The wooden building was at least thirty years old, and sported a rusting thermometer advertising Coca-Cola, fading posters from last year's fair, and a gravel parking lot full of pickup trucks, which, according to Marion, guaranteed the best food around. Jay muttered something about cholera, but she shushed him, and they went in.
Once inside, Jay's apprehensions began to subside. The green tile floor was well scrubbed, and the pine booths were free of graffiti. Fresh wildflowers sat on red gingham tablecloths, and the jukebox was playing quiet country songs at a reasonable volume.
As they slid into the corner booth, Marion laughed at his evident relief. "What did you expect?" she asked.
Jay pantomimed the strumming of a banjo and hummed a few bars of Dueling Banjos, the theme from Deliverance.
"Honestly, Jay! What if someone sees you? Anyway, I thought you were a little more sophisticated than that. Wait until I tell Jean and Betty in Appalachian Studies that I found another Deliverance sucker."
Jay pretended to be studying the menu, but Marion saw him blush.
She went on. "Everybody has seen that movie, and from the way they've reacted to it, you'd think it was a documentary, but it wasn't. It was an allegory. The author, James Dickey, is a poet. Talking to someone from Appalachia about Deliverance is like talking about Moby Dick to a member of Greenpeace. In both cases, you're confusing symbolism with reality." Marion waved her hand to indicate the rest of the cafe. "Do you see anybody in here who looks like one of those caricatures in Deliverance?"
Jay swallowed the last bit of hush puppy. "Well, there's a guy coming toward us…" He nodded toward a large bearded man in jeans and a Charlie Daniels T-shirt. He looked like a cross between a linebacker and a bear.
Marion turned to look at him and her lips twitched but she said nothing.
"Don't worry, Marion!" whispered Jay. "I'll handle this."
"Howdy," said the man, easing into the booth beside Marion. "Did you all come for the show?"
"No," said Marion. "Is there one?"
"Well, most Thursday nights a few of us get together to do a little pickin'. Have a few beers." He eyed Jay Omega, who was noticeably paler. "Not too awful many knife fights, though," he added.
"We don't want any trouble," said Jay carefully.
Marion looked solemn. "What's a barbarian like you doing in a nice place like this?"
Jay's jaw dropped. "Marion!" he hissed.
She continued her scolding as if he had not spoken. "I mean, we come all the way from southwest Virginia, hoping for a little decent barbecue or some down-home cooking, and what do we find trashing up the place? A goddamned Joyce scholar!" She threw a hush puppy at him.
The bearded man grinned. "Shoot, Marion! What'd you wanna give the game away for? I really had your friend going there, and you know I just love Deliverance suckers!"
"Very funny, Tobe. What if somebody believed in that hillbilly act of yours? You could be perpetuating a stereotype, you know."
The big man sighed. "I reckon I could come in here in a Savile Row suit and a rep tie, and some people would still think the mountains were full of savages."
Jay Omega continued to look puzzled. "Is this the floor show?" he asked.
They laughed at his dismay. "Jay, may I present Tobias J. Crawford of the English department at East Tennessee State University."
"And one of the best clawhammer banjo players in these parts," Dr. Crawford added without a trace of modesty. "A bunch of us old boys from around here get together Thursday nights to play at the Lakecrest. Straight bluegrass. No ballad singing, dulcimer playing, academic storytelling, or Scottish country dancing allowed. Nobody in the group answers to 'Doc,' and the lawyer who plays bass has to tell people he's a truck driver."
Jay blinked. "You're another English professor?"
"That's right," nodded Crawford. "The woods are full of 'em in tourist season. Mostly they're backpacking on the Appalachian Trail, but a few of them are running around with tape recorders trying to pick up an authentic mountain folk song." He grinned. "I once gave a fellow from Carmel, California a bluegrass rendition of 'Because I Could Not Stop for Death,' and told him it was a Child ballad that my great-great-great-grandpappy had brought over from England. He's probably tried to publish it in a journal somewhere by now."
Marion nodded. " 'Because I Could Not Stop for Death.' Very good. And I suppose you sang it to the tune of 'The Yellow Rose of Texas'?"
"Oh, sure. You can sing quite a few of Emily Dickinson's poems to the tune of 'The Yellow Rose of Texas.' "
To Jay Omega's further dismay, the two English scholars proceeded to demonstrate this literary discovery, amid giggles and spoons tapped on beer mugs for percussion. When the tribute to Emily Dickinson was finished, Marion wiped her eyes and attempted to speak. "You should see Tobe at an MLA conference!" she said between gasps. "But it was mean of him to scare you like that. Tobe, this is James Owens Mega, an electrical engineer who writes science fiction."
Crawford stuck out his hand. "Sorry to startle you," he said, "but when I saw you mime that banjo imitation, I knew you were discussing Deliverance, so I figured I'd come on over. We get pretty tired of that hillbilly crap."
Jay smiled. "I know what you mean. I have stereotypes of my own to contend with."
"Jay is the author of Bimbos of the Death Sun," Marion explained.
Tobe Crawford nodded. "That would take some effort to live down, I expect. Science fiction? Are you connected with that reunion going on in Wall Hollow?"
"Yes. Do you know Erik Giles from my department? It turns out that he was C. A. Stormcock, the author of The Golden Gain, who was one of the Lanthanides back in the fifties. He was invited back for the reunion, and because his health is not good we came with him."
Dr. Crawford looked interested. "Has the reunion started yet? There's been a ton of publicity about it. Newspapers, local television. I even saw an article that said A Current Affair was coming in to film it."
"I believe that's true," said Marion. "Did you see the interview with Mistral in People magazine?"
Tobe Crawford shook his head. "I get my news from the National Inquirer" he said solemnly.
Marion made a face at him. "That's right! Make English professors look bad too, while you're at it! Anyway, I wouldn't expect a Joyce scholar to understand a complex field like science fiction, but these writers are very important in their genre, so all this publicity is to be expected."
"I hear that all sorts of movie types will be there. Have you seen any of those guys yet?"
"The Lanthanides are here, but all the business people arrive tomorrow." Marion gave Tobe Crawford a stern look. "I hope you're not thinking of taking your mountain man act on the road. Anyhow, I haven't seen any gullible city slickers. Tonight the writers are having a private party, so we haven't even met them yet."
"I've met them, but it was a long time ago," said Tobe.
"At a science fiction convention?"
"No. I remember when that bunch lived at Dugger's farm. I was just a kid then, so I didn't know any of them very well, but people used to think they were strange. I worked Saturdays in my uncle Bob Mclnturf's store, stocking shelves and sweeping up, and they used to come in every now and then to buy groceries. I figure that time capsule they buried was the pickle jar I gave them."