charbonnet
Legacy Name: Charbonnet

story . . .

Jude, who looks younger than his twenty-one years, too young to live without family in a rickety home on the edge of the city, between dreams and the kitchen, doesn't sleep enough. He's the adopted son of successful brown coal peddlers; his family made their fortune by harvesting and selling lignite out of street carts and baskets. The Charbonnet bluet, which decorated each cart and the lapel of peddlers alike, was a common sight fifty years ago. But the usefulness of lignite faded, and brought the family to their knees. Mining eventually outstripped the revenue, and then the plot needed selling to sustain the stricken family. Jude's inheritance had sunk in on itself, as had family ties. The Sobols fell beneath the wheels of coal-burning trains. When he was evicted, the only home affordable to Jude was a single bedroom shanty built ridiculously close to the train station, just underneath an extra-city bridge. His home jitters and rattles as the trains churn by, but the little dwelling is home enough for one pragmatic soul.

When it rains he can look out the window and watch water run in rivulets down the side of the bridge looming over his leaking roof. Jude doesn't even own the property outright, and spends long hours away from the crooked walls in order to provide for himself. Former connections secured him work as a waiter in one of the flamboyant hotel restaurants; his daily journey is a trolley ride from destitution to the bustle of a highly-supervised kitchen. Back home, under the stars and the smoke, he makes a daily visit to the neighborhood poorhouse. There, Jude habitually prepares meals for the children who sometimes disappear, who chip at his heart with their toothless smiles as much as with their stories.

At home he treasures the old cookbooks his parents brought from Poland, and left when they returned there. A bluet hangs in the kitchen window, dishes sit in the sink, the threadbare rug still protects naked feet in the front room. The pots, pans, baking dishes, and griddle all are clean, stowed, loved. The kitchen is the heart of his home, with its swept floorboards and drunken walls, and it's a warm place.

notes . . .

* He was adopted by Polish immigrants as a toddler; his very earliest, haziest memories are of the orphanage kitchen where he would be given treats for helping the cook

* Secretly, his deepest and least developed desire is for stability, especially an outstretched hand -- sometimes he feels so tired and alone

* Puts on a tough front, but fears the thugs who frequent his neighborhood, and fears for the children he helps feed and protect

* Bilingual - Polish and English

* Has been known to grab the shirt collars of offenders and growl into their faces / grind his teeth

* Has a habit of leaning chairs back onto their rear two legs

* Has deep-seated feelings of resentment for his parents that conflicts strongly with concurrent feelings of love and loyalty

* Does much Polish cooking and baking from his kitchen at home

* Innate sense of balance is very good

* Scar through & above right eyebrow from childhood accident

* Likes to wear thick woolen sweaters, an old leather jacket, scarves, cozy socks. Gravitates towards neutrals & warm colors, especially yellow - studiously chooses clothing that disguises the grime native to his living arrangement.

* Smattering of large, uneven freckles about his body & forearms with some burn & knife scars from kitchens

relationships