Free Deeper Water by Robert Whitlow

lessons once she got to know me better.

    NOT MANY PEOPLE IN SAVANNAH REMEMBERED MOSES' FACE OR knew his name. Those who did were dying without anyone to take their places. Only a handful of longtime residents remembered the wiry young black man who always wore a gold Georgia Tech cap. That cap had been Moses' trademark when he was younger and earned him the nickname Buzz. Moses kept the pieces of that hat in a plastic bag at his shack on the river. It reminded him of happier days.
    Unlike several of his cousins who spent hours and hours on the pedestrian walkways near the river, Moses never tried to pick up extra money playing sloppy jazz on a pawnshop saxophone or drumming the bottom of five-gallon plastic buckets. Around other people, he contented himself with the once-a-week rattle of a plastic bag full of empty aluminum cans.
    Not that he wasn't musical.
    Moses sang in church when his great-auntie took him as a boy. She had a fine voice, and Moses didn't hesitate to sing as loud as his ten-year-old vocal cords would let him. He could memorize most songs after hearing them once or twice. His rambunctious singing and outgoing personality attracted the attention of one of the deacons, who recruited him to work for Tommy Lee Barnes. Brother Kelso bragged that he gave ten percent of the money he earned from his take as a ward captain in the bolita racket to the church. It was enough money to earn him a seat of honor on the deacon board until a new pastor came to the church and kicked him out. Moses never tried to be a hypocrite; it took too much energy. His great-auntie died, and the church folks looked the other way when they saw Moses coming.

    But a gift given is forever.
    Sitting at the edge of a flickering fire on a spring evening, Moses could feel the blues rise up within him like the tidal surge in the nearby river. The first sounds came through his cracked lips with a soulful sigh and hum. Another sigh and longer hum would follow. And then emerged words in rhythm that gave substance to sorrow and turned it into a thing of bittersweet beauty. Moses used the blues to keep despair at bay. And they helped vanquish the sick feeling that came whenever he remembered the blood that once stained his hands.
    However, melancholy songs in the night weren't an antidote for fear. Most people would have been afraid to live alone on a marshy, deserted stretch of a black-water river. Moses wasn't afraid of solitude. Fear kept Moses alone. It was a fickle companion that wore two faces. The panic he felt when the faces rose to the surface of the water caused adrenaline to course through his veins. Afterward he experienced the exhilaration of survival. And the satisfaction that once again, he'd cheated death.
    But on those nights he didn't sing.
    THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, I called Gerry Patrick to thank her for putting me in touch with Mrs. Bartlett and then told her about my upcoming visit.
    "Did Christine talk your ear off?"
    "Both of them. She had very nice things to say about Mr. Braddock."

    "He's a true Southern gentleman. Will you arrive in time on Friday to visit the office?"
    "I'm not sure. What time do you close?"
    "Five thirty."
    "No, it will be later than that when I get into town. Is the office open on Saturdays?"
    "Most of the associates show up, but the doors are locked. I'd rather you come when I can give you a proper tour and introduction to the attorneys and staff."
    "That makes sense." I paused before continuing. "If staying with Mrs. Fairmont doesn't work out, I'd like to look for another place to live while I'm in town."
    "Of course. I'll send you contact information for Lynn Bynum, the location agent the firm uses. She knows what's available in any price range. Don't be bashful about asking for help. We send Lynn plenty of paying business."
    Ms. Patrick seemed to have resolved her reservations about my receiving the job offer without her input. Perhaps she was a churchgoer.
    "Julie Feldman mentioned Ms. Bynum in her