Emile Carter

Emile's Adventure List

eachbeansoup — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 03:53:56 GMT

My name is Emile Carter. You can call me Each if you rather. That's my street name. I am nearly 18.

I am good at:
delivering messages
overhearing conversations
gathering information
moving quiet
remaining out of sight
watching things from a distance
running
following directions / orders
making connetions
talking my way out of things
working with other folk
keeping secrets
city survival

I am okay at:
fighting someone my size or slightly bigger
firing a gun
using a knife
schoolwork
picking locks
driving a motorcar
woods survival
making friends

I am not so good at:
fighting when outnumbered or a guy's way bigger than me
following all the laws
talking to coppers
fixing up wounds
swimming
staying put at school

Winter Bingo Card

eachbeansoup — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 03:04:23 GMT


heart attack	compatible	resolutions	ghost	noisemaker
receipt	music	secret	agape	cranberry sauce
shepherd	gather		rope	weather
walnut	Venus	Christmas sweater	pick up line	blue
split	divorce	flake	equality	spirit

Get your own CharLoft Winter Bingo Card at http://www.labarc.com/Bingo/

You can get right about anything from Sears.

eachbeansoup — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 23:55:44 GMT

Right now, these the most precious things I got-

Rafe thought he lost the manual for his House's car, but he found it after Sears sent out a new one so he gave me the old instruction booklet. And Miss Justine let me have the bottom two, out of her and Mr. Valentin's Sears Catalog. I read them over all the time and when I get to practice with Rafe's car, I got an idea already where everything is. He gets tired of me asking him what this and that part is, so he says shut up and read the book anyhow, so I might as well study from there. I'm gonna know everything about motor cars I can before I implement the next phase of my plan.

See I figure part of the problem is that once I do learn how to drive all the way, all the Houses what got motor calls already have drivers. So short of hoping one of them gets kilt any time soon or run off to do something else, I got to make a position open up. So if I know all there is to know about motor cars, I can try to convince one of the madams who don't already have a motor car for their House to invest in one and hire me to be their driver.

Sears got themselves a monthly payment plan and all, so it ain't like it'd be that hard for them to set some money aside to do it. It's absolutely gonna work. I'm real confident about the future success of this plan. All I got to do is keep working hard on learning.

Pin-up.

eachbeansoup — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 22:36:44 GMT

I got this picture from Rafe, who got it from this whore on account of he owed me a favor and she owed him one before hand. It's a picture Papa Bellocq took of her, in the window of her crib. That's how they advertise - they'lll roll with anyone for a quarter. Give you French, too.

Most of them don't have much of their looks left, or their teeth. She still has meat on her bones too, so she ain't too messed up on hop or drink. So I guess she hasn't been at it long. Ain't like she's a House girl, so unless she can move on up - she's gonna get that way before too long.

Sexy? Rafe says it is. That's why he gave traded it to me. Says there's something about the way she smiles. That, and her tits.

I ain't keeping it for sexy. I've seen women naked before, plenty of times. They treat me like I'm invisible, when I come delivering messages. Go about their business, whatever that business may be.

I guess I'm keeping it 'cause it's a reminder. This is what our District's like. It's a stark naked girl in a window, all on display. A girl with a soft white smile, and the barely visible black soles of her feet.

Intimidation

eachbeansoup — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 02:41:15 GMT

Hell mister, you think you're gonna scare me?

I ain't been scared since I was thirteen.

I could feel the cold steel against my neck. His breath was sharp with threats, sour with whiskey.The cobblestones cut my knees. The knife nicked my throat.

Put away that piece.

What you gonna do - shoot me up, shake me down?

Yeah, that's right chickenshit. You ain't going to do nothing.

Nothing but give me what I'm owed. Give me my money then get the hell out of here.

Next time you play that shit on someone who's got something left to lose.

Resume

eachbeansoup — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 22:04:27 GMT

Resume? I don't know about anything so fancy, but I've been a street arab for about ten years, running messages up and down the District. Gathering information as I go, letting folks in on a tidbit here and there for a price.

Now I'm looking to add motor car driving to my 'resume' . I got to steer the other day, and I didn't run ~~hardly~~ anything down, so I'm on my way. That's going to be my next profession, I'm gonna be a driver before the message business dries up.

Sure folks'll still pay for information and that'll always be my sideline, but now that most houses have telephones, ain't as much call for an arab running down the street to pass the news on.

Looking after my future.

Good Fortune

eachbeansoup — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 18:54:11 GMT

Dredging an old lockbox out of the river fueled their imaginations for an entire summer week. Anything could be inside. Pirate treasure, secret plans, hooch, jewels. Their speculations changed day to day. They kept it hid under Louis's bed at the Waif's home, and snuck it out to the backyard every night after bedcheck.

Beansoup and Louis tried everything two young boys could think of to open it up. Smashing the lock with a rock didn't do anything but break the rock. Taking the axe from the woodpile and hefting it to cleave the box open only left an axe-shaped dent in the steel. Climbing up the highest tree they could find and dropping the box down from it didn't do a thing but stir up dust. They were stumped.

"Aw, let's just chuck it back in the river for some other sucker to find," Louis grumbled.

"We can't give up," Beansoup protested. "Our fortune could be in there. Our future."

"We could sell it. Then we'd have money now and some other kid could have the problem of how to get the damn thing open."

But Beansoup wouldn't give up, even after Louis stopped sneaking out with him to experiment on the box. He tried again night after night, for near the rest of the month. After the failed firecracker plan burnt his fingers, even he was starting to have his doubts. There had to be something though. He started asking around on the streets, casual like, how folks opened things that didn't want to be opened. Lock picking seemed to be the way to go. He listened to this light-fingered snitch, and that second story man until he thought he had a handle on how it worked.

Now all he needed was tools. Louis had come back in the plan now, re-convinced by his best friend that they stood a chance thanks to this newfound knowledge. The boys set about making their own set of picks. Sister Mary's hairpin, Jimmy Haloran's skinny knife, a long sturdy haystraw, a flat headed screwdriver from the toolshed. Anything and everything they could beg, borrow or steal went into the kit. Finally they were ready to open their treasure. Full of confidence and renewed excitement, Beansoup started to work the lock.

The haystraw broke. The screwdriver wouldn't fit in. The hairpin just didn't seem to hit things right. He could hear something moving around in there when he put his ear to the box (though Louis swore he was imagining it, 'cause he didn't hear anything). The boys were just about to give up and head on back inside in favor of sleep. But they had one last tool to try. Beansoup jammed the thin blade up in the hole, put his ear to the box and listened. A satisfying click sound let him know he had it. The lock came off, and both boys cheered loud as they dared in the moonlit yard behind the orphan asylum.

"Can I open the lid?" Louis asked, reaching for the box with eager hands.

"I pried off the lock. Technically, whatever's inside is mine..."

"Emile! That ain't fair!"

Beansoup clutched the box to his chest, but he relented when he saw the disappointment in his friend's face. Best friends were more important than treasures. "Alright, alright. You can open 'er up. And we'll split whatever's inside, fifty-fifty."

"You promised Jimmy a quarter for getting to use the knife," Louis reminded him as he took the box reverently from the older boy's hands.

Beansoup shrugged. Details. What was a quarter when they were going to be filthy rich. "C'mon Lou, open it! I'm dying to know what we got here." Gems. Gold. Jewels. Secrets they could sell for millions.

Louis opened the box up-- there was something in there alright, something inside an oilcloth, and then wrapped up in butcher paper and twine besides. "It feels lumpy," he said as he lifted it out.

Beansoup took Jimmy's knife and cut the twine. Both boys stood eagerly as they unwrapped it. Inside were bills - hundreds of them! All neatly stacked up, all together and just waiting to be spent. They hooted and hollered so loud that a light came on in the orphanage and they had to run and hide down by the trees.

"Louis old boy, we are gonna be rich. We're gonna have ourselves a time. Women, whiskey, and fine living here we come."

"Uhhhm. Bean?"

"Yeah?"

"How come this money looks all strange?" Louis was holding up a bill to the moonlight, squinting at it. He hadn't seen much money up close, but this weren't any of the dead presidents he recognized. He squinted to read in the scant light. "What's... the con-fed-er-ate states of America?"

Beansoup shrugged. "Confederates happened during the war between the states -- don't you pay attention in history? Shoot. This here's money from back then - it might be worth even more, 'cause of that. It's a part of history. It's what- fifty years old? That's got to mean something."

Of course when they took it in town and tried to spend it, no one would accept it as currency. The candy store man snorted and laughed, and they got run out of the sporting house for being too young before they could even flash their wad. Old Mr. ___ down at the market told the boys the score. "Confederate money's worthless, boys. Not worth the paper it's printed on, 'cause the South lost the war. No bank to back it up. Maybe you could sell it to someone who collects those things, and they'd give you a dollar or two -- but I wouldn't go planning my fortune on it."

Glum as could be, the boys sulked nearly all the way back to the Colored Waifs Home. They were just two penniless orphans again. Beansoup slung an arm around Louis's shoulders as they walked.

"Was nice while it lasted," Louis sighed. "But we aren't ever gonna have no money. Lucky if we have a pair of shoes, let alone a dollar."

Beansoup snorted.

"Might as well throw that stupid box back in the river."

Beansoup shook his head. "We're not down yet, Lou. I've got a plan."

Wary by now from their near five years of acquaintance of any time Emile Carter had a plan, Louis pulled away from the one-armed embrace and gave him a look. "You HAD a plan," he corrected. "And it didn't work. Going into town to spend this useless money was your idea."

"This is a better plan-- trust me!"

All week long, Beansoup talked up their secret treasure to any boy that would listen. He offered to let them have a piece for a nickel - and a dime would net them five pieces of it to take for their very own. More than a few of the boys didn't have themselves a nickel, let alone a dime. He offered them a peak for a penny. Along with their peak or purchase, they also got the story. Beansoup told them how he and Louis had been walking out by the cemetery-- he couldn't divulge which one, because he didn't want no one to go out there and get hurt, of course. Just exploring. And they came across a crypt from an old general - and his ghost come out of it.

"Scared Louis near half to death," Beansoup told them every time. Louis didn't like that part, but he didn't want to be stuck with all this worthless money so he played it up. "Yeah. Just about turned me white."

All the boys laughed at that, even the ones that were skeptical about the story.

Beansoup went on to tell them how the general's ghost had told the boys how he'd buried his treasure under an old magnolia, and they'd dug it. The lock had sprung open like magic (this part made Louis roll his eyes) and inside was a fortune-- in confederate money.

"So you see," Beansoup concluded, "when the south rises again-- or ghosts from back then come calling, you will be entirely prepared with your very own currency."

They made nearly two dollars before the sisters caught them at it. Marcus got caught looking at his money in math class, and he told Sister Amelia where he'd got it from. She took away the box, and gave them a stern lecture about history and lying and the evils of salesmanship.

Good fortune while it lasted, though, Beansoup reckoned. And two dollars did buy him and Louis quite a few Cokes, and a big bag of candy that lasted most the rest of that summer.

True things

eachbeansoup — Sat, 03 Sep 2011 19:48:32 GMT

"A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it." - Oscar Wilde

I didn't know who Oscar Wilde was, but I asked Valentin. He said Mr. Wilde was an author, who wrote some novels and poems and plays. He died about ten years ago, in shame and poverty. How come shame, I asked, and he told me that Mr. Wilde got convicted of being a sodomite.

Apparently they don't have houses like French Emma's in Europe where Mr. Wilde was from. Valetnin said he was an Irishman, which is a country over there, though he died in France. Which being where French comes from, you'd think he could get something to make him happy without going to jail.

Anyhow I guess this quote isn't really about his own death, because I don't think there's anything true or untrue about how he died. Shame and poverty is a way of life, regardless of whether you die from it or not.

This saying reminds me more of my friend Rene, who says he is going to die because it's his fate. Because he thinks he will die for his country, and inspire his country to greatness because of his sacrifice, or whatever. I don't understand that. A country's too big a thing to die for. I wouldn't die for America. I don't even know her. All I know is my city, and not even all of that- I'm not welcome in parts of her.

I don't even think I'd die for my District, much as I'm a part of her. People die here all the time, and it don't ever have any meaning. Half the time, the coppers don't even care, when it's just us killing us. They only step in when someone important dies.

And most people aren't really important, not to cities or countries or the world. They're just people, living their lives until they ain't anymore. And I think Rene should realize that before it's too late. That his country is a country, and it's vast and incapable of mourning the death of one boy. And that once he's dead - there's no more anything. They say you go to heaven or hell but those are too big for you to matter too. And your body, it lays down in the ground and the worms eat it and it becomes part of the earth which is the biggest thing there is.

So what he thinks is true enough to die for - it isn't really. But I don't know if there's a thing I can do about it to change his mind. He might go off and die anyhow, no matter what. And that makes me feel small and insignificant, more than I already feel just by living.

Mr. Wilde is rotting in his grave, and likely gone to hell for what he got up to because the church frowns on anything that gives a body pleasure. And those up there are his words, but he's got no mouth anymore to speak them, and no hands to write any more words ever.

That's truth, right there. And that's gonna be Rene's truth if he doesn't change his mind.

Things I'm proud of

eachbeansoup — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 20:02:09 GMT

1. I got Mister Valentin and Miss Justine back together.
Yeah, I know they did the actual work of making up, but it was me who got them to talk to each other again after they drifted. I don't know how two people can love each other so much, and break up as many times as they have. If I had someone, I wouldn't let my pride get in the way of making it work. Just sayin.

2. I bought myself this new suit.
Not a body wore it before- got it for a dollar out of the Sears catalog. Valentin let me use his address to have it delivered. I think it's real sharp. Not fancy cloth like some of the rounders wear - but I ain't there yet. This here's a first step, I'm moving up from this. But I like the suit just fine and I think it make me look pretty flush, which helps my business.

3. I'm learning how to drive a motor car.
One of the house drivers (ain't naming names so he don't get in no trouble) owes me a favor, so he's giving me lessons. It's got a rumble seat in the back and everything, fancy Lenox. I'm not allowed to work the controls yet, but I'm getting there. If I can learn to drive, maybe I could get a driver job myself. Seems like all the good houses are getting motor cars now. And with more and more places getting telephones, I bet message running's gonna dry up sooner or later. So I'm looking toward my future here.

4. I got Louis out of trouble.
Copper named Delacroix questioned him about his whereabouts on a certain night and a certain time, and he didn't have no alibi but I told 'em he was with me. Had to give Delacroix my last five dollars to make sure he believed it, but Louis is my friend. He would've done the same for me. Funny thing was, he wasn't even doing what the copper thought he was doing. He was off visiting some girl but he can't let her mama know he was out there so he couldn't have her questioned or she would've got in trouble. Yeah, it's like that. Typical day for us.

5. I'm still alive.
Hell of a thing to be proud of, I know. But there's been a whole lot of death going 'round lately. People I come up with, even - getting themselves messed up at hop joints, getting themselves shot, found floating face down in the river. Just reminds me that I'm still going, that I've been watching my steps and I made it this long. Seventeen years of looking out for yourself and doing it more or less successful is something to be proud of, sure enough.

Games

eachbeansoup — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 07:14:20 GMT

Make a list of games you like to play.

1. Cotch - Can't imagine nobody won't know what it is- but if you haven't ever heard of it, it's three card poker in the Spanish style. You can play it in all the sporting houses and cafes in the District. Whenever I can ~~play without getting kicked out~~, I'm up for a good game of Cotch.

2.Craps - All you need is a pair of dice and a wall to shoot against. If you're on a lucky roll, you can get a good bit of coin that way.

3. Vingt-et-un - Another card game. Object is to get twenty-one, which is pretty obvious from the name.

4. Slot machines - My favorite's the Hy-Lo, where you can win five dollars on a nickel play for a royal flush (though I've never saw nobody do it). I won a whole liberty dollar from one, though. Some of them are fixed though so you got to know where to go for an honest game. If you need tips, you can consult the Blue Book or ask me.

5. Banquette Games - Not to ruin my reputation as a rounder, but I enjoyed my share of skipping stones and drawing chalk and saying rhymes out on the banquette when I was little. You probably heard 'em all if you've ever been a kid, like the one about the pralines...

Soeur Rosalie au retour de matines,
Plus d'une fois lui porta, des pralines.

Taken at Colored Waif's Home circa 1907

eachbeansoup — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 08:35:30 GMT

This is a picture taken of me shortly after my arrival at the Colored Waifs Home. As you can see, I was doing just fine for myself, and wasn't causing no trouble to nobody. It was Louis what got the gun anyhow, and stupidly fired it off in the middle of the street. Entirely his fault. But I was being a good friend and I wasn't about to run off on him when he got caught.

So we got sent up to do time together.

Louis was scared, on account of not so long ago they used to send boys that got in trouble to Parish Prison, never you mind their age. But now they got this new reform going on - where you get sent to either the White Waifs Home or the Colored Waifs Home, and you got to work for your keep and drill with wooden rifles and do a whole bunch of school work and learn music and gardening and sewing and carpentry and all that.

I stuck around long enough to see Louis get settled. He actually really liked it there. He joined up with their band. Me, I learned a little bit of harmonica, learned to take a stitch to my trousers if they get a snag, and a bit more reading than I had before. But I'm a man of the street, I don't belong in a place like that.

For a while I thought they'd come looking for me, but the coppers pretty much leave the District alone as long as you keep your head relatively down. So I only got sent back the one time-- and that time, well. Let's just say that I got out pretty fast. I had some business to keep tending to. I was older and wiser than the first time - I'm only about 11 or 12 here-- yeah, I guess I was twelve, because Louis was ten.

Most important thing I learned? Don't get yourself caught.

Work Ethic

eachbeansoup — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 08:12:49 GMT

It isn't just the money.

Coin in his hand's a good thing, sometimes a well-delivered message will earn him a whole liberty dollar or more. Often times it's just spent up on surviving, the next meal or the next drink, or greasing an already greasy palm to get some information flowing. That's the way it is, the life of a street arab in Storyville. Once in a while, he can get ahead. Save up for a secondhand hat, a suit from the Sears Catalogue that arrives in the crisp brown wrapper. A suit no other body has ever worn.

It's the pride.

He knows something no one else knows. They trust him to deliver their news, their confidences. And it gets there, quick as the wink in a johnny's eye, and he keeps his confidences for as long as he's told to. If they don't tell him, well- it's just fair game, that's the way it is. He never reads a message though - leastwise, unless it's about someone that matters. If it's one of his people, he's got to look - he's got a higher obligation to them.

Valentin bought him his Italian knife. Justine feeds him just about any time he's hungry. He can shimmy upstairs to rap on their balcony door and they let him in. Let him crash on the couch, even put a blanket over him.

He's got principles when it comes to business - but friends, they come first.