User:Aearthrise/Cajun English/Louisianese Stories and Accounts Book I

The Funeral Bouquet I
By Colastin-Joseph Rousseau

If you were standing on the corner of Iberville and Rampart street on January 27th, 1836 at precisely ten o'clock, you would've noticed two refined gentlemen whose shadows followed all the way down the alleyway of trees lighted by lampposts on both sides of the street. These two gentlemen were making quite a commotion.

One was wearing a beautiful pair of blue pants with fine varnished boots. He had an orange cashmere vest and a fancy black suit that accentuated his slenderness. He was wearing a beard that made him resemble an Ancient Greek philosopher- her color was more blond than black. The gentleman's eyes were a deep blue and he had thick eyebrows. He also was sporting a black fedora which his bright blond hair wrapped around.

The other gentleman was wearing black pants with a wide overcoat and a chapeau of the same color. He was a bit tanned, and seeing him at this hour of the night with his long black hair, his mouche, c'est-à-dire his "soul patch," and a thick moustache that resembled a brown caterpillar, we would've guessed he was much older than than his companion. Whenever he laughed, although his moustache was thick BEAUCOUP, she couldn't stop us from seeing his shiny ivory teeth, I guarantee it.

"Hey mon ami," said the man in the overcoat, "don't believe a step that the girl loves you. I am sure you know the old adage: "You are a reflection of the company you keep."

"I don't know what you're talking about Charles," said the blond gentleman "me, I don't see the point in talking about her conduct and judging her so severely. I never found anybody in her circle but honest people: for example, her cousin who works as a bookkeeper in a bank in the American Quarter; some amiable ladies, amiable BEAUCOUP, and always elegantly dressed."

"Eh! What's the importance of appearance in our country, mon cher Robert? You know very well that the ladies of dubious rapport always dress like princesses, while our ladies of honest families, c'est-à-dire our sisters, our mothers, dress quite plainly. As well mon ami, and this is quite understood: a harlot is obliged to dress richly, because she's sure to seduce the young men who are naturally luxurious and liberal who have, like you mon cher Robert, a 20 year old heart that beats in their chest. The harlot knows that these young fools would gladly go twenty times around New Orleans just to chase her skirt, I guarantee it."

"What you're spouting there is true, Charles," replied Robert, annoyed and barely containing his indignation, as Charles ended his speech, and his face was turning quite red.

"Me, what I think," continued on Robert quite seriously, "I think that that all of these allusions have sidetracked us from the focus of our conversation. I don't believe a step that you want to place Julia in the same category as those other ladies you just told me about."

"Well why not?" replied Charles very lively and quite exasperated, as if he wanted to prove that Robert did not understand him, "that's exactly what I wanted help you understand, COUILLON!"

"TÊTE DURE!", screamed Robert while grinding his teeth and throwing a punch at Charles. But Charles, him, after dodging the blow, grabbed his assailant's arm:

"Woah there partner!", he told him coldly, continually holding his arm with an iron grip; "don't get riled up with me, monsieur, because me too, I could get angry myself. You just tried to PASS ON me- I'm going take this as a grand offense, because you, you've disgracefully threatened me. I could knock you down in an instant, but that's not gonna happen. In the meantime here this: it won't take more than a second."

"This Julia, whom you talk about in every waking hour, is just like any one of those ladies that I mentioned to you. Look at what she is! You, Monsieur COUILLON, you who offer the back of your hand to the jaw of a dear old friend like me... you're running to your demise. "ALLEZ-EN," he continued while letting go of his arm and strongly pushing him away, "ALLEZ, I'll give you a good eight days before I demand retribution from your part for the insult that you just made to me, because me, Monsieur Robert, I want you to think about what you just did; I hope that before then you'll beg for forgiveness, that you'll be praying for me to accept your apology... ADIEU! AU REVOIR! ALLEZ-EN, now that you've burned down our friendship in one fell swoop. ALLEZ Monsieur!"

And so, he left the young blond gentleman, and distanced himself without regarding him.

Robert followed Charles right up until he turned the corner, and then he stopped himself:

"Perhaps, him," he muttered, "he's right, and me, I'm wrong... But why does he come like that, with his holier than thou attitude, to slander my dear Julia; and to say, without blushing, that Julia is a prostitute? Julia, one of the filles du roi who sells love at the price of gold! oh, no, that's impossible; that cannot be, that cannot... Indeed, I regret not putting him in his place! It's true that we've been friends since childhood; he's almost my brother, I think that him, he loves me in the same way- but if he really were my brother, would he try to control my actions? No! His friendship is too cumbersome... me, I need to get away from him!"

And so, after talking to himself, Robert went down Iberville Street. Arriving at the beginning of the streets of Marais and Villeré, the young gentleman stopped in front of a small house, whose sidewall faced the street. On the wall You would notice three entryways; the two narrowest ones opened into the first room, and the third, which was larger was the entryway opening to a small vestibule, c'est-à-dire lobby, through which you would proceed into the further three rooms of the small house.

The Funeral Bouquet II
By Colastin-Joseph Rousseau