Long Black Curl by Alex Bledsoe Read Free Book Online Page A

the mountains looming behind the haze of falling snow. Unable to stand the silence, Nigel said, “Did you know there’s a place called ‘Frozen Head State Park’?”
    â€œYeah,” she said absently.
    â€œHow does a place acquire that name? Is someone’s head truly held on ice, and displayed there? I mean, your country is certainly in touch with its barbaric side, but that sounds positively Romanesque.”
    â€œNo, it’s because the mountain’s top is so high, it’s always got ice on it.”
    â€œAh. That’s a relief. I thought perhaps your Davy Crockett’s cranium was kept there in its original coonskin cap.”
    This brought her back to the moment. “How the hell do you know about Davy Crockett?”
    â€œTelevision, my pumpernickel. I can even sing the song for you, including a delightful racial variant my lighter-skinned chums enjoyed singing to me.”
    â€œYou’re not old enough to remember the Davy Crockett TV show,” she snapped.
    He gave no indication he noticed her tone. “Your original colonial rulers have embraced the concept of the syndicated rerun.”
    She sighed. “Sorry, Nigel. I have a lot on my mind.”
    â€œChopping off fingers will preoccupy one, I imagine.”
    â€œThere was a good reason for that.”
    â€œI’d certainly hope it wasn’t an idle impulse.”
    â€œThat old man exiled me from my home, and my family.”
    â€œSo you’ve said.”
    She paused and mustered her resolve. She’d never told him what she was about to. “He did worse than that, too, Nigel.”
    Nigel didn’t look at her, but simply said quietly, “I suspected as much. I’ve known other women who were … mistreated as girls.”
    â€œNo, not that, although he did grope my butt once. He … Have you ever wondered why you never heard me sing until recently?”
    â€œOne never hears me sing, either. I sound like a garbage disposal with silverware caught in its teeth.”
    â€œOh, I’ve heard you sing along with your iPod, or something on the radio. I mean, you’re right, that is what you sound like, but I have heard you.”
    He gave her a dour sideways smile. “You’re such a charmer.”
    â€œBut you never heard me, did you? Before three weeks ago.”
    â€œNo, I suppose I didn’t.”
    â€œAnd I sound pretty good, don’t I?”
    He nodded. “You do indeed, actually. I recall wondering why you never pursued music itself as a career, instead of concert promotion.”
    â€œIt’s because that old man … and others … took away my ability to make music. To sing, to play, to dance. All of it.”
    â€œAnd how did he, or they, do that?”
    She looked away, out the window. “If I say magic, will you roll your eyes that way you do?”
    â€œIndeed I will not. But I will ask, if it’s not impertinent, why they did that?”
    Bo-Kate did not answer. After several minutes, Nigel accepted that she was not going to.
    Eventually she said, “You know, every time I see Cloud County again, it’s like seeing it fresh for the first time. And every time that happens, I keep asking myself the same question.” She turned and looked at Nigel. “How can I be so damn stupid to keep coming back here?”
    â€œThat’s from a movie,” Nigel said.
    â€œSo? It still fits.”
    â€œIndeed. You know, there had better be a good reason for you insisting I accompany you. The mountains are like roach motels for black people: We go in, but we don’t come out.”
    â€œFor a long time, people thought the Tufa were black. Hell, you thought I was half-black when you first met me.”
    â€œFor an instant or two.”
    â€œOh, yeah? What changed your mind?”
    â€œThere are subtle differences, my lady, that I cannot explain to you and still keep my eyes on these