Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou (14 page)

“Oh Billy, it's good to see you, too,” Bartleby exclaimed. “I want to hear everything that is happening in the bayou.”

Lucky Gal chuckled softly. “I suspect that will take all morning. I'll leave you two friends to talk while I bask.” She slipped back into the water and swam toward the pedestal.

“First tell me why you were looking for me. Is something the matter?” Bartleby asked.

“Many creatures at Friendship Hole have volunteered to hunt for you. But only we birds can search as far as the city.” As if to demonstrate, Billy spread his brilliant white wings.

“Friendship Hole?” Bartleby asked. He felt a bit confused. “What is that?”

“It's what we've named the gator hole that Seezer dug for us when our swamp dried up. The hole is now a wonderful pond. Many of your old friends live there.”

“He made it big enough for everyone?” Bartleby whispered.

Billy bowed his head. “It's the best gator hole I've ever seen—and the deepest. Full of sweet, clear water from under the ground.”

“He did it! Seezer finished the gator hole!” Bartleby was so excited he fell back into the water.

Quag-quog!
Billy called in a mournful voice. “In spite of our beautiful home, there is bad news.”

Bartleby thought of the red streak that always ended his dreams. Suddenly he could hardly speak. “Has something happened to Seezer?”

“Happened? Not exactly. But since you left the bayou, he's suffered greatly.” Billy tucked his head down against his chest. “He says he can't forget the terrible things he said to you. He's certain you will never forgive him.”

“But I do forgive him! I said some awful things as well,” Bartleby cried. He splashed the water with all four webs. “Hurry, Billy. Fly back and tell Seezer that I am sorry, too.”

“
Quag-quog
. I'm afraid it's too late for messages now. Seezer stays in his cave at the end of the pond and won't come out. He refuses to eat a bite, or let anyone but Grub draw near. But perhaps if you came, you could persuade him.”

Bartleby glanced back over his carapace at Lucky Gal. She seemed to be asleep on the platform under the fish. “I can't leave right now. Perhaps sometime in the future ...”

“There's no time—Seezer is growing weaker each day.”

“But he has Grub and Number Four to care for him. He doesn't really need me anymore.”

Billy drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “You have my sympathy, Bartleby. It's sad to see you imprisoned in this garden.” He shot a sharp gaze at Bertha. She was lying quietly in the grass beneath the fountain, but her eyes were open and her ears were twitching.

“I'm not a prisoner!” Bartleby protested. “I could get out if I wanted to.”

Billy pecked under a wing. “I see. Living in the city must be very nice—especially near a human feeding station like this one. I've heard the pigeons say the bread crumbs are very tasty. But I could never stay. Quag-quog! I'd miss the smell of kudzu flowers, and the sound the breeze makes in the trees. I'd be lonely for my family and friends.”

“Lucky Gal and Bertha are my friends, too,” Bartleby said. But he couldn't help edging his head in.

“
Quag-quog!
It's just as well that you are satisfied with your life. Without wings, you'd never be able to find your way to Friendship Hole. It is too far and too well hidden.”

“I found my way here from New York, a place that is many rivers away. Surely I would be able to find Seezer's hole,” Bartleby replied. But an ache was spreading above his plastron.

“Yes, but on that trip Seezer was there to help you. Many times, he's told us the story of your journey together.”

Bartleby didn't answer. Maybe Billy was right. Maybe he would never see his friend again. The ache moved up into his throat.

“I must go now,” Billy said. He waved his powerful wings and began to rise.

“Wait!” Bartleby scrabbled back up on the edge of the fountain. “Will you tell Seezer we met? And that I wish him well?”

“
Quag-quog!
I don't think that's a good idea. If he finds out you're alive, but that you refuse to come, it might kill him.”

There were no turtle races at Chef Jerry's that night. Even though the boys and girls begged and wheedled, Bartleby refused to come up from the bottom. Lucky Gal tried to entertain the hatchlings by diving for crumbs. Bertha pitched in by doing her best tricks, which were Shake Hands, Roll Over, and Speak! But in a little while, the boys and girls trudged back to their tables with their heads drooping like wilted flowers.

When the garden was finally empty, Lucky swam down and nudged Bartleby's carapace. “I saved some bread crumbs for you.”

Bartleby had never heard her voice sound so gentle. “I'm not hungry,” he murmured without lifting his head off the stones.

“But you didn't eat any of the dinner Chef Jerry brought us. Without food, you'll become weak. Only a mighty turtle can survive the challenges of life in the bayou.”

What challenges? Bartleby thought. I'm a pet in a fountain. But he only said, “I'm tired. Please leave me alone.”

But Lucky Gal settled down right beside him. “I couldn't help overhearing what Billy told you this morning. You must go to Seezer right away.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Bartleby heaved a sigh so deep it created a stream of bubbles. “It's too far. I'd probably get eaten by the Claw, the Paw, and the Jaw before I found it.”

“Phish! You traveled a much greater distance to get here from New York. Seezer needs you.”

Bartleby didn't answer. He pulled his head in. But Lucky Gal poked her snout under the front of his carapace. “Persistence is a good trait—but you are downright stubborn,” she chided. “Tomorrow we must figure out a way for you to go. Good dreams, Bartleby.”

But dreams were the problem. Bartleby's brain hurt from trying so hard to dream of a way Lucky could go with him to Seezer's gator hole. Yet nothing would come! Over and over, he kept seeing the same things—the sparkling water, Seezer and Grub on the mud bank, and the red streak. And each time he saw it, that streak became more terrifying. Was it fire? Blood? Bartleby was beginning to hate anything red, even though it was the color of his own ear patches.

When he was sure Lucky Gal was asleep, he paddled up to the surface. The lights at the restaurant were off, but the moon lit up the fountain like a lantern. Bartleby swam to the place with the crack that looked like Seezer, and floated beside it. After a while, he felt more peaceful. His head and limbs began to grow heavy.

Pretty soon he saw Seezer turning round and round, digging his gator hole. He saw the alligator garfish rolling in the water, pretending to be a reptile. He saw Chef Jerry wearing his rubbery foot coverings and carrying his fishing branch across the riverbank.

He opened his eyes. Suddenly he understood what the red streak was. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

 

In the morning when Chef Jerry's truck clanked into the driveway, Bartleby swam to the surface. He'd seen the vehicle many times, but today he watched carefully as the man got out and opened the part of the truck that carried things. The back door dropped down so Chef Jerry could remove the crates of vegetables and other foods he'd brought to cook. Then the man lifted a basket of eggs out of a pile of straw in the truck bed. “Not one cracked,” he commented as he surveyed them.

Lucky Gal paddled up behind Bartleby. “What are you watching?”

“My plan,” Bartleby whispered. “The thing that will help us get to Friendship Hole.”

For a long moment Lucky Gal was silent. Then she drew her head up higher. “Good! I was hoping you'd decide to escape,” she said finally. “But you know I can't go with you. You'll have to walk a great distance to find the woods. With my damaged web I'd slow you down—and there isn't any time to—”

“But we don't have to walk,” Bartleby interrupted. “Look!”

Lucky peered over the fountain wall. “At what? All I can see is the red truck.”

“That's how we're going to return to the riverbank,” Bartleby said.

Lucky Gal stared at him as if he'd got gnats in his brain. “You may be clever, but no turtle can make a truck go.”

“That's true, of course. But think, Lucky—how did you get here?”

“Chef Jerry caught me on the riverbank and brought me in the truck, but—”

“Don't you see? I came that way, too.” Bartleby paddled around to face her. “Last night I realized something—humans must be creatures of habit just like other living things. If I'm right, then Chef Jerry must keep returning to the same fishing place. All we have to do is hide in the truck and wait for it to take us back to the riverbank. Then it's over the levee and into the woods—and we already know you can do that.” Bartleby took a long, deep breath. “I think I can find the way to Friendship Hole from there.”

Lucky Gal began treading the water so fast she was spinning in circles. “Let's go! What are we waiting for?”

“Hold on!” Bartleby reached out his webs to stop her. As gently as he could, he stroked her orange ear patches with his long nails. “It will be dangerous. Are you sure you want to go with me?”

“Of course. I'm still a bayou turtle at heart. Besides, I've gotten used to having you around. Without you this big bowl of turtle soup would be lonely.”

Bartleby was happy, but he was also afraid. If something happened to Lucky, it would be his fault. He vowed to himself to be extra careful. “We'll know Chef Jerry is going when we see him put his fishing branch into the truck. But we'll have to figure out how to get inside it—and to get out of this fountain.” Bartleby looked over the ledge and gulped. “It's a long way down.”

“I have an idea.” Lucky began splashing with all four webs. In an instant, Bertha came galloping across the garden. She lowered her big head over the fountain.

Lucky Gal paddled up to her. “Bertha, Bartleby and I need your help.”

Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh. Bertha wagged her tail.

“We have to go back to our home in the bayou,” Bartleby explained. “It's very important.”

Bertha's tail stopped wagging. She pulled back her head and barked. Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh!

“Shhh, Bertha! Chef Jerry will think there's something wrong,” Lucky whispered.

Mrrph
,
mrrph
,
mrrph
, Bertha whined. It meant, “Something is wrong.”

Bartleby paddled closer to the fountain wall and held on to the side. “Our alligator friend Seezer is very sick.”

Grrrr
,
grrrr,
Bertha growled. It meant, “I don't like alligators!”

“But this alligator is different,” Bartleby tried to explain. “Once Seezer and I were a team—like you and Chef Jerry. Without him, I would never have known what home was.”

Hrrrrr
,
hrrrruff!
Bertha rumbled. It meant, “This is your home now.”

“If I don't return to him soon, I'm afraid Seezer will die,” Bartleby said. “I've got to go. Please understand.”

The dog cocked her head, which was the way she looked when she was thinking.

Lucky Gal scrabbled up onto the ledge of the fountain and cuddled up to her. She poked her head under one of Bertha's earflaps and began whispering.

Bertha's eyes widened into deep, dark pools.
Arrufff!
she barked. It meant, “Oookay! Tell me what you want me to do!”

Bartleby heard the red truck rattle into the driveway. “Chef Jerry is here awfully early,” he grumbled. “The sun isn't even up yet.”

Lucky Gal poked her head out of her shell. “He always comes early on fishing days. Hurry, Bartleby, we've got to get ready for Bertha!”

Bartleby shivered as he stroked through the dark water beside Lucky. He'd been waiting for days. Yet now that Chef Jerry was finally going fishing, he felt sick inside. Unless the plan worked perfectly, he might not get to Friendship Hole. And even if he did make it, what would he find? Would Seezer be glad to see him? Or would he be too sick even to recognize Bartleby?

At the edge of the fountain, Bartleby and Lucky waited for Bertha.

“Maybe she didn't come with Chef Jerry today,” Bartleby said. “Maybe she forgot about our plan—or changed her mind.”

With a web, Lucky patted Bartleby's carapace. “Don't worry. Bertha is dependable and trustworthy. Besides, Chef Jerry never goes anywhere without her.”

In the dim light, they watched the man go through the door to the restaurant kitchen. When he came out he was carrying his fishing branch, a large bucket, and a white box. He opened the door that was next to the driving wheel. Bartleby heard him shaking the jingly metal things he kept in his pocket. “Bertha, come on!” Chef Jerry shouted.

“Yes, Bertha. Where are you?” Bartleby called softly. He began splashing the water.

Suddenly, from around the side of the restaurant, a dark shape came bounding along.
Huff-huff-puff-puff
, Bertha panted over the side of the fountain. It meant, “Sorry I'm late—let's go!”

Lucky Gal nudged Bartleby. “You first,” she whispered. “Good luck!”

Bartleby scrambled up onto the ledge of the fountain. Bertha stared at him. Out came her thick, pink tongue. Slurp! She licked Bartleby's carapace.

“I like you, too, Bertha,” he grunted.

The dog opened her mouth. Her pointy, yellowish teeth came closer. Bartleby looked down her dark throat. He felt her hot breath.