It wasn't the still Gulf moon that peeked between a race of clouds and dappled the white marble tablets and mausoleums that made it eerie;nor was it the sudden rustle of the palms overhead ....nor could it have been the wild cat crawling out of the broken crypt and hissing at the invisible that gave me the heebie jeebies .
no no it was the chic event with paper bag candles hung from trees and lining the oyster shell paths with petit 20 something's dressed in see through angelic white talking story about their dead counterparts just below that required the extra Chardonay for stability and sanity to this veteran grave digger . .
The barman , a big black young man of considerable size was also having trouble with it all.
His eyes were big as saucers and he shook a little pouring the bevy.
His station was under a weeping willow ; next to several old and broken crypts and lit with a small lantern
When I tapped him on the shoulder from behind he jumped as if he had seen Beazlebub.
"Don't do that to me man ' Ple.a.s.e...don't do that..
Py "Sorry my brother ; I said as he filled my glass shaking with the pour
Thinking he was new to the job I asked
" Ever done this before?
"Not here my man ... not here..... and Ise never wants to do it agains "
Just then a Confederate general (Braxton is buried here ) walks by smoking a stogie then stands on the veterans tomb and gives an autobiographical to all the party faithfull who descend out of the darkness .
His eyes got big again
"Courage my brother " buy yourself one " I stuff a Linclon into his starched white tunic .
as Foghorn Leghorn complete with sword and hat recites acts of daring-do in the long ago "Wa" of lost cause .
We drain our glasses as the party now moves to the comfort of the restaurant leaving my confessor to clean up by himself ........in record time I might add .. PY