A Good Night for Ghosts (8 page)

“But what about a job playing music?” said Jack. “Great musicians can make a lot of money and help their families.”

“Not playing the music
I
want to play” said Dipper. “At least I haven’t met any. Have you?”

“Yes. Actually we have,” said Annie. She turned and looked at Jack. “We have to do it.”

Jack sighed, then nodded slowly. Annie was right. He reached into his bag and pulled out their research book.

J
ack pushed his glasses into place and opened
A History of New Orleans Music
.

“What’s that, man?” Dipper asked.

“It’s a history book,” said Jack.

“Teddy and Kathleen gave it to us,” said Annie.

“Oh, yeah, my best friends,” said Dipper.

Jack looked in the index of the book. He found the right page and turned to it.

“I’m going to read something to you, man,” said Jack. “Just listen.” And Jack read:

“Joe Oliver?” said Dipper. “Joe’s in that book?
I’m
in that book?”

“Yep. Hold on, there’s more,” said Jack. He read:

“What’s that?
International airport?”
asked Dipper.

“That’s where planes fly in and out from all over the world,” said Annie.

Dipper started laughing. “Y’all are pulling my leg.”

“No,” said Jack. “We’re not. Look at
this
, Dipper.” He held up the book and showed Dipper the picture of Louis Armstrong, the King of Jazz, playing the trumpet in front of a huge crowd. “That’s you, Dipper.”

Jack waited for Dipper to laugh and say the picture wasn’t him. But Dipper stopped smiling and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve seen that picture before,” he said softly.

“You
have
?” said Jack, stunned.

“You’ve seen
this
picture before?” said Annie. “Where?”

“Here.” Dipper touched his chest. “Here, in my heart. It’s the picture I’ve had in my heart for a
long time, like a dream. Hey, y’all, is this a dream?”

Jack and Annie laughed. Annie smiled. “Yes, you could say that,” she said.

“But it’s a
true
dream,” said Jack.

“Keep that picture in your heart, Dipper,” said Annie. “Hold it close to you, and one day you’ll be living it. We promise.”

For a long time the three of them just stared at the picture. When Jack looked at Dipper again, he saw tears glisten in Dipper’s eyes.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” said Dipper. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I think I can keep my jobs and start making a little room for my music, too.”

“Yes!” said Annie.

“Maybe you should go play with the fellas on the riverboat tonight,” said Jack.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll try and do that,” said Dipper.

“Great!” said Annie.

Jack heaved a sigh and put away their book.

Dipper stood up. “But now y’all have to get going. On the eve of All Saints’ Day, there’s a curfew for
kids under thirteen. They have to be off the streets by nine, or the paddy wagon will pick ’em up.”

“So… you’re definitely on the path to sharing your musical gift with the world. Right, man?” asked Jack.

Dipper laughed. “I reckon I am,” he said. “Thanks to a couple of potato heads.”

“Okay, good,” said Jack. He and Annie stood up. “To get home, we need to walk to Bourbon Street and catch a streetcar to Canal Street.”

“Let’s go,” said Dipper.

The three of them left the waterfront. They walked past Jackson Square and headed past the cathedral on St. Peter Street.

“I’ll walk y’all back to Bourbon Street,” said Dipper.

“Then do you have time to ride back with us to Canal Street?” said Annie. “So we can hang out together a little longer on the train?”

“You know I can’t do that,” said Dipper. “They won’t let me sit with y’all on the streetcar.”

“Why not?” asked Jack.

“I’d have to sit in the back while y’all sit up front,” said Dipper.

“What are you talking about?” said Annie.

“Y’all are white. I’m black,” said Dipper.

“So?” said Annie.

“Black folks aren’t allowed to sit with white folks. That’s the way it is,” said Dipper.

“Are you kidding? That’s crazy!” said Annie.

“No, I’m not kidding,” said Dipper. He stopped walking and looked closely at Jack and Annie. “Where are y’all from? How’d you get that crazy history book with my picture in it? And why did y’all come here to find me?”

“It’s really, really hard to explain, Dipper,” said Jack. “But just know this: one day things are going to change.
Everybody
will sit together on trains and buses and planes.”

“And one day an African American man will run for president of the United States,” said Annie. “And millions of people—of all colors—will vote for him.”

“And he’ll win!” said Jack.

Dipper laughed and shook his head. “Okay, now I know I’m dreaming,” he said, “but I really like this dream.”

“It’s the truth,” said Annie. “We promise.”

By now they had come to the corner of St. Peter and Bourbon Street. “This is where I leave you,” said Dipper.

Annie threw her arms around Dipper and gave him a big hug. “Good-bye, Dipper!”

Jack did the same. “Bye, man,” he said. “Thanks a million.”

“Same to you,” said Dipper. “Hey, there’s your streetcar now.”

The streetcar glided to a stop at the corner. Jack and Annie hopped aboard and sat in front. As the streetcar went up Bourbon Street, they stuck their heads out the window and waved to Dipper. He waved back. Jack and Annie waved and waved, until they couldn’t see Dipper anymore.

A
s the streetcar rumbled down Canal Street, Jack looked over his shoulder. Dipper was right. African Americans were sitting in the back, while only white people were in the front. Jack hadn’t even noticed it on their first streetcar ride.

Jack’s heart felt heavy.
Why would anyone not want to sit next to someone just because they are a different color?
he wondered.
How could anyone ever be mean to Dipper? Dipper, who is gentle and friendly and kind? Dipper, who hears music everywhere?

Jack listened to the
click-clack
of the streetcar rolling down the tracks. The sound had a good beat. Jack tapped his hand against his knee, until the streetcar came to a stop.

“Let’s go,” said Annie.

Jack and Annie stood up. Canal Street was bright with lights. People were still selling things on the sidewalk.

“What time is it, please?” Jack asked the conductor.

“Five minutes after nine, boy,” said the conductor. “Y’all better head for home.”

“We are!” said Annie.

Jack and Annie hopped off the streetcar and started to run. They ran to the bottom of Canal Street and crossed to the palm trees in the grove near the Mississippi River. In the dark, they found the rope ladder and scrambled up it into the tree house.

Jack grabbed the Pennsylvania book that would take them home.

“Wait!” said Annie, looking out the window. “Look!”

A brightly lit Mississippi showboat was rolling up the river. A large paddle wheel behind the boat was
churning the water. Music was coming from on board.

Annie grabbed Jack’s arm. “Listen! The ‘Heebie-Jeebies’!” she said.

Jack listened. He could hear the trio singing: Little Mack, Happy, and Big Nose Sidney. But the best sound of all was the bright sound of a horn sailing through the New Orleans night.

“It’s Dipper!” said Annie. “It’s got to be!”

“He caught the boat!” said Jack. “Just in time!”

Jack and Annie listened to the joyful swinging sound of Dipper’s music until the riverboat rolled out of sight.

Jack heaved a happy sigh. Then he pointed at their Pennsylvania book. “I wish we could go home,” he said.

The wind began to blow.

The tree house started to spin.

It spun faster and faster.

Then everything was still.

Absolutely still.