Lovesong. “In time with me.”

Lovesong started clicking a steady beat with his fingers while Leroy thumped the wooden spoon in time.

“Ida-May, Eloise, Lucy, forks against your glasses if you please,” said Lovesong, and the three cotton pickerstinged their glasses, each one a different pitch depending on the level of gin they’d drunk.

Lovesong was beginning to sway in time with the music when he said, “Auggie, George, blow into your beer bottles in time.”

The other two cotton pickers created a flute-like sound with their Abita beer bottles.

At that point, Lovesong glanced in Maybelle’s direction and said, “You know what to do next, Mama Maybelle.”

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