O.B. sat on a folding chair next to a folding card table.
He was sitting out on a concrete slab in front of the entrance to a West
Texas beer joint called the “Carlyle Social Club”.
The table was steadied on the slab by rocks piled around each of its
legs. The table, the chair, and O.B. were shaded by an old pecan tree. Some
of its roots had displaced chunks of concrete at an edge of the slab. The
Carlyle Social Club was located on a rundown street at the edge of a town
of less than 200.
O.B. generally wore two-tone plaid print shirts, grey khaki pants, white
socks, and brown Redwings laced up halfway. He might be drinking a beer.
Occasionally he would be having a soda. Mostly, he drank water (well water).
Always he had a cigar, Travis Club Senator (Finck Cigar Company, San Antonio).
In the morning O.B. would be sitting there reading until the sun got too aggressive. In the afternoon when the shade got good, he would be pretending to read, but dreaming really, and waiting for little Faye.
So, one afternoon in the Fall this tale began with O.B. and Little Faye. It was 1957 and he was fifty-three.
“Waiting for you, Preciosa. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know.” Little Faye shaded her eyes with her hand. The sun hadn’t quite gotten behind the pecan tree yet. “So, whatcha doin?”
“So . . . so, La Fe Preciosa, so how was kindergarten today?”
“Well, I got a stawa . . . today, in kindagahtuh. And, I took a na-ap.”
“I see the star. The teacher glued it to your forehead.”
“Yeah. B-cuz I took a na-ap.”
“I may take a nap in a little while. Do you think your abuelita will give me a star?”
“Oh gwandfatha!” Faye giggled. “Youwa too ode fo’ a stawa!” She was a goldilocks, golden curly hair and pale cherubic face.
O.B. smiled peacefully at his granddaughter; looked at her through half closed eyes. “You ready to play?” he asked.
“Oh yes, Gwandfatha!”
“What did you tell your abuelita?”
“That weah weading, Gwandfatha, but Bita said that she does not bweave tha-at.” Sometimes Little Faye would ornament her last vestiges of baby talk with very deliberate grammar.
“She doesn’t believe that we’re reading out here?”
“Nope.”
“What did she say?”
“She said to teow you that she knows we awah not weading. She said to teow you that she knows what we awah doing.”
“But, we do read sometimes, don’t we?”
“Uh huh. We do wead sometimes.”
“And sometimes we play, right?”
“Yep.”
“And what do we play?”
“Pokah!”
“Did you bring the cards, Preciosa?”
Little Faye smiled the mischievous smile. “Yep”, she said.
“Well, let’s hope the wind doesn’t blow them around. There’s a little breeze out here this afternoon.”
“Yeah. Let’s hope the wind does not bow them awound.” Faye pulled a deck of cards from the pocket on her cotton dress and sat down at the card table across from her grandfather. She had thrown in a real “L”. It was an easy one, but one to be proud of. “Because then gwandfatha and Faye might have to chase them.”
“Grandfather might just let them get away.”
Faye let out a shrill giggling shriek. “No gwandfatha! Not the ca- ahds!”
“We could still read, no?”
“Oh yes. We could stiwo wead. But fuhst let’s pway pokah.” Another real “L”. A solid start. OB decided not to comment on the progress.
“Okay, Little Faye”, he spoke briskly. “Get out your money,
and let’s cut for the deal.”