Lulu and Butterbean Go To Perdition
by Nene Adams ©2002 - All rights reserved

Did I ever tell you about the time me and Lulu Cantrell went up to Lake Perdition? No? Damn, boy. Reach me another beer and I'll do my best to enlighten you.

Now, Lulu got all het up one day, wanting to go away for a second honeymoon, as she called it. This didn't make much sense to me, 'cause we ain't never had a first honeymoon, unless you count that weekend over at the Motel 9 with pay-per-view. But once Lulu gets her mind set on something, it don't do no good to try and talk her out of it. Just to keep the peace, I went and had a little talk with Tallywhacker Jones.

Tally's got this cabin at Lake Perdition that he don't hardly use at all. I figured to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Lulu would be able to enjoy the great outdoors, and I'd get in some fishing time. Anyhow, Tally said he'd rent us the cabin as long as I got my cousin Willard to overhaul his boat engine. Lulu cottoned onto the idea right away. She called it a "rustic getaway." I think she'd been reading too many lady's magazines.

We packed up the truck and off we went to Lake Perdition, which as you know is about half a day's drive away from here. Well, it would have been half a day if Lulu had a bladder bigger n' a walnut. She made me stop at every damn Stuckey's along the way. I swear, if I ever see another pecan log, I'm going to scream. We also ended up with a plastic monkey backscratcher and a glow-in-the-dark Jesus. Don't ask me why, son. Lulu gets trash fever sometimes.

By the time we made it to the cabin, it was near dark. I was too pooped to pop. Lulu was still grizzling at me 'cause I flat out refused to buy her a bag of Krystal burgers when we passed through Perdition City. I pointed out that we had a whole cooler full of ham sandwiches and tater salad, dammit. Lulu gave me one of them looks.

"Butterbean," she says, "I ain't forgetting about this anytime soon."

Lord knows I love that woman, but when she gets a bug up her ass, there ain't no reasoning with her. As it happened, she checked the cooler as soon as she hopped out of the truck, and we ended up having to drive back to Perdition City anyway. My bait bucket had leaked, and that tater salad smelled a mite suspicious. Belching Krystal burgers left and right, we went back to Tallywhacker's cabin. This time, we actually got as far as unloading the truck and going inside.

Wasn't too bad, considering Tally wasn't going to win no housekeeping awards anytime soon. Lulu said it was the kind of place that any self-respecting pig would refuse to lie down in. I couldn't rightly argue with her. The cockroaches liked it well enough, since about a zillion of 'em scattered when I shut the light on. Suckers bit, too.

Lulu wasn't having any. Back to the truck, another trip to Perdition City for bug bombs. Lulu said a number of unflattering things, but it was her own fault as far as I was concerned. She's the one who wanted a second honeymoon. I didn't tell her that, though. No sir, I'd rather not get my skull stove in by an economy sized can of Do-Right hairspray. Lulu's got a temper like well-aged dynamite when she gets riled. Butterbean Shirley McCall knows when to shut her mouth.

Once again, back to the cabin. Me and Lulu bedded down in the truck whilst the bug bombs stunk up the place. Probably killed every roach along Perdition Lake. I know the fumes like to have made me expire. Two hours later, Lulu made me go shovel the corpses out.

"Butterbean," she says, "this is all your doing. I wanted to go someplace romantic, like South of the Border or Graceland, but you dragged me way out here. I ain't sleeping in no cock-a-roach graveyard. So do your duty, or by thunder, I'll knock you clean into next week."

Took me the better part of an hour to dispose of the evidence. When I was done, I heard Lulu cussin' up a storm because of the skeeters. Did you know that Miz Lulu Cantrell was crowned Tomato Queen of Flathead County for three years running? Let me tell you, brother, she don't let nobody within hearing range forget it, 'specially when she's been inconvenienced. Them skeeters was out for blood, and they didn't much care that Lulu's was semi-royal.

Off again, hi-de-ho, back to the city to pick up mosquito spray. This time, Lulu decided to stay at the cabin, which gave me a good half-hour's worth of quiet. I thought I'd be clever. Not only did I buy skeeter spray, I got roach spray, fly spray, chigger spray, ant spray... you name it, I took a can with me. My brainstorm did not end there. I also bought a bucket of Lulu's favorite ice cream, Goo Goo Clusters, barbeque tater chips, RC Cola, and a sack of boiled peanuts. It can't never be said that I don't know how to take care of my woman.

Back again to the lake. I found Lulu perched on a rickety picnic table, all het up about some noise she thought she heard inside the cabin. Probably a raccoon, I told her, as I was plumb wore out from all that backing and forthing. Lulu calmed right down when I showed her the groceries. The look of love was in her eyes.

"Butterbean," she says, "if you don't come over here and kiss me right now, I will kick your scrawny behind."

Lord, how I adore that woman!

One thing led to another, as it usually does, and we ended up inside the cabin. The sofa was soft as a marshmallow, but once you were used to the smell of cat piss, it wasn't too bad. I got my second wind and was settling into the loving mood when there was this noise, like footsteps walking on the roof. Lulu screeched and clutched me so hard, I was afraid she might do serious damage.

"That ain't no coon, Butterbean!" she hollered.

I managed to pry her off and beat some feeling back into my arm. "Don't you fret, honey-pie," I says to her. "Ol' Butterbean will take care of it."

But the door was swole up somehow and I couldn't get it open. The footsteps got louder. Sounded like big hob-nailed boots stomping up and down. The whole cabin started quivering hard as a Jell-O salad in a hurricane. Lulu grabbed that glow-in-the-dark Jesus and commenced to praying. I had foolishly left my shotgun in the truck, so I took hold of the first thing that came to hand - which turned out to be a collectible Elvis liquor bottle - and made ready to refuse the line.

It's funny, but I didn't know that Lulu had a religious streak. Must be that Baptist upbringing, but the only prayer she knew was: "Good bread, good meat, good Lord, let's eat!" I hoped whatever it was on the roof didn't think we was inviting it to a sit-down supper. She kept on babbling regardless. I didn't say nothing, figuring the praying would keep her occupied for a while.

Minutes passed and nothing happened. The footsteps stopped. I sat back down on the sofa, but kept the King close by. Truth to tell, I was feeling a mite riled myself. I purely hate it when the mood gets ruined. Lulu had changed out of her jeans, and was wearing about two yards of gauze with three spangles on it. She looked like an angel. Well, not really an angel, since I doubt the Lord God Almighty would have approved of what was jiggling around underneath that outfit. I sure did, though.

Whoever or whatever it was had given up on trying to kick the roof off, so I settled down. Right about then, the front door started slamming open and shut, the windows started banging up and down. Bam! Bam! Bam! Lulu prayed louder. She was mixing up parts of the Lord's Prayer with that Gloom, Despair and Agony on Me song from Hee Haw. Bless her heart, my Lulu just don't know when to quit.

A wind come roaring through the cabin, blowing over all the furniture, lamps, gee-gaws and what-not except for the sofa we were sitting on. Even the groceries flew up and blew outside and landed in the yard. It would take a mighty damned hard wind to snatch Lulu away, however. She's solid right down to her little pink toes. When she saw the ice cream go, Lulu stopped praying and glared at me like it was my fault.

Shit, sometimes I just can't win for losing.

Anyhow, I still had a tight grip on that Elvis liquor bottle. After the wind blowed itself out, there was a rattling in the chimney. This didn't necessarily surprise me none, since I reckoned that the last time anybody used the fireplace, it was probably back in Tallywhacker's granddaddy's day. Squirrels, birds, possums... who knows what kind of critters were up there? As it turned out, if there were any critters, they most likely had the shit scared out of them by what rolled out of the chimney and thumped into the fireplace.

It was a human head.

Kind of mangy looking and maggoty, it was. Nasty sunken eyeballs. Face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Reminded me of Tallywhacker himself in a way.

"Lord have mercy!" yelled the head. "What does it take to get y'all's attention 'round here?"

Well, I don't mind telling you that I was plumb flabbergasted. It ain't every day that you get a talking head come rolling into the living room of your rented cabin. I reminded myself to open up a can of whoop ass on Tallywhacker for not telling me the place was haunted. Just like him, really. Boy would forget his own brains if they weren't secured inside his skull.

Lulu was not so easily dumbstruck. She gripped that glow-in-the-dark Jesus like it was a baseball bat, and she was Babe Ruth fixing to hit one out of the park. "Who the hell are you?" she says. "And what the hell did you do to my Chocolate Banana Peanut Fudge Caramel Ripple ice cream?"

"Do calm yourself," says the head. "Since you are a guest in my home, and a lady, I would expect you to conduct yourself accordingly."

You know, Lulu actually blushed? I ain't seen her so bashful since Daddy Cantrell caught her and me behind the woodshed. Never mind what we were doing. Suffice it to say that we were made for each other all our lives, and leave it at that.

Those nasty eyes swung in my direction. "Allow me to introduce myself," says the head. "I am General Jeremiah Jubilation Johnson, once known as Ol' Cornpone. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"Butterbean Shirley McCall and Lulu Cantrell," I replied smartly. Whoever this head belonged to, he had an old-fashioned gentleman's manners, and I found myself responding accordingly. "I'm sorry if we disturbed your rest, sir. This cabin belongs to Tallywhacker Jones, and we just rented it out for the weekend."

"No harm meant, I'm sure," says the General. "Perhaps you ladies would be so kind as to favor me with a moment of your time? I find myself in a predicament which you may be able to alleviate."

Now Lulu was suspicious of his fancy talk - butter wouldn't have melted in Ol' Cornpone's mouth - but she nodded all the same.

The General's head continued, "You see, ladies, I fought gallantly against the Yankee invaders so long ago. When I returned from the war, I married a lovely young woman and built this cabin to be our home. Alas, the lady proved perfidious. When I discovered she had wed me solely for my money, I gathered up my treasure and buried it where she would never find it. I had hoped this would cool her greed. Woe is me, for my wife was instead enraged. She stole upon me whilst I was sleeping and cut off my head. My poor dead body was hauled outside for burial, my head stuffed up the chimney, and she ran away with a carpetbagger. Oh, woe is me!"

"Well, that's a crying shame," says Lulu, "only what does that have to do with us?" She tried to sound cool as a cucumber, but her eyes had lit up at the mention of treasure. Mine too, probably.

Ol' Cornpone suddenly looked like he'd bit into a lemon. "My lazy no-count brother Job Hallelujah inherited this place. The first time I asked for his help, he ran like a yellow dog and never returned. His descendants are no better. Cowards! Poltroons! Blackguards of the highest degree! Oh, woe is me, for I can find no peace, no rest, until the pieces of my body are reunited."

Lulu shrugged, still playing it cool. "La, sir," she says in as good an imitation of Scarlett O'Hara as I've ever seen. "Tut-tut. Fiddle-dee-dee. Supposing we help you, General Jones sir. Give you aid out of the kindness of our hearts. Would there perchance be a..." she paused delicately, batted her eyelashes, "...reward?"

"Why, certainly, Miss Lulu," says the head, like him and Lulu were old buddies from way back. "It would be my honor if you would accept my treasure as a gift for your kindness and trouble."

Lulu turned to me, all her airy-fairy Southern belle ways completely gone. "Butterbean," she says in a voice which I know all too well, "fetch a shovel."

And so I ended up digging in a half-dozen places around Lake Perdition, because Ol' Cornpone couldn't quite remember where his wife had buried the body. Lulu was standing there supervising, with my bait bucket in one hand (the head was in it), and a can of mosquito spray in the other. Between blasts of skeeter spray, she gave me lots of helpful advice. I started cussin' about the twentieth time I hit rock with that damned shovel. The General was using language not normally heard in the presence of a lady. I gathered he didn't much like the smell of the bait bucket.

All right, so I left them minnows one day too long in the shed! Yes, it's been a hot summer. Lulu gives me hell when I try to keep the damn bait in the ice box. It ain't entirely my fault, you know. Now reach me another beer, be hush and pay attention.

At last, something went clunk, and it wasn't rock this time, but bone. I cleared off the rest of the dirt in record time. Sure enough, there was a body down there, still clad in the rags of a uniform. Lulu brung Ol' Cornpone over for a look-see.

"I do declare!" he hollered from the depths of the bait bucket. "Oh, no longer will I be chained to this dismal existence. No longer will I lament and cry my woe. No longer will I be forced to endure the torments of the undead. Glory, glory, glory, I am coming home at last!"

I come up out of the hole, hot and sweaty and covered with dirt. Chigger bites, too, dammit. "Look here," I says to him. "I hope your directions to the treasure are a damn sight better than your directions to this body, otherwise I'll be tempted to dig you up again."

"Be assured, the treasure has been on my mind for many a long year." Ol' Cornpone's head was dissolving, or at least the flesh was slipping off to reveal his skull. "You have but to take four paces from the pecan tree at the east corner of the house. The treasure chest is there, six feet down." He quit talking then, because Lulu dumped him in the hole. Just a clean skull that joined clean bones, and the dirt caved back over to cover the grave.

Shit. More digging. I should've known.

Drag-ass tired as I was, I knew Lulu would give me no rest until I'd dug up this treasure. All the while I was manning the shovel, she was making plans as to how to spend the money. A new double-wide trailer with all the fixings. A satellite dish. Big screen TV. First-class trip to Knott's Berry Farm. Maybe even a vacation to Nashville. Yes, Lulu couldn't wait to go home dripping with gold, and do all her friends one in the eye. She was going to be shitting in high cotton, all right. Tomato Queen? Hell, the way she talked, Lulu Cantrell was fixing to be queen of the world. Or at least, the queen of Flathead County. I just hoped she didn't forget about poor Butterbean while she was out swanning around with a diamond in her nose.

Thump! Thump! I hit something. Lulu nearly turned purple with excitement. I uncovered a wooden chest, managed to haul it out while Lulu danced on the edge of the pit.

"Open it!" she says. "Hurry up and open it, Butterbean!"

Sucker was locked, but the iron had rusted. I used the shovel to break the chains apart. When I finally got that goddamned chest open, I peeked inside and about fell over laughing. Lulu slid down into the hole, but I was too out of breath to appreciate the sight of her dressed in gauze and spangles and nothing else but mud.

"What the hell?" Lulu screeched upon catching sight of what was in the chest.

See, that thing didn't have no gold, no jewels, no pieces of eight or whatever.

It was full of Confederate money.

Lulu had a conniption fit. "If I could bring that cheatin' sumbitch back to life, I'd cut him open from asshole to appetite," was the least of the things she had to say.

She swore up and down that she was going to dig up Ol' Cornpone, piss on his bones, and commit various other blasphemies and indignities. There was a big ol' vein throbbing in her forehead. Frankly, I pitied General Johnson if Lulu got her hands on him. I would rather jack off a bobcat than mess with Lulu when she's in a killing mood.

It took some doing, but I got her calmed down before she did herself an injury. Lulu might not have been dancing mad anymore, but by God, she was still angrier than a bee-stung bull. Before I could stop her, she ran to the truck, got down my shotgun, and unloaded both barrels into General Johnson's grave. Whether it did him any harm, I couldn't tell you. I was just glad that a) Lulu hadn't remembered that it was my idea to come out to Lake Perdition; and b) I hadn't brought no more ammunition with me, just in case she remembered later.

Nothing would do after that but to pack everything into the truck and head back home. Lulu tossed her gauze and spangles into the lake before we left. The glow-in-the-dark Jesus met a terrible fate, as did the plastic monkey backscratcher. She ate the Goo Goo Clusters, though. I had to restrain her from setting fire to the cabin, the chest, the woods, and everything. Hell hath no fury like a woman deprived of big screen TV and a new double-wide, I say. And brother, I've got the scars to prove it.

The next time I saw Tallywhacker Jones, I gave him two black eyes in exchange for all the trouble he caused me. Lulu passed him on the street and gave the boy such a look, he couldn't speak for a full week. On the other hand, I hear Tallywhacker's daddy has started renting the cabin out to Yankee tourists who don't know no better. I hope they enjoy the smell of cat pee. For sure, I will never visit Lake Perdition again as long as I live.

About a month later, I took that Confederate money over to this antique store in Meridian, on the off chance that somebody might give me a little cash for it. Much to my surprise, the guy at the store paid me five hundred dollars for the whole chest full. So Lulu got her satellite dish, which smoothed things over considerably.

However, every time I tell her I'm going fishing, she gives me a look that could melt glass.

Can't win for losing, dammit. And she still won't let me keep bait in the ice box.

Oh, well. I love her anyway.

Next time she wants to go on a second honeymoon, though, I'll let her pick the destination.

Knott's Berry Farm, here I come.

THE END

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