the line and I followed her into the station. People
were dancing everywhere, and everywhere I looked,
there were pockets of musicians playing Dixieland
Jazz. "There's a phone booth," she said, pointing. We
hurried to it. Annie opened the fat telephone book. I
had never realized how many people lived in New
Orleans. "Dumas, Dumas," she chanted as she ran her
finger down the page. "Okay, here be the list.
Quickly," she said, turning back to me. "Fold the ten
dollar bill as tightly as you can. Go on."
I did what she asked. She opened her purse and
kept her eyes closed.
"Just drop it in here," she said. I did so and she
opened her eyes slowly and then turned to the phone
book again. She did look like someone who had fallen
into a trance. I heard her mumble some gibberish and
then she put her long right forefinger on the page and
ran it down slowly. Suddenly, she stopped. Her whole
body shuddered and she closed and then opened her
eyes. "It's him!" she declared. She leaned closer and
nodded. "He does live in the Garden District, big
house, rich." She tore off a corner of the page and
wrote the address on it. It was on St. Charles Avenue. "Are you sure?" I asked.
"Didn't you see my finger stop on the page? I
didn't stop it; it was stopped!" she said, eyes wide.
I
nodded.
"Thank you," I said.
"You welcome, honey. Okay," she said, picking
up her suitcase. "I got to get me going. You be all