The Sound of Building Coffins

weeks.

The funeral itself had been a bleak affair that attracted few mourners. Not that she expected great numbers to attend the burial of the son of a whore, but the absence of Typhus and Buddy had left a bitter taste on her tongue. Buddy’s failure to show had surprised no one, of course-being that he was a no-account scoundrel and a drunkard on good days. Typhus, on the other hand, had always cared very much for Diphtheria and West. After Father Elois’ brief service, Malaria had whispered in Diphtheria’s ear, “Typhus got some troubles. Don’t feel bad he ain’t here.” But the whisper only served to underline her feelings of abandonment.

Now all the men were gone. Her father, dead for years. Her son, dead two days. Her man, flown the coop years past. Dropsy, presumed dead-his body not yet turned up. And Typhus-just gone. All gone somehow or other. No men left. No men but her regular customers, and those were hardly men at all.

Diphtheria stared at the ceiling contemplating this absence of men. Wondering if West had felt much pain when he died. Wondering what Typhus’ troubles might be, troubles so bad that he’d leave her alone at a time like this.

She closed her eyes and hoped to dream, but sleep never got the chance.

Three light raps. Hattie come to call, to see if she needed looking after, to put Diphtheria’s head in her lap, to brush her hair, to bill and coo, to dab away tears if they came. Hattie’s knock wasn’t such a bad sound, Diphtheria decided. It was a warm sound, a saving sound. The sound of someone giving a damn.

“It’s unlocked, Hattie.”

The door opened just enough for Hattie to stick her pretty head in, smiling. What in God’s name could that woman be smiling about? thought Diphtheria.

“How you feeling, sweetie?” sang Hattie.

Diphtheria would have explained the inappropriateness of the question, especially on the funeral day of a mother’s only child, but she didn’t have the energy for such long sentences. “I’m fine,” was her response.

Hattie smiled obliviously. “Got someone special here to see you. You’ll be plenty surprised, I think.”

“Don’t feel up to it, darlin’. Tell ’em to come on back tomorrow.” She paused. “Or the next day.”

“Might be just the face to brighten you up, girl.” Inappropriately, still beaming.

Diphtheria had to admit her curiosity was piqued-she couldn’t think of a single face that might brighten a day like this. Then the obvious occurred to her, and her eyes widened.

“Is that Typhus? Where you been, little brother? I’s worried about you. Why you want to worry your big sister at such a terrible time? Show yourself, little brother…”

A hand pushed the door open wide enough to fit a second head beside Hattie’s. Diphtheria could smell the rye on his breath from across the room, and, from the way Hattie giggled and squirmed, Diphtheria imagined Buddy’s hand was likely on her ass. That was just like Hattie; to bubble like a schoolgirl in the presence of a jazz musician-even a no-account bum like Buddy Bolden.

“Ain’t ya glad to see me, sugar?” Buddy displayed big yellow teeth like he was proud of every last one.

“You missed the funeral,” was all Diphtheria could muster. She was too tired to act mad.

“Well, uh, that’s a funny story. Umm, ya see-”

“I’ll just let you two have some privacy,” interrupted Hattie. Buddy turned and nodded with a grin, making no attempt to conceal one last grope at her behind. “You’re terrible, Buddy Bolden!” said Hattie with a blush and a flutter of lashes as she pattered down the hall, twittering like a sparrow.

Buddy closed the door carefully, knowing the alcohol in his blood might generate an unintentional slam. Turning to face Diphtheria, Buddy let his smile fade to the more correct expression of shame, his eyes pointing towards his shoes.

“Ya see, darlin’-”

“Save it, Buddy. I ain’t mad. I just don’t care is what.” It suddenly struck her there was something different about Buddy today. It wasn’t the bandage on his right temple-Buddy got into fights and had his share of drunken falls all the time. It was something else that was different. Diphtheria felt a panicked chill at the realization.

“Where’s that horn of yours, Buddy?” She’d never seen him without it before. Ever since they were kids together, he’d always carried it with him.

Buddy brightened. “See, that’s just it! I was getting around to that. I sold it. Sold my horn, yesiree. Big lotta loot, too. It seems I done got famous enough that it’s somethin’ of a collector’s item. Figure I’ll just buy me a new one on the cheap. I was thinking maybe you and me could take the rest of the money and we could-”

“You loved that horn, Buddy. Loved it more than me or West. Never thought you’d go and sell it.” Diphtheria was genuinely impressed. Still, something didn’t seem right about it. Buddy Bolden didn’t just play the cornet; he played that cornet.

“Look, look, look,” said Buddy eagerly, fishing around his pocket. After a moment he pulled out the twenty tens and proclaimed, “Two hundred dollars! Twenty dixies all told.”

“Lotta money,” Diphtheria conceded, losing interest quickly but feeling obligated to show some measure of enthusiasm.

“Well, sure it is, sure it is,” said Buddy. “I was thinking maybe you and me could take this money and we could-”

“You and me?”

“Well…yeah, baby-you and me.” He smiled that charming smile that had once melted her heart, the smile that had tricked her so thoroughly, the smile that told her his love was the truest love on earth, the kind of love that took hold and stayed forever, tender and reliable as any love could be. It was also the kind of smile that implied the bearer would never do a thing like grope the ass of a hooker right in front of the woman he pretended to love, a woman mourning the death of their mutual and only child. But today that treacherous, calculated smile only made Diphtheria want to burst out laughing. It seemed any power he’d had over her was gone along with the cornet.

“Mean to tell me someone paid you two hundred dollars for that beat up old thing? Surprised you got two cents.” Diphtheria’s tone didn’t sound half as mean as she’d hoped it would.

“That’s what I said, that’s what I said!” Buddy held up the wad of bills like a trophy, the product of a miracle, a twist of fate designed by angels. “But it happened just the same, Lord as my witness.”

“Collector’s item, eh?” Diphtheria said suspiciously.

“Guess so. Must be. Two hunnert dollars worth, leastways.”

Diphtheria gave a sigh. “What you come here for? To brag about your big sale?”

“I keep trine to tell ya, Diphtheria. I got this money and I want us to make a new start. I’ve been makin’ some good money at the Odd Fellows Hall and the Union Son’s Hall too, and with this money on top, well, I figured you and me-”

“Ain’t no ‘you and me’, Buddy.”

“-figured you and me could get us a little house maybe. Start afresh. Get us some new babies. You could stop whorin’. Stop it for good this time.”

“Maybe I like whorin’. This is a classy joint.”

“Well, sure it is, baby. Sure it is. But whorin’ is still whorin’. You know that.”

“Long as I’m whorin’ I don’t need no man.”

“Well, without men you couldn’t do much whorin’. A whore needs men for customers. You need us fellas one way or the other, I guess.”

“Get out.”

“Baby, I’m trine to make things right. I’m a changed man, I swear it.”

“Get out.”