The Feet of God

62 - MAMAN’S BOY

We banked off in a southerly direction as I glanced back at smoke rising from the flaming remains of the hearse.  After flying for hours without exchanging a word, we begun another descent.  Yeller Tom pointed below to a community of homes and buildings next to a small airfield, where I could see a yellow sock fully extended at the top of a rusty pole.  After yet one more perfect landing, and a speedy taxi to the hangar, he shut down the engine of his little blue biplane.

A huge bear of a man in grease-stained coveralls emerged from seemingly outta nowhere, wiping his filthy hands on an oily rag.  “Well, if it ain’t the world-famous Yeller Tom,” he reached out a blackened paw.  “You done catting around?”

Yeller Tom shook his hand and winked, “Think you can gas me up?”

“Think you can pay this time?” the big guy winked back.

Yeller Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, some of which was mine, some belonged to dead people, and some, no doubt, was from Yeller Tom’s own business dealings.  “Fill ’er up, Chuck.”  Money exchanged hands.  “And check the tires.”

“Will do.”  The big feller gave Yeller Tom a sly look, “You ever think about painting out this here black cat on your plane and replacing it with a dawg?”

Patting the ballsy backside of his logo, Yeller Tom grinned real wicked.  “We are what we are, Chuck.  Ain’t no point in an old Tom like me trying to change my black stripes now.”

Yeller Tom opened a hatch near the wing and retrieved a black leather briefcase I hadn’t seen before.  He put his hand on my shoulder, “Come, mon ami, let’s go meet maman.”

Near the hangar was a small building with red neon blinking in the window.  Yeller Tom proudly pointed as we strolled over, “Maman owns that patisserie.”

“Ain’t that one of them fancy toilets with a special nozzle and water spray?”

“Non, non, non,” Yeller Tom waved his hands, “it is a pastry shop.  Whatever you want, maman makes it fresh and delicious.”  He placed fingers to his lips and blew a chef’s kiss heavenward.

I nodded my head agreeably.

Sure enough, inside was a display of cookies and cakes and all kinds of baked goodies.  My mouth was water’n right away and my stomach started to churn.  There was also a few tiny tables with blue-checkered tablecloths and a couple’a folding metal chairs next to an unwashed window.  The door behind the counter opened and the most beautiful woman of a certain age I had ever seen stepped out behind the counter.

“Maman!” Yeller Tom shouted.

“Thomas!”  A coffee mug sailed past our heads.

Yeller Tom and I both ducked as it shattered against the wall behind us, just missing the window.  “Maman, is this how you greet your wandering boy?”  He approached his mother with open arms.

“Wandering thief is more like it.”  The older woman rubbed her hands on her apron as she stepped out from behind the counter to greet him.  I detected the trace of a smile, although she still seemed to be mad at her son for some reason.

By way of introduction Yeller Tom pointed at me.  “Maman, this is...excusez-moi, what was your name again?”

“Pffffft!” the old lady impatiently cut in.  “Where is the money?”

Yeller Tom shrugged and laughed it off.  “She means no disrespect, mon ami.  This is maman, Josephine-Marie de Mondesire Dubois.  But to her many friends and countless customers, she is simply Madame.”

I smiled.  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Madame.”  I made a friendly gesture extending my hand.

She ignored me.  She turned to Yeller Tom, “Do you have it?”

Yeller Tom handed her the black leather briefcase.  Madame seemed pleased and smiled broadly.

“I still have powdered cream cheese,” he told her.  “I will include the inventory with some more product on the next leg of my trip.  Is it ready?”

“Thomas, don’t be a silly goose.”

The three of us sat at one of the little tables.  Yeller Tom leaned forward and spoke real serious, “Maman, on my last stop there was a robbery as I waited for Marcel.  Two men stole product, but I was able to track them down and recover the cream cheese.  Marcel was with them, dead.”

Madame’s golden eyes glared.  “We will need to talk, Thomas.”

“Oui.”  Yeller Tom clapped his hands together.  “But we are starving, maman.  May we have some of your homemade bagels?  Oui?  Non?”  Yeller Tom gave his mother a peck on the cheek.

She blushed slightly and now only pretended to be mad at her son.  “But of course, mon petit thief.”  She handed him a small white packet.

Yeller Tom went over to a shelf and took down some shiny silver pieces of metal and a stack of silver measuring cups.  He carefully set up an apparatus I recognized from my days on the honor farm: a balance scale.

With a small pocketknife he poked a hole into the plastic wrap and poured out powder.  I watched closely as he filled one of the cups, placed it on the scale, then poured water into another silver cup and set it on the other side until the two sides was equal.  Yeller Tom poured the powder and the water into a third, larger silver cup and then he started to stir the mixture.

The tiny bakery filled with the rich, earthy smell of bovine bounty.  Yeller Tom stirred furiously while Madame placed toasted bagels onto a plate.  She watched intently while her son slathered the white creamy spread over the hot toasted bagel surfaces.

Leaning forward, head-to-head, they each took a bite and gazed into the other’s eyes, and together they shared a dreamy sigh.

Yeller Tom handed me a slice of bagel with the special schmear.  I gotta admit, it was the tastiest bagel I ever ate in my whole life.  While I savored the complex mixture of flavors in the cheese, with its delicate aroma and slightly nutty finish, I just about fell outta my folding chair.  In the open door behind the counter I saw a stark naked lady.