Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou (2 page)

Day after day, Bartleby and Seezer had paddled along the meandering stream, past green-gold forests, rich brown fields, and the gray or tan structures that meant humans' territory. It was a long journey. They'd started during the hottest part of the year, swum on past the days of falling leaves, and fought their way through the time of snow and ice. Now it was the period of newly budding trees. And all the while, their watery way had grown bigger and faster.

Bartleby took another step toward the river—and heard a rustling in the woods.

Awoooo!
something howled.

Ruh-ruhruh-ruh!
came the answer.

“Dogs! Into the water ssspeedily!” Seezer hissed, sliding down the muddy bank.

Bartleby couldn't resist taking a small bite of lettuce. Suddenly two humans with fishing branches stepped out of the woods. Their noisy dogs ran toward him. It was too late to get back to the water. Instead, he pulled in his head and limbs.

Warm, smelly breath wafted around his shell. Sharp nails pawed at him. Bartleby held his breath and stayed perfectly still. He tried to pretend he was a rock.

The smaller dog nipped the edge of Bartleby's carapace.
Yaw-yaw-yaw-yaw!
it cried. Which meant, “You're not fooling me.”

Grrrruh-grrruh-grrruh,
answered the bigger dog. Which meant, “I smell an alligator—and I don't like alligators.”

“Champ! Buddy! Y'all quiet down before you scare the fish away,” ordered a deep human voice. “Now give me that turtle.” A human hand grabbed Bartleby and lifted him up. “I think it's a red-ear, although with its head in, it's tough to tell.”

“My granny used to cook turtle soup.” This was a different voice, higher and scratchier.

Soup? Inside his shell, Bartleby quivered. Although it had been long ago, he remembered his boys eating something called soup. It looked like steaming water with pieces floating in it. He'd never guessed they'd been pieces of turtle.

The hand around him tightened its grip. “Was your granny's soup any good?”

“Tasted about as good as a bowl of bathwater—after you've taken the bath. Granny sure was a bad cook. Haw haw!”

Now the hand swung Bartleby up and down. “Well, this one's still young and puny, anyway. Guess I'll let it go. Besides, I'd much rather have a catfish for supper. C'mon, we're wasting time. Let's fish.” The hand carried Bartleby to the river and dropped him in. “Here you go, Gator Bait.”

The moment he hit the water, Bartleby dove for the bottom. But the human's insults were still ringing in his head.
Puny! Gator Bait!
He didn't think he was puny at all. He was as large as that big man's hand. And he was strong. He was sure he could outswim a man or a dog.

When he reached the river bottom, Seezer was waiting. “I thought you were right behind me,” the alligator said. “But when you didn't enter the water, I feared you had been sssnatched—or ssswallowed.”

“The humans around here eat turtles!” Bartleby told him. “They only let me go because they thought I was puny.”

“Don't worry. Ssswamp food will help you grow. The red-ears in my bayou were as big as basking ssstones. All the beasts here are great and ssstrong. Now let's hurry. I feel sssure we're almost home.” Seezer tucked his legs tightly against his body, swished his tail, and began gliding through the water.

As he paddled behind his friend, Bartleby gazed at the endless bands of trees beyond the banks of the river. According to Seezer, the land around the Mighty Mississippi was filled with little waterways like his. How would they ever discover the right one?

“Seezer, will you really be able to find your bayou in this big place?”

“Sssertainly,” the alligator replied. “I will sssee, and sssmell, and sssense my way to the old nest where my brothers and sssisters have been waiting for me.”

“But you've been gone a long time. Do you think your relatives will still be there?”

“Sssurely! They'll ssselebrate when I return. Oh, I can just imagine the bellowing, and sssplashing, and wrestling. And the feasting!”

Gator Bait. Once more, the man's words came back to Bartleby. What if Seezer's family wanted to make him part of their feast?

As if he could read his red-eared friend's thoughts, Seezer nudged Bartleby with his shortened tail. “Don't worry. I'll sssee that no harm comes to you. I will tell everyone about our long journey together. Besides, there's plenty for everyone to eat in the bayou. One sssmall turtle would hardly make a sssnack for any of them.”

As they traveled, the Mighty Mississippi grew muddier and muddier. It became so thick, Bartleby felt as if he were pushing through it instead of swimming. And it was so murky he could barely make out a thing. He nearly bumped into the biggest catfish he'd ever seen, but the creature only went on sweeping the riverbed with its long whiskery feelers. His heart thudded as he stroked past a scrawny muskrat biting at a piece of fishing line tangled around its tail. And when a great boat with a giant spinning wheel gave a shrill
toot-toot,
Bartleby nearly jumped out of his shell. Still he kept on swimming.

“Sssee over there where the bank ssslopes more sssharply?” Seezer asked. With his flat snout, the alligator pointed toward the steep brown shore. “Sssomething inside me is sssaying to go on land now and sssearch for my bayou. You wait here.”

Bartleby peered around the dark water. “No—I want to come with you.”

“It's better that you ssstay. I will be ssspeedier on my own. I'll just go a little way and check. Then I'll come back for you.” Seezer squinted up at the bank. “Sssee that outcrop of rock over the river? It looks like a sssafe place. You can wait for me there.”

Bartleby knew that his friend was right. He badly needed a rest. But a strange pang gnawed at his insides. In the time since they'd begun their journey, he and Seezer had never been separated.

“Don't worry, I'll be back sssoon.” Seezer slithered up over the bank the way alligators do when they are trying not to be seen.

“Good luck, friend!” Bartleby crawled onto the rocky ledge that hung over the river. As he settled down on the warm, gray stone, he could hear Seezer calling to him from the tall, marshy grass beyond the bank.

“Bartleby, remember—ssstay put!”

 

At first, Bartleby had never felt more alone in his life. He pulled tightly into his shell, hoping to look like a lump of mud, or a large stone. But after a while the sun on his carapace felt so pleasant, he just had to bask. He poked his head out and stretched his neck and limbs. As the delicious heat warmed him, he began to sense the muzzy feeling that came before a turtle nap. He was nearly asleep when a voice from the water called to him.

“Cousin, will you help me?”

Bartleby felt a little ping of alarm. Should he answer?

“Please, Cousin, I'm asking for your help.”

Very slowly, Bartleby crept to the edge of his stony perch. Far away at the pond in New York, he'd had some wonderful friends. His insides still ached when he thought of grumbly, good-hearted Mudly—a stinkpot turtle—and brave, funny Zip, a spring peeper. The idea of meeting a cousin or any relative here was very tempting.

But he hadn't forgotten Seezer's warning. He looked down at the murky surface of the river. He couldn't see anything. “Who is there?” he asked.

“I've told you, it's a cousin. I've caught a tender young crappie, but I can't finish it on my own. Won't you help me eat this tasty fish?”

Bartleby felt a little burst of joy. He'd yearned to forage and eat with others like himself. “Why don't you bring the fish up onto this rock?” he suggested.

“I can't, Cousin. It's too heavy. Besides, dining underwater is much more pleasant. Come into the river.”

It was true that red-ears preferred eating underwater. Still, Bartleby felt hesitant. “I can't see where you are. Would you raise your head above the surface for me?”

For a few moments nothing happened. Then, just below the rock ledge, a long body rolled over and over, churning the water into foam. Next, a head popped out. It was the head of an alligator. But instead of being blackish green like Seezer's, it was mud brown on top and sickish yellow under the chin. Instead of the deep-set eyes on the top of Seezer's head, this alligator's eyes were flat and dull. And when the ugly creature opened its mouth, Bartleby saw two rows of teeth in its upper jaw.

He pulled his head in. “I th-thought you said you w-were a cousin.”

The strange alligator nodded its head up and down. “I am. I'm an alligator and you're a turtle. All reptiles are related.”

Bartleby considered this. “I do have an alligator friend who is as close as family.”

The ugly creature showed all its teeth. “See? Then we are family, too.”

Bartleby poked his head out to peer at the creature again. “But what a pale underside you have.”

“All the better to camouflage myself underwater, Cousin.”

“But what flat, fishy eyes you have.”

“All the better to see in the dark, muddy deep, Cousin. Now come into the water.”

“But what a lot of teeth you have—twice as many in your upper jaw as my alligator friend.”

“Listen!” the strange, long-jawed head said sharply. “You have an alligator pal who is like family to you. I am an alligator, and all alligators are first cousins. Therefore, you and I are cousins, too. Now come into the water and we will get properly acquainted. I am growing tired of waiting.”

Without a word, the peculiar alligator disappeared underwater. As Bartleby stared at the rings of ripples it left behind, the creature suddenly came crashing up through the surface again. It was aiming right for him with its mouth wide open!

Quickly, Bartleby backed away from the edge of the rock. The alligator thing snapped its jaws greedily, but it couldn't reach him. Before it fell back down into the water, Bartleby caught a glimpse of something strange behind its head. It was a long, narrow body with fish fins and a fishtail at the end.

“You aren't an alligator at all!” he cried. “You're a fish!”

“Don't be silly. If I were a fish, I couldn't breathe air.” The ugly head popped up again. It opened its mouth and took a few grunting breaths. “See?”

Bartleby wasn't convinced. “You don't look like the alligator I know. I think you're a faker—a big fish faker.”

“I may be a faker, but you're a liar,” the alligator-headed fish snarled. “Red-eared turtles do not have alligator friends. Red-ears are food for alligators—and for alligator garfishes like me.”

“My friend Seezer is nothing like you,” Bartleby retorted. “He doesn't eat turtles!”

“Well, I'll just wait here and see. Perhaps when your friend comes back, he and I will share you for lunch.” The ghastly gar opened its jaws once more and displayed its horrible choppers.

“Yes, I'm all ssset for lunch. And it is looking quite ssscrumptious!” came a voice from behind Bartleby.

“Seezer, you're back!” Bartleby cried as his friend dove off the rock shelf into the river. In the water below, he saw Seezer's tail thrash. He heard toothy jaws clash. He felt the water splash and splash. Then everything grew still.

Bartleby eyed the dark, quiet surface. Had the giant gar eaten Seezer before they'd even found his bayou? He felt a deep ache above his plastron as he kept watch. The slow, brown river just kept flowing without any sign of his friend.

He'd nearly given up all hope when a great wave blew up from the water and splashed over his carapace. “Ho, what a sssensational ssscuffle!” Seezer bellowed as he shot up through the surface. “The alligator gar is an enemy worth having. Thank you for keeping it busy until I got here.”

Bartleby swallowed. “You're welcome. Wh-what happened to it?”

“I'm afraid it escaped. But now that we've reached bayou country, I'll be able to sssharpen my hunting ssskills. The prey here is delightfully dangerous.” Seezer smacked the water with his tail. “Now I have sssweet news. I believe my bayou is through the grass, on the other ssside of the levee, and just beyond the woods. Let's go.”

Bartleby followed Seezer through the sharp-edged grass and over the wide, earthy ridge called a levee. Soon the friends came to the brink of a great, dark wood. Trees like silent giants threw shadows over the land. They spread out their branches like great human arms and trailed long, silvery strands from their fingers.

Bartleby's throat began to pulse. “Giant spiders must live in these trees. Those webs almost reach to the ground.”

“Ho, no!” Seezer flicked his tail up and caught a few strings of the gray, mossy material. “I remember this plant well. My sssweet mother ssstuffed our nest with it to make us ssspecially comfy. It marks this land as bayou country. We are almost home. I am sssure of it.”

It was a difficult crawl through the tangled floor of the woods. Grasses, ferns, mosses, vines, berry bushes, and ivy covered every bit of ground. But as Bartleby pressed his way deeper into the heart of the place that was his true home, something inside him began to awaken. In a pile of dead leaves, his webs sensed the vibrations of a snake that was hiding, and he plodded away as fast as he could. When he came upon a patch of pointy, yellow-green shoots poking up from the forest floor, he knew before he bit into one that it would be tender and good to eat. He even thought he recognized the bitter-sweet scent of bayou water ahead, although he couldn't see it.