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La Fee Vert
La FEE VERTE
One of those muggy summer evenings in New Orleans– the heat, my god, the heat! The air almost stifling– humidity so high the damp clung to your shoulders and you felt you were walking through a sack of wet clothes! I’d come to a party in one of those dark shabby little streets that cling to the edges of the Quarter– off Poydras, I think it was– in somebody’s house– I can’t remember who or if I ever knew– just an uninvited guest, a friend of a friend, but they were nice enough to let me in and make me comfortable. I found myself in a big stuffed chair in a foyer off the main room where the party was going on– not knowing how to join in right away, I listened to the voices and laughter, the music, and saw people passing the door. In this foyer there was a painting on the wall– a man standing between two chairs where a couple of pretty women were sitting, all of them looking out at the viewer with odd little smiles. Then somebody came into the room behind me and handed me a drink. The drink, in a tall glass was yellow-green– an opalescent cloud floated within. I sampled it– a bitter taste at first– I recoiled, then tried again– an overpowering aroma of anise and– something else– sugar-taste somewhere– my head befuddled and a curious softness on the tongue, a burn in the gut. Then– quite suddenly– a sharp taste that seemed to awaken the senses in my throat and satisfy me beyond my expectations. I had another swallow and– greedy– gulped the rest of the drink down and looked around for more. And at that moment, the man in the painting got down and left the room.
Copyright ©
Jack Peachum
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