“All I know is we had wer fill,” Fonny Boy said with defiance and a bit of a swagger in his voice.
“Well, I tell you, son, I’ve visited your island for many years,” Dr. Faux confessed. “And it’s no coincidence that I don’t choose to live here. My point is, if you want a chance in life, Fonny Boy, you’ve got to do the smart thing, which in this case is listening to me.”
“Listening to you is not much count,” Fonny Boy replied with a few toots on the harmonica, not letting on that his interest was snagged by what might just prove to be a transaction of some sort.
“Listening to me has plenty of value. Because doing the smart thing might just give you an opportunity. Maybe there’s something special out there for you, Fonny Boy. But if you go along with these people that have me locked up in here, there’s a good possibility you’ll end up in trouble and spend the rest of your life on this tiny, eroding island, selling crabs and souvenirs and playing the harmonica. You got to help me get out of here, and if you do, maybe I’ll take you with me back to Reedville and you can work in my office and learn to drive a real car.”
“If I carry you to shore, what you gonna do? Throw silver dollars at me?” Fonny Boy asked sarcastically as he blew out an unrecognizable rendition of “Yankee Doodle.”
“You know what a recruiter is?” Dr. Faux said smoothly. “Well, I’ll tell you. I could put you to work going around and finding needy children whose teeth require a lot of work their families can’t afford. You bring them in to my Reedville clinic and I’ll give you ten dollars for every kid. When you learn to drive, I’ll find you a car. We don’t have to come back here to this impoverished little island ever again.”
Fonny Boy had a lot to think about and it was time to head home for supper. He walked out of the storage room, shutting the door hard to make sure the dentist heard him leave, and failing to inform him that water and a tray of food would be delivered momentarily. Fonny Boy felt a pinch of guilt as he got on his bicycle and pedaled away from the clinic, still working on “Yankee Doodle.” Maybe he should have been a little kinder to Dr. Faux and told him food and drink were on the way. Maybe he should work harder to do what he had been taught in church, but getting involved in military and mutinous activities sharpened Fonny Boy’s edge.
He felt a bit feisty and in a mood to commit mischief and mayhem. He played his harmonica loudly and rode his bicycle faster than usual, speeding up full tilt when he crossed the two painted lines on Janders Road. Fonny Boy pumped furiously through chilly air and moonlight, scarcely acknowledging his aunt Ginny, who was headed to the clinic in a golf cart.
“Heee!” she called out to him as they passed each other in the road. “Doncha play the juice harp in the evening! You gonna drive the neighbors star-crazy!”
Fonny Boy tooted out a loud, rebellious reply and wished he hadn’t swallowed the cotton again. Last time, it had clogged him up for a week, moving through his guts and criks with the slow purpose of a glacier until finally working its way out when he was in the bateau with his father, not a toilet or land in sight.
When Ginny walked into the storeroom moments later carrying a tray of crab cakes, hot rolls, and margarine, Dr. Faux was praying again.
“. . . Amen, dear Lord. I’ll get back to you later. That you, Fonny Boy?” the dentist asked hopefully. “Lord have mercy, it’s freezing in here. Where’d this winter weather come from all of a sudden?”
“Blowed in from they bay. I got supper and water.”
“I need to use the bathroom.” Dr. Faux was embarrassed to talk this way in front of a woman whose mouth he had excavated and exploited for years.