Previously on Gargoyles:
 
    Hudson: "I used to be a soldier, I suppose I still am. I'm too old to learn
                  new things."

    Robbins, Jeffrey: "Books are lighthouses erected in the dark sea of time.
                  For without books we are cast adrift, neither learning nor teaching.,
                  endlessly drifting, ("Lighthouse in the Sea of Time")
 
  Brooklyn" Do you think our travels have been destined?" (Kindred Spirits)

  Sata: "Do you think I will let you out of my sigh now? How much trouble
            have you gotten into without me?" (Kindred Spirits)

     Ramparts of glass and steel rose above Canal Streeet in midtown.  They stood
    shoulder to square shoulder in dusky rows along the historic French Quarter.
    The sun had long since dipped below the horizon in back-lit glory as the nenon
    lights tried to outdo it.

   Beyond the glittering lights of modern high-rises, brick townhouses, and
   marquees, the antebellum houses of the deep south appeared.  They still
   looked much as tourists imagined they would; with their marble pillars,
  white-washed walls, and gabled roofs.   Elsewhere,  in the back-streets where it
  was born, the synocpated strains of jazz could be heard at all hours.  The
 smells of river silt, gasoline, tobacco and shrimp, and other less discernible
scents wafted through the air.

        A fiery curtain of red/black fire appeard and hovered a few feet
   above a crowded streett in the heart of the Garden District.  It expanded
   outwards in a circle, then deposited two figurues: one red and one green,
   on the sidewalk.  Then it vanished.

   A woman on her way back from market shopping chanced to look up at
   that particular point in the sky: "Dey must be starting the  fireworks
    early," she said as the fiery corono disappeared as suddenly as it had
   appeared.

          A man passing by overheard her and said :"Nah, it's too early for
   the town to be getting up with the pryotechnics for Carinval.  That dere
   must be just a shooting star or something like.  Did you make a wish?, he asked
   in a heavy drawl.

        "Now if it is or isn't?  Besides if I did make a wish, if I told you it
         wouldn't come true," the woman said as she hailed a cab.

        "Yeah," another person said.

 
          Meanwhile,  Brooklyn and Sata picked themselves up and started looking
      around their surroundings attempting to get their bearings.  It was then
     that they realized they had something of an auidence and hurriedly capped
     their wings.

         "You're a little early for the festivities,folks.  You got several
      hours march on the rest  of us.  Which Krewe you with?" a tall, musclar
     black man commented, seeing the two winged figures standing on the
     sidewalk.  They peered around and shook their heads as if trying to clear
    the cobwebs.  "Nice entrance though.  You okay," the man asked.

      "UH.  Yeah.  We're fine.  Thanks.  Could you tell us where we are?"
       Brooklyn asked.

        "How is it, you've come somewhere, and now you don't know where
        you've come to.," he shook his head.  "Never mind.  And to answere your
       question, you're in New Orleans.  By the way, since we're at it, the name's
      Carl Robbins.  What's yours? the man said, extending a hand to shake.

        "I'm Brooklyn," the brick-red gargoyle replied, running a hand through
        his long, tangled man of white hair.

         "If you say so, man. Who's your lady friend?" Carl asked.
        "You guys seem a bit lost.   You tourists or somehthing?"
 
        "I am called Sata.  It is a pleasure to meet you," the Japanese gargoyle bowed.

        "Well, Brooklyn, Sata, it's my pleasure to meet you both.  And if this
         is your intended destination, you couldn't have picked a better night
         for it!  Why, don't you know what night this is?"

            Brooklyn and Sata looked askance at each other, wondering what
            made this night more special than any other.

            "No Carl-san.  But I am sure you will be more than pleased to tell us."
               Sata replied.

            "Why, It's Mardi Gras!" Carl exclaimed.

            "Mardi Gras?  Sata asked, wondering what the strange sounding words
            meant.

            "Only the biggest party anywhere.  It's like one big celebration made
            of a bunch of small celebrations, all rolled into one!  The big party
            before Epiphany or the beginning of Lent,"  Carl explained.

            "Is it always this humid here,' Sata gasped a little in the heavy air.
 
            "Yeah, this climate is terrible.   Fit for nothing.  Well, except shrimp.
            If it floods, that's when the sycamores start seeding,"  Carl frowned,
            then smiled., as he thought of the sycamores that surrounded his home in
            the French Quarter.  "I love de weather, your gills dry out if you
            go inland.  That's why we call it the Crescent City.,"

            "Do you live here? It sounds like you love your home," Sata asked,
             a small shadow passed across the jade-green gargoyle's face as she
            fondly recalled her first meeting with Brooklyn under the shade of
           the appple blossom trees in the garden of her home is Ishimura.
           The way Carl talked of the sycamores made her think of those trees
           before leaving her home to travel through time with Brooklyn.

            "Born and bred.  Couldn't imagined livi g anywhere else, growing up.
            I love it here.  I was working the shrimp boats that come in off the
            Missippi, until I got my big break.  You mind if we walk while we
          talk,"  Carl asked.

            "Not at all," Sata replied.  Falling into step Brooklyn and Sata followed
            Carl down the street.

            "Yeah, I got the call to play in the major league baseball.
             My brother, well he went off to Nam.  Me, I went to play with
            the Kansas City Royals."

            "What position do you play?"  Brooklyn asked.

            "One of the few southpaws,"  Carl answered.

            "I do not understand," Sata asked, as she peered at the man's
              hands.  "Southpaw?"

            "It means lefthanded," Carl laughed.

            "We've been out of touch for a while." Brooklyn said.

            "My brother, Jeff, after the war ended, moved to New York.
             He managed to make it out alive, but he was cut in some shelling,
              lost his sight.  So I think I know what you mean when you say,
              you've been out of touch,"  Carl said.

            Alarm bells were going off in Brooklyn's mind as he heard the word
           'Nam.  For some reason a bit of memory stirred from the places where
            such things were stored; he tried to make the piece of the puzzle fit
            with what he was hearing.  He tried to put the word 'Nam fit with the
          name Robbins. For a while he walked along only half listening to what
         Carl was telling them, when it clicked.

            "Uh, Carl, you wouldn't be related to a guy named Jeffrey Robbins,
            would you?" Brooklyn asked.

            "Yeah, I would be. But how did you know? He lives in Manhattan
            now, but he usually keeps to himself. I sure didn't expect y'all to
            know him." Carl said.

                "It is a small world," Sata teased, as she elbowed Brooklyn and
            whispered,  "See, I too am capable of learning these gaijin expressions
            of yours.  You promised to teach me."

            "Gaijin?" Are you Japense Sata?" Carl asked, amused,
            but holding back his laughter at the interplay between the couple.

                "Ah, it's kind of a long story, but my uh grandfather, met
                him about two years ago, " Brooklyn answered

            "What's your grandfather's name? I recive a few letters now and
            then from Jeff.  Although, I have to get someone to translate them
            from Braille to English, so's I can read them. He might have mentioned
            your grandfather," Carl said thoughtfully.

            "Uh, his name is Hudson, like the river," Brooklyn replied, wondering
            what weird impulse guided the Phoneix Gate and its reasons for
            selecting particular times and places.
 
            "Hudson?  I remember reading something about a fellow
       named Hudson, and Jeff being inspired to keep writing his novels,
     if I recall correctly."  Carl mused.

            "That would be him," Brooklyn answered.

            "Your grandfather must be a remarkable individual, Carl said.
 
            Thinking of Hudson, his clan's elder and mentor, Brooklyn realzied
           he hadn't though of the Manhattan clan in a long time,  He wondered if
         it was because he wanted to avoid feelings of being home-sick.  The
        next thing he thought of, if Sata missed her clan back in Japan.

        "Ys. Yet  Brooklyn-san has not yet fullfilled his promised to introduce
        me to the other members of his family,"  Sata laughed. "Yet my grandfather,
        Honshu, he tells me, resembles him a great deal," she added.

        " I know you won't want this free advice, Brooklyn-but, you have got
        to introduce the cherie to the family sooner or later. You can't put it off
        forever."  Carl shook his head and laughed.

        "See, he can turn an even more interesting shade of red," Sata teased.
 
         "Oh! Shut up!" Brooklyn muttered under his breath, as his naturally
            red coloring hid his blushing. "What's that?"

            "It's a trolley car,  Come on, I'll show you around." Carl replied.

        "Once upon a time, there was a streetcar named Desire, so called
        for a tenement made legendary by a playwright named Tennesse Williams."
 
        "That there is the Vooodo Shop on Dumanie Street where you can
        get gris-gris for almost every malady you can name and some you can't."

        "Voodoo?" Sata asked.

        "It's kind of like magic brought over to New Orleans by African
        slaves and their descendants until the 1920'.  Some its rituals still
        survive in local 'spiritual' churches."  Carl explained.

        "Do they play music all night? Sata asked, wondering why there
        were bands everywhere.

            "Pretty much," Carl shrugged.

            "That's my favorite resturant, Commander's Palace, where dey
            serve up haute Creole cusine,' Carl said, pointing out the windows
            towards a resturant that stood several stories tall.
 
            "If you're playing baseball in the majors,"  Brooklyn
            interjected suddenly.  "How is it..." he trailled off.

            "You mean, how did I sneak away for this?" Carl finished.
            "I took a personal holiday."

            "Man, we never have anything like this back in Manhattan!"
              Brooklyn exclaimed.
            

            Carl checked his watch, and moitioned the trolley driver to let them
            off at Bourbon Street, and the three off got out of the street car.

            "I figured you were from New York, but were you really named after
               a New York bourough?" Carl asked the brick-red gargoyle.

            "uH, Yeah, I was," Brooklyn replied, taken a little off guard.

            "Not the bridge," Carl continued.
 
            "Bridge? What bridge?" Sata asked.

            "Brooklyn Bridge,"  Carl said.

            "Come in through Ellis Island, did you, Sata?" Carl asked.

             "NO,  I have never been to New York, but..."

            "You guys hungry?" Carl suddenly asked.

            "Yes, but, please, you do not have to pay our way.
            You have done more than enough already." Sata said.

            "Hey, it's no problem.  If you guys know Jef, then you're all right
            in my book," Carl reassured her.

            He went over to a food stand, and bought several items from the
            propietter.  Upon his return, he handed Brooklyn and Sata something
            sweet and sticky, wrapped in white paper, and several  napkins.

            "What are they?" Sata as she sniffed at it.
 
            "Deep fried eggplan covered with powdered sugar.  Trust me,
            you'll love it," Carl reassured as she the skeptical look in her eyes.

            "Eyeing the treat askance, Sata took a cautious bite, chewed and
            sallowed a morsel, as a beaming smile spread across her face.  Seeing
            that she was enjoying it, Brooklyn started eating his.

            "Thank you, Carl," Brooklyn said.
 
            "You're welcome, guys," Carl answered, folding his arms across
            his chest.
            

            The three stood on a curb nearMain Street.  For blocks around,
            the crowd anticpated the arrival of the parade floats, and were stacked
            several rows deep.  Meanwhile, the ever-present jazz bands played a
            ,medley of songs.

            "And you say they do this every year?"  Brooklyn shouted to be heard.

            "I have never seen anything like this. We celebrated New Year back
            in Japan with small parades and red paper lanterns with candles.
            But this, this is, loud and noisy, and ....'Sata trailed off.

            "You having fun, Sata?" Brooklyn asked, finishing off his treat.
            "This isn't bad. Wait until you taste pretzels" he said, as he thought
            that for the first time since he began this strange journey through
            time, the tailisman responsible for it, had actually made the trip
            bearable this time around.
 
            He nudged Sta and grabbed her hand, pulling her up near Carl where
            they could get a better view.

            Just then the parade began,  a seemingly endless stream of floats,.
            trying to outdo each other in sometimes bizzarre, sometimes exotic
            designs.  The people aboard were outfitted in coustmes that were
           inspired from classical themes complete with kings, queens, and courtiers.
           As the masked and coustumed royalty tossed strings of beads,
           aluminum doubloons, and other items as the slowly passed by.
 
           Brooklyn and Sata's precarious pistion was jostled by a woman
           in a red dress, draped in all manner of beads and strings, who
          strteched out an arm to catch a plastic frog thrown by a man dressed
          as a Zulu king.

            "What is this music?" Sata asked, ignoring the woman.

            "It's called jazz," Carl replied, thinking the woman looked familar.
 
            "As soon as I hear proper music, I'll dance to it."
            Sata crossed her arms and watched Carl and Brooklyn move to
            the rhythm of the music.
 
            The good thing she could think about this jazz, was that the
            tone and tempo of the beat reminded her of the Kodo drummers
            of home. Her tail twitched unconsciously with the music.

            "Man, I love this stuff,' Carl shouted.

            "I shall take your word for it," Sata replied.
            The music changed to a ballad that was much more soothing to
             Sata's ears.  Brooklyn capped his wings and made a low bow.
            "May I have this dance?" he said.

            "Sure. Don't worry,  I won't try to cut in," Carl teased.

            Brooklyn looked up at her with such earnestness that Sata found
            herself taking his hand before she realized that she was going to
            do so.  It was not custom, but found herself caught up in the
            rhythm of the music Carl called jazz, she allowed herself a
            radiant smile of pleasure as Brooklyn whirled her around in the stree.

            Carl watched them and grinned, wondering what the 'elders'
            back hom thought about this, and at the same time, peversely
            wishing the two of them the best of luck.

            "When you return to New York, I'll bet you'll have more than
            a few stories to tell about this!" Carl shouted.

            Eventually, the last float went by and the street revelers started
            to drift away.

            "I don;t think we'll go just yet,  You won't want to miss the fireworks.

            Sata and Brooklyn broke off their dance, and wondered what
            was going on.
 
        Just then a rockets leaped skywards and halfway there burst into
        a green-blue stemmed tree in full bloom.  It disappated into brillant
       pin-pricks of light. It was followed by others, one after another;
        a virutal garden of blue, red, white, pink, and purple flowers, all in
        various shapes and sizes.  A flower for each season of the year,.
        followed by sizxling cannonballs that raced into the night until the
        sparks broke apart into colored bits  and pieces of light. The show
       ended as the pyrotechnic crew set off the last remaining sparklers
      ,pinwheels, roman candles and sundry fireworks.

        "It was beautiful!"Sata whispered, not daring to speak louder and
        break the spell.

        "It was incredible," Brooklyn echoed, as he held Sata's hand.

        "If you see my brother again, tell him you saw me, and that I'm
        doing well," Carl said.

        "We will Carl,-san,' Sata promised.

        "Is there somewhere you guys are staying?" Carl trailled off.

        Brooklyn looked up into the sky, the color was just beginning
    to hint at changing from the deep gray of night to dawn.  Brooklyn wondered
    if Sata and he could sneak off somewhere before the sun rose and turned
    them to stone for the day.

        "Uh, no. Thank you for everything, Carl, but I think it's time for
        us to be going.  If we  see your brother, we'll be sure to give him
        the news,"  Brooklyn promised.

        "Can I give you a lift somewhere?" Carl asked.

            Feeling the by-now familar tug of the Phoenix Gate, Brooklyn
        put his hand on it and felt it throught the fabric of the pouch he
        carried it in.  Seeing the worried look on Brooklyn's face, Sata drew
       a little closer to him.

        "No, that will not be necessary. But, thank you anyway.  We will never
        forget you Carl-San.  But it seems we really must be going." Sata said.

        "I think this is one Mardi Gras that I will remember for a long
        time.  Good luck, Brooklyn, Sata.  Remember, here in the Big Easy,
        we have a mottio, <'Joie de vivre." It means, joy of life," Carl said.

         Suddenly, the coronoa of the time portal emerged once more
    and captured its two passengers in its sphere of fire and light.
        It expanded to accomodate both,  as it sent Brooklyn and Sata back into
        the time-stream and onward to their next destination.
        

            "Now, those were great costumes, man!"  A man with two beers in
        either hand, commented, having seen the gargoyles vanish in the fiery
        glare of the Phoenix Gate.

        "Yeah, I wonder what float they were on. They could have won
    frist prize, hands-down," another man commented, as he puffed on his
     cigareette.

            "Had the cutest little cherie with him, too,' the woman in the red
        dress addd, counting her accumlation of strings and beads for the night.
 
        "You don't know the half of it," Carl replied.

            "Hm. Wonder where they ran off to. They were here a minute ago,'
            she added.

            "I think they're on their way home," Carl said, the thought again
        crossed his mind, that something rather magical had happened him
        tonight, and if half-convinced himself that something magical had also
        happened to his brother, Jeffrey, that had inspired to cotinue writing
        his novels even after he'd been blinded duringthe Vietnam War.
        "I gotta get to a phone. I need to call someone," Carl said to no one in
        particular.

            "I think this has been a most magical night, don't you agree,?"
            the woman in red remarked, "I'm Donna Voight, What's your name?"

            "You can say that again. It's Carl, Carl Robbins."

            "Tell your fortune," Donna offered,

            "No thanks," Carl refused.

            "Don't you want to know what the future will be like?" Donna asked.

            "Not right now.  I just want to hold on to the memories of the
            present, and remember what a special night this Mardi Gras has been
            Carl said, as he walked down the street heading towards his home
            in the Garden District.

            Donna Voight followed him with her eyes, and whispered to herself.
            "He has joie de vivre.  Wonder what strangers far from home he
            met tonight."