The great thing about being back at Sans Souris is that I get to hear the clip-clop in the afternoon. In the mornings, they’d go by the guest house on their way out of the stables. I could watch them at Donna’s, which has a little porch, but at the Jazz Room, I could only hear them with the doors open or when in the sad courtyard.
The afternoon tours tend to come up Esplanade, usually west, and turn up Dauphine back toward the Quarter. (Sometimes they come from the lakeside, probably on their way from the cemetery.) I know most of the drivers’ voices by now. Brendon, the cute young one in the hat, seems to make the Esplanade circuit most often, four or five times in an afternoon. I can hear him if he’s speaking, in a low, amused voice. Sounds carry around here and the drivers tend to have carrying voices. Then there’s the perfunctory black guy who must be the biggest bore behind the reins. I hear him while walking through the Quarter all the time, and it’s a little bit hilarious. “Now ovuh on your LEFT …” “Ovuh on your RIGHT…” That’s all he does. Poor tourists.
The big-bellied, middle-aged black and white men go by frequently, but I never hear them speaking. Jeff comes by on his bike tour a couple of times a day and his voice precedes him, shouty and strong. Sometimes I pop my head out to watch his little two-wheeled goslings ride by, gazing up at the white mansion on the corner. James I can hear before the clip-clop or the jangle of reins; I can tell it’s him just from the way he shouts “Mule!” One of those tiny little guys with a basso voice, and it projects into the second balcony. The women, Mickey and Maya, never come by here; I don’t know why. Maybe everyone has a circuit.
There goes Brendon now….
