'I write music,' he said.
'Of course you do,' I said. 'What can you tell me about Daryl's mother?'
'Emmy?'
'Emily Gordon,' I said.
'Well, shit, man, she died thirty years ago.'
'Twenty-eight,' I said.
Without looking, Barry extracted a cigarette paper from the packet and picked up his Baggie. 'That's a long time ago, man.'
He shook out some of the contents of his Baggie and rolled himself a joint. He was expert. He could roll with one hand. He put the joint in his mouth and fumbled with the flat of his hand on the orange crate.
'You got a match?' he said.
'No.'
He stood and flip-flopped past the front stairs to the kitchen and came back with a pack of matches. He lit the joint, took a big inhale, and let it out slowly.
'Calmer?' I said.
'Huh? Oh, the joint. I know I smoke too much. I got to cut back one of these days. So what did you want to ask me?'
'Anything you could tell me,' I said.
'About Emmy? Well, you know, I haven't seen her in about twenty-eight years.'
He took a big drag on the joint and held the smoke in for a time and let it out slowly. He let his head rest against the woven cane back of the rocker. Then he giggled.
'Shit, man, nobody seen her in twenty-eight years, have they?'
'Probably not,' I said. 'Why did she go to Boston?'
'Always wanted to, I guess. You know how it is, man, you get some vision of a place, you finally got to go look at it, see how it compares.'
He took another drag.
'She have a boyfriend?'
Barry shrugged.
'Is that a yes?' I said.
'We had a sort of informal marriage, man. You know?'
'So she had a boyfriend?'
'She had a lot of them.'
'But this one she followed to Boston.'
'I guess,' Barry said. 'You know his name?'
'His name?'
'Barry, are these questions too hard for you?'
'It's been thirty years, man.'
'Twenty-eight, and in that time you forgot the name of the guy that your wife ran off with?'
'She didn't run off with him, she followed him, there's a difference.'
'Sure there is, what was his name?'
'Coyote,' he said. 'He was an African-American dude.'
'You have any idea where Coyote is now?'
'Naw, man, how would I know that?' He took a last drag on what was now a very small roach and snipped it and put it on the orange crate.
'What did Coyote do for a living?'
'He was a hippie, man. We all were. Mostly, we ripped off the system. Sold a little dope.'
'Welfare?'
'Sure.'
'What else do you know about Coyote?'
'What's to know, man? He was part of the movement, you know. We didn't ask a lot of questions. I think he mighta done time.'
'Where?'
'Hell, I don't know.'
'Maybe California?'
