A houseboat. Finegan Fine

Painted in red paint on the wall across from the Alabama and Arkansas

rooms is a general index, a list of these states, with an arrow

pointing down the corridor.

Memphis Papa walks ahead of Joey, who is literally at his heels.

Finegan brings up the rear. They stop in the Georgia doorway, Joey

bumping into Memphis Papa’s ample rear end.

Here we are.

The room is bare, not a single note pinned.

We got a few from Florida, came by early on

boats, but ain’t got nothing from the East

Coast to speak of. Too far by land.

Memphis Papa drops his hand to the top of Joey’s head, patting it.

Sorry son.

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are preparing to leave. They are moored onto the back

porch of an older home, which is listing into the water. This is the

current residence of Memphis Papa, who is there saying goodbye. Finegan

pulls the gangplank onto the boat while Memphis Papa gently tosses the

grappling hooks onto the deck. He has a warning.

You going upriver? Watch out for them yahoos on

boats, they been looting at night round these

parts.

80

Yahoos Afloat

It is foggy, a fog rising from the water as the air is cool and the

water, up from the Gulf, is warm. Finegan is peddling along silently,

well out from the shore. Joey is sitting on the front deck with his arm

over Barney, who has his mouth tied shut with a red bandana.

A floating city, a collection of many different types of boats or

floatation devices is bobbing up and down in the water. One is a group

of rowboats tied together at the front, so they form a wheel. This

seems to be a way of holding onto them more than a living space. One is

a yacht. One is a raft cobbled together from logs for floatation, with

a mattress in the center covered by a couple umbrellas. There are a

couple speedboats with plastic covers as rain guards, pulled back so

those living in them have air.

Sounds of whooping and yelling and spashing can be heard. Dimly,

through the fog, some young men and women are seen jumping into the

water, skinny dipping in the dark. There are no lights anywhere - not

on shore, not on the boats, and not on the houseboat.

______________________________

Finegan is cooking breakfast on the portable camping grill, flipping

fish over and sipping coffee with the other hand. Joey is at the back

of the houseboat, preparing to clean up after Barney, who does his job

on a piece of plastic, which is then slipped over the edge to be rinsed

and folded. A daily morning routine. Barney steps off the plastic,

giving his fresh turd a last sniff. Finegan is setting out 3 plates on

a box next to the grill. He dishes out potatoes from a frying pan set

to the side on the grill, then divides the fish. He sets one plate down

on the deck for Barney and hands another to Joey, then takes a seat on

one of the boxes to eat. Joey asks,

So they were yahoos because they were noisy?

Finegan has his mouth full, but answers anyway.

Ah, yeah, but don’t care about other people

much . . having a party all the time . . taking

what they want.

Half a dozen people have appeared on the shoreline, just standing and

staring. They are dressed in farm clothes, the men in coveralls, the

women in plain cotton dresses and hair in braids wrapped around their

heads. The men have clubs in their hands. Finegan waves but his wave is

not returned.

81

Umm . . Looks like they’re a little touchy

about people in boats.

Joey waves too, and Barney barks once, wagging his tail. Finegan

decides to go over in the canoe, which has been tied to the side of the

houseboat. He gets into the canoe in broad daylight, so those on the

shore can see he is not armed and certainly, being outnumbered, is not

dangerous. Finegan says,

They look like good folk. . . See what this is

about.

______________________________

As Finegan approaches shore he raising both his hands up, holding the

paddle with both hands, to indicate no sudden moves on his part and

allow a full view of the canoe bottom and his sides, to show he is not

packing a weapon. As the canoe bumps shore, a couple men step forward

to pull it onto shore. One of them gives Finegan a hand, which he grabs

to steady himself as he steps out onto the shore. The farmer says,

Thought you were one of them.

Finegan explains.

We came through Memphis and heard about them

yahoos. You militia?