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Excerpt
There were eight of them gathered around the big fire made from used railroad ties. They were a mix of hobos and tramps. Jade wasn’t sure which was which, but they were friendly enough.
The undeclared leader of the group was an elderly man with long gray beard and hair. He greeted Jade with a hardy welcome and, when shown the potatoes, said, “Did you wash ‘em?” At Jade’s nod of concurrence, he pointed to a large kettle that was set next to the fire. “Well toss ‘em in the pot. We’ve got a couple of squirrels and rabbit in there, along with some onions and carrots. Ought to knock the edge off a hunger pang. Where do you hail from?”
“Out of Idaho,” Jade replied. “Name’s Jade Sorenson.”
“How do you do?” The old man quietly studied the youth for a bit, then slapped a space next to where he was seated on some piled up ties “Park it here. Been on the road long?”
“A few weeks.”
Some of the men in the group chuckled and shook their heads.
Jade showed his surprise.
“That’s what I thought,” the oldster said. “Is that your real name?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“After you’ve been on the go for a while, you’ll find it’s a good idea not to be too easily identified.”
Sorenson looked around at the grinning men. “How come?”
“The authorities like to keep track of us. We don’t want to make it too easy for them, Understand?”
“Oh!” was all Jade managed.
“Among ourselves we use assumed monikers,” the old man grinned. “I’m known as Gramps. Now that’s appropriate. I do have grandchildren. At this moment I don’t know how many. It’s been a while since I last saw my kids. And I have known a few very accommodating ladies since I’ve been on my own. I don’t know what has been the result of those associations.
“Now to make some more introductions,” the old man continued, “this handsome gentleman next to me is Weed. That’s because he keeps growing—like a weed. How tall are you by now?”
“About six and a half,” the younger man replied. “I think I’ve slowed down a little.”
“I don’t know about that. I think you’re taller today than you were yesterday. Next to him, with the curly hair, is Curly. I can’t imagine how he got that handle. Maybe you can figure it out.”
Jade looked at the man’s tightly curled hair and laughed.
“On Curly’s left is Marbles. That’s because we wonder if he’s lost his.”
“I got more than you, old man,” Marbles said with a big grin. “At least I can still account for my kids.”
Everyone laughed while Weed pounded Gramps on the back. “He’s got you there,” he told the elder.
“You’re one to talk,” Gramps said. “You’ve left a trail little bastards all the way from Chicago.”
“Bullshit,” a burly man from across the fire said. “What woman would ever take up with either one of you lazy assholes. She’d know you was hobos just to look at you.”
“That sweet natured fellow,” Gramps said to Jade, as he pointed to the big man, “is known as Pitt, short for pitbull, I suppose. He’s got a disposition to match.”
Jade nodded cautiously at the man.
“Bullshit,” the man said again
“That youngster next to Pitt,” the old man continued, “we call Shadow. That’s because he sticks close to Pitt. As a word of warning, don’t ever mess with the kid. He’s Pitt’s property, Last feller that did is barely alive.”
The look that Pitt gave the old man convinced Jade Sorenson that Gramps was treading on dangerous territory.
“That bland looking fellow next to the kid is the Poet,” Gramps went on. “He’ll recite a limerick at the drop of a hat. Give him a sample, Poet.”
The white-headed, somewhat emaciated man smiled. He sat thinking for a few minutes. Then:
“This young man who’s entered our fold,
Has so much to learn, we are told.
He’ll find life is tougher,
and things will get rougher,
the longer he stays on the road.”
Jade Sorenson laughed along with the other men and clapped his hands. “That’s pretty good,” he said. “How can you come up with those things so quick?”
The Poet ducked his head shyly. “I don’t rightly know. They just sort of fill up my head. Don’t leave much room for anything else.”
The younger man laughed again. “You’ve got real talent. Do you have any of them written down?”
The other shook his head.
“You ought to do it and try to get them published. There’s people that will pay money for stuff like that.” Sorenson shifted his position on the hard seat.
“The main problem,” Gramps said, “is finding those people. We don’t travel the same highways.”
Jade smiled at the thin man. “Too bad. How long have you been doing this?”
The Poet returned the smile. “Since I can remember. I’ve never done much else.”
“Do you think you’ve made up more than a thousand?”
The older man nodded. “Ten thousand…fifty thousand. I have no idea.”
“And you keep them in your head?”
The Poet let loose a bark of laughter. “Hell no! Most I forget as soon as they’re recited. But there’s plenty more where those came from.”
“That’s amazing,” Sorenson said. “Where do you get your ideas?”
“From everywhere and about everything: People, places, things that happen. You name it.”
“Yup,” Gramps put in. “Too bad they’re wasted on a despicable bunch like this.”
“Speak for yourself, you old fart,” Weed said amiably.
“You missed an introduction,” Sorenson said, glancing at a little man on his right.
“Oh yeah,” Gramps said. “That’s Stubby. He gave up on the idea of growing any more when he was about twelve. But that’s okay. He won’t need much to eat.”
Stubby grinned sheepishly and shook Jade’s hand.
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