WHAT WISDOM THIS?
What if the myths of old romped in the south of today?
Ray Martin
Tales Daddy & them were all too familiar with...
WHAT WISDOM THIS?
BOOKS I & II & III
Tales Daddy & Them were all too familiar with!
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What if the myths, the tales, the legends, heroes, and all those fascinating stereotypes of yesteryear romped in the South of today? What if they frolicked at jump blues warehouse dances and juke joints, pig pickin's, and fish fries? What if they gambolled in palaces and trailer parks, hi-tech labs, and on old swing porches?
From the Greek, Norse and other mythologies of the ancient world to the old John tales of the south, tuff guys and femme-fatales, straight out of classic noir, some twists on the Prometheus legend, old school shyster lawyers, lycanthropes with issues, angry elves, spoiled royalty, pool hustlers and animal tricksters...all doing their best...or not so best as the case may be, in the South of What Wisdom This
Before we get started...
It may help to know a little about
The Dance of the South
The Shag
We love us some juke joints, jump blues,
and taking a woman by the hand!
"We'd be in the black sections of town, up in someone's house at a rent party, and let me tell you, it was just the best damn music in the whole wide world"
Chicken Hicks
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"There is no greater feeling than taking a woman by the hand and hitting that dance floor"
Daddy Rabbit
Where Myth Romps
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“
But even knowing of her impending wealth, marriage to Inez was a burden. Big Willy had to actually sleep with the woman. Watching Inez undress for bed was like observing a praying mantis preparing a meal. Nothing but hard angles, and pointed edges. It was like sleeping with one of those continuously unfolding wooden carpenters’ rulers.
WHERE THERE'S A WILL
“
“He molted recently,” said Moose, interrupting Boss Trout who sat with a stunned expression on his face “I found an entire skin behind the copy machine. He’s getting bigger.”
Moose’s lower lip was beginning to tremble.
​
HOW BEAR AND RABBIT DEALT WITH SNAKE
“
“Put a sock in it, you repugnant, odiferous skag.” Brian’s voice cut through her protests. Instantly, the Sphinx was back to her normal features.
The entire playground was graveyard quiet. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fear in Brian. Not his voice, and not in the way the little nerd stood there, before that unholy monstrosity. I know it was The Brain who was looking up-but it didn’t seem that way. For the first time, I think her feathers were ruffled.
The only sound to be heard in the silence that followed was the hiss of Brian’s inhaler as he tended to his asthma. Then Cindy Jo started to cry.
“Oh my God! He’s so brave” she sobbed. “And cute. Maybe second base isn’t’ out of the question.”
Five-year-old Matty was the first to approach him. She ran to him and cried “Uncle Heracles” and the stranger swept her up and turned her around, both of them laughing.
“Oh my” whispered Bonnie Gail to herself. This man loves children. I want children.
“Gracious me” whispered Connie Gail to herself. What a father he would be. What a husband he would make.
The man settled Matty in the crook of his arm and walked to where the family gathered around him. “We’re glad you came for Sunday dinner Uncle Heracles” Matty gleefully told him “We’re having…”
“Hold it right there,” Heracles said. He put a gentle finger on Matty’s lip. “I’ve traveled the world and in the all of it, I’ve chosen this place to make my home. In no small part because of the things I’ve heard about the table those attractive Aunts of yours lay.”
At this, both Bonnie Gail and Connie Gail blushed with pride. Each at her accomplishments-and attractiveness.
“Now don’t tell me one thing your Aunts have fixed for our feast today. Let me see, young lady, if I can tell you.”
This thrilled them all and they held still while Heracles tilted his head up, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.
“Why pull my suspenders.” Heracles cried after a moment. His eyes opened wide with undisguised pleasure. “I do believe I detect the aroma of chicken and pastry. From a yard bird, I might add, that was strutting this very morning.”
The Hedgpeth clan oohed at his accuracy. Burl nudged his beautiful wife “He’s got a nose on him. That’s a good sign.”
The stranger lifted his head, once more inhaling. His left nostril briefly flared. “And if I’m not mistaken, simmering on the stove, even as we speak, is a pot full of Crowder peas-seasoned with bacon laid by last fall.”
“Oh he’s good,” said Buford’s pretty wife to Little Charlie.
“Garlic rolls, bless my bottom” Heracles roared.
The Hudspeth's clapped in delight.
“Bless his bottom indeed,” said Bear’s lovely wife to one of her sisters.
“And…” Now Heracles paused. The right side of his great handlebar mustache twitched and then twitched again. Seemingly of its own accord. “Someone has a lemon meringue pie cooling on a window sill, and I’d declare myself a fool if that isn’t fresh coffee beans waiting to be ground. Dark roasted and South American I think. Still in the burlap bag they came up river in.”
Both Bonnie Gail and Connie Gail felt weak in the knees. This was a man who knew food. A lover of food, and perhaps, each secretly thought in that bad girl part of their hearts that all women possess-a lover.
And so began the courtship of Bonnie Gail and Connie Gail Hedgepeth by one Theodosius Heracles Rutledge.
NIBBLING RIVALRY
​
SOMETHING SPHYNX
After dinner and after Jack’s father had cleaned up the kitchen, which Mother never did, his father would bury his head in the paper while his mother would talk and talk and talk and talk.
Almost every day Jack’s mother would drink an entire pitcher of cold drinks she called miserytinis.
By bedtime, Mother’s words would be hard to understand. Usually, she yelled at Jack’s father and waved her hands around while her miserytinis would just slosh everywhere.
Father called her pitcher of drinks “Mother’s All Day Hate-O-Rade”. But he only said that when mother passed out on the couch. Jack’s father was like that. He said a lot of things when Mother could not hear them.
Every day before school, Jack’s father would get up early and make breakfast for Jack and Scooter. Today he was making pancakes.
Jack’s mother was still asleep. She was face down on the floor of the living room. One of her miserytinis was overturned and an olive was almost touching her nose.
“Golly! Mom sure can sleep anywhere” Jack told his father.
“Son” Jack’s father said while flipping pancakes. “Let’s be extra quiet today and not wake up The Queen of the Damned.”
Jack could not remember a breakfast that he and Scooter and his father did not have to be extra quiet during.
WHERES PAPA'S BALLS
“Uh…hello. We’re frogs. Flies are a pretty good thing for us. The Maker certainly gave us the equipment for those tasty little pests.”
And with that, the clueless frog unfurled his long tongue with a lightning-fast, bullwhip crack accompanied by an exaggerated B-movie, Kung-Fu yell, both of which lingered in the air for several very satisfying seconds. “Oh yeah,” he intoned. “Papa’s still got it.”
Of course, the disgruntled frog, being interested only in his own defeatist point of view, ignored all of the obvious and positive things his friend was pointing out to him.
“I mean how the hell do you know where a fly has just landed?” the disgruntled frog cried in utter dismay. “Could have been on someone’s potato salad. Could just as easily have been on a steaming pile of Great Dane flop.” The disgruntled frog shook himself in disgust. “Why can’t we just have a tapas bar or a smart little cafe or something?”
But the clueless frog could not answer. He had launched his tongue. FWILPSH! Just that quick, he nabbed a passing fly. As he was dreamily snacking on it, his disgruntled friend heaved another very calculated and much-exaggerated sigh.
This was a sigh designed to show just how bad things were from his point of view. But it’s very hard to bring down the content-even if, in your considered opinion, they are rather clueless.
THE CLUELESS FROG & THE DISGRUNTLED FROG
In the Billiard room, Victor held forth. He paced in front of the fireplace as the men of Evergreen gathered around him in the deep leather couches and chairs, each trying to look as if they belonged in the billiard room of a mansion, sipping whiskey older than they were. They were still trying to get their heads around the fact that they were in the Old Marley Place, smoking cigars that cost more than dinner for four at one of those nice restaurants at the beach.
“Gentlemen,” Victor said to them “I propose an intellectual exercise of sorts. I ask that you be patient for the forthcoming explanation, but please humor me by participating.”
Why certainly, they said to a man. How could we refuse our gracious host? The men were hoping this was not some parlor game like charades or Pictionary. Not when they could be playing billiards or poker, but they wanted to please their host. They raised their drinks to Victor. The blue smoke of their cigars wafting warm regards for this good life towards the high ceiling.
First Victor complimented them on their town. Then he flattered them about their wives. Beautiful, engaging women he said. Certainly, the men of Evergreen had wives to be proud of.
But what if…?
What if you could, merely by closing your eyes and conjuring, have the exact women of your dreams? The absolute to a molecule, Victor emphasized, personification of every mental whim, physical trait, and detailed fantasy you have ever dreamt of? A woman built to your exact specifications and design. A woman willing to do anything, anything to please you.
A woman willing to not just always say yes, but one that could anticipate your desires for say a cold beer, or some newly thought of and creative bedroom play. What if? Victor dangled this thread before them.
Well now, that would be something they mused, supposing such a thing were even possible. Not, mind you, that they didn’t love their wives, but say it was a possibility. Well, what could possibly be better for a man?
Furthermore, Victor posed to them, what if this dream woman was without the negatives that sadly, must come with all women? The nagging and bitching and finding fault. What if this dream woman could see no wrong in anything you said or did? What if she was always supportive?
Why nothing could be better they imagined. After all, what man has not had his dreams squashed when his wife nixed their vision for a man-cave, or pulled the plug on getting that convertible Corvette that would make life so much sweeter.
A HONEY TO GO
“It seems,” the Mugger said in a pleasantly conversational tone “that your conveyance is marooned. Here, among my ruins”
He was well-spoken, this death in the water. The crocodile prided himself on being so. He was always courteous and respectful when in palaver, whether it be in passing with creatures of the forest, or with a victim. Certainly, it was no surprise that the great Mugger got respect from whomever he was conversing with. It never hurts to agree with or to flatter a creature of the crocodile’s significant size and power.
THE TIGER, THE RANI & THE VILLAGE PRIEST
“They carry on” said one disapproving, tight-lipped dowager, who did not at all approve of men being set loose without the control of harping wives, or very hands-on mothers to keep them in check. She firmly believed that without these God ordained, necessary preventions, men would return to their natural state of bestial slobbery, and poor decision making.
“Lord only knows what things occur on those nights out there in the wild, at Peleg’s place” she would say “shenanigans, tomfoolery, or worse.”
She would always close her eyes in dread and say “or worse” with a melodramatic shudder. Yet while she openly hinted at the dark things that unchecked men were apt to do, she secretly yearned to unlace her bodice and run-her admittedly aged, yet ponderous, and still proud bosom, unfettered, and free. She wanted to be with those wild boys.
Secretly, in the wild places of her fae strong heart, she wanted to know El lobo en todos los hombres.
Wilkins always backed Jenson. They were co-researchers and had been given a five hundred thousand dollar grant to study the brains of gorillas during sex.
To date, the only discovery they had made was that the gorillas enjoyed the hell out of the research. The pair probably had emails from eager primates all over the world trying to volunteer for their study.
More than one of us had already secretly approached them, volunteering for when they moved to the human testing phase of the project. It seemed more of a sure thing to us than the risky move of putting up an actual photo on a dating site venue.
“Smathers is an idiot,” said Rollins and on that, we all agreed.
COMPUNCTION JUNCTION
And without another word, Teach sat down and Lotsa Papa beat my ass-again. From where the balls lay, Lotsa Papa went 120 and out. He put on the clinic that I did not and he played perfect straight pool. He danced around the table and we could nothing but sit there and take it. That cue ball weaved its way through rack after rack and in the end, it was the best straight pool I had ever seen played. I said as much to Al.
“It ought to be,” Al said “We damn sure paid enough for it.”
And this was true. Seven more thousand dollars went into his pocket from off the light and the rails and that was all she wrote. We were all quit. Lotsa papa had busted the room. We stood there, watching that large man beak down his cue and put it carefully into the case.
“Mother of God” someone uttered.
“I’ll tell my grandchildren about this” someone else said.
Lotsa Papa lifted the case and swung it by the straps over his shoulder. He turned and looked at me.
“You shoot good pool kid.”
“Not good enough” I managed a smile “You busted me.”
“You got eating money son?” he asked me
“If it’s a Pepsi and a nab Mr. Tobias” I admitted. I was flat out bust.
And that’s when the large man did perhaps the classiest thing any of us had ever seen. He reached into his pocket, pulled three, hundred dollar bills, then tossed the money on the table.
“Eat steak son,” he said.
LOTSA PAPA
For two months he had been dreaming about his new wife and his new life. His new non-lonely life, he reminded himself with a smile. He had even purchased how-to books so that he would not say or do the wrong thing.
He read, cover to cover, all of “The Lonely Famers Guide to Romance” as well as “Say Good-bye to Livestock and Hello to Women” and even though he risked being made fun of in town if his friends found out, he waded through two Nicholas Sparks’ books.
He paid an obscene amount of money for an interior designer named Raul-from the city mind you- and bought everything, at Raul’s insistence, from new curtains and new comforters to new furniture. He felt educated though, because, before Raul, he had no idea that chintz was so to-die-for or that he was in such dire need of bed shams, though he remained a little confused as to their purpose.
Finally, the time came for the poor, gullible farmer to hitch up his wagon and take the several days journey into the city to fetch his bride. You cannot imagine his excitement and anticipation. Why he even considered buying “The Joy of Sex” due to his lack of experience in that department. But at the last minute, he lost his nerve. What would the clerk at the book store think? He bought “The Joy of Cooking” instead, figuring that the kitchen was as good a place as any to start.
THE FARMER &
THE WEASEL
PELEG, BROKER OF LOVE
About Jeff Martin
Even in my youth, the powers that be recognized greatness. It's not just anyone that gets named Coble Dairy's Baby Of The Year. I was about two when this was taken.
You'll notice my father's hand giving me the OK. Without a doubt, he was a joy to know and the eternal optimist!
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