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Judy Drownded
Judy Drownded
Judy Drownded
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Judy Drownded

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The people of Saint Umberto are not hardhearted; but now and again, someone did drown; it was sad yes, but inevitable, being surrounded by ocean. Judy had no family beyond a drunken uncle, but she was popular with the young men of the island. It was taken for granted that she had drowned. In many other places, they might drag a body of water for a body just to be sure, but you couldn't very well drag the ocean. And the ocean generally cooperated by delivering the drowned body in question to the beach in a timely manner. So the people of Saint Umberto expressed their remorse, got on about their lives and waited for the ocean to bring closure. But this time the ocean did not cooperate.
And Don’t Hurry, Worry Me Chicken Avery loves to tell stories, and the one about Clarence Henry and his traveling pants is a good one with a proper moral. All Day, All Night, Marianne A young man, with the help of his not-too-literary friend, hopes to woo his true love in the classic manner before a fat lady sings.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 13, 2011
ISBN9781466070424
Judy Drownded
Author

Richard Daybell

Richard Daybell has been a writer/editor for most of his adult life, working at various times for a public library, a multinational corporation, a university, and state government. With his wife Linda, he also spent seven years as owner/chef of Churchill House Inn, a nine-room country inn in central Vermont.His short stories and short humor have appeared in regional, national and international commercial publications including American Way and Hemispheres, the inflight magazines for American Airlines and United Airlines, The New York Times, Buffalo Spree, Salt Lake City Magazine, and Tampa Tribune Fiction Quarterly as well as such literary magazines as Rosebud and Dandelion.Richard and Linda are now living in Lincoln, Vermont.

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    Judy Drownded - Richard Daybell

    Judy Drownded

    By Richard Daybell

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2016 Richard Daybell

    All Day, All Night Marianne

    Toussaint conned his small motorboat to the empty spot at the pier, near where Roberto lolled, dangling his big bare feet in the warm water. The boat, like Toussaint's shirt and shorts, had the scars of a life well lived. On each side, the hand-lettered word taxi just above the waterline made it an official vehicle for transporting passengers up, down, and around the island's seven-mile coastline.

    Toussaint nodded and took up a cross-legged position next to Roberto.

    Roberto grunted in reply.

    What's the matter? asked Toussaint.

    Nothing, answered Roberto in a child's whine, the kind that begs for additional prodding. Nothing. I was at Pigeon Beach today.

    Toussaint sighed. Man, you gotta get over this.

    I can't. She's just so beautiful. She was there playing with the children again. And again she didn't even see me. When she looked in my direction, it was like I wasn't even standing there. She just looked through me like I was invisible, a ghost or something. Perhaps if she wasn't so beautiful, she could see me.

    Perhaps, said Toussaint, turning it over in his mind. But if she could see you, maybe she would see you ugly.

    I'm not so ugly.

    Of course not, said Toussaint with a reassuring grin. But you're no Jean Paul either. Jean Paul was the young man held up as an example of what young manhood was all about. The other men didn't like him much – he was so knowledgeable and so arrogant – but they had to grudgingly agree that he was the handsomest of them all. And he paraded his handsomeness and pursued all the young women on the island, even many of the tourists. His only notable failure was with Marianne, Roberto's young woman at Pigeon Beach, and this gave Roberto some small satisfaction. But as Toussaint tactfully pointed out, if Jean Paul couldn't win Marianne, what possible chance could Roberto have?

    You should say something to her, Toussaint argued. You can't expect her to pay you no mind, standing there like the ghost of Albert Verra. In island history, Albert Verra had the dubious distinction of being the ultimate coward, selling out his island once to the French and once to the Spanish.

    I try, but I am afraid.

    Maybe I have an idea for you, Roberto, said Toussaint, lowering his voice even though there was no one within thirty yards of the pier. "You know the fine gentleman from that city I can't remember that's very close

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