Mama turned in my direction and motioned me forward. “Grandma, Bones is here to see you.”
I knelt down in front of her and, as always, was stunned nearly speechless by the great presence of this small woman. “Hello, Grandma Spot.”
Blind Spot cupped my face with both hands, her sightless eyes gazing into mine. “Little Bones, I can feel how much you have grown.” She ran her hands across my face and down my two long pigtails. “Ah, you’ve let you hair grow long. Is it still the color of sweet corn?”
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon you could call it that.” It made me feel good when Grandma Spot said that, too.
She rubbed her hands over my arms and back up to my face and said, “My precious little Bones, it is good to feel you so healthy.”
“Yes, ma’am, and it’s good to see you still young and healthy, too.”
Blind Spot’s face disappeared into a mass of wrinkles as she laughed and said, “You have your father’s humor.”
Bob Cat walked in and motioned to the floor. “Y’all sit back and get comfortable; we got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”
As we sat on the floor, family members began trickling into the chickee. The air filled with greetings and questions and laughter. Several of the brown-cookie-faced kids stood by the open doorway and signaled for me to come out. Mama touched my shoulder and said, “You can go out now, Bones, but be back for noon dinner.”
I jumped down from the chickee platform and joined up with the kids. Including me, there were a half dozen of us. The three girls—Lily, Rosie, and Daisy—were all about my age or younger. The two boys, Johnny and Jimmy, were a couple of years older and naturally became the leaders of our little gang.
As we explored the paths, trails, and woods of Cat Island, their little pet skunk, Two-Stripes, followed us around, just like Nippy the raccoon did back at home. At the edge of a small tree-rimmed pond, Jimmy turned and pointed. “There’s a family of newborn otters over by that side. If we’re quiet like, we can sneak up and hide behind that big ol’ cypress tree and watch ’em play.”
Silent as a family of mice, we slipped up to the side of the gigantic old tree and settled in to watch the otters frolic and chase each other.
At one point Johnny Cat turned to me and said, “Y’all haven’t been down here for a while. It’s good to see you again.”
“I know,” I replied. “Maybe now that we have the Champion, we’ll make it down more often. Our old truck used to have a hard time traveling here.”
Johnny Cat let out a soft whistle. “That sure is a fancy car. I swear, you never know what Uncle Nolay’s going to come up with next. It must be a lot of fun having him for a daddy.”
“I guess so. He does keep things interesting.”
“My mama and daddy still tell stories about when he lived here in the village. He was always up to something. Like catching snakes to sell to the snake man up in Miami, or the time he came home with a live snapping turtle clamped onto his finger. They wanted to kill the turtle to get it off, but your daddy refused to let ’em. Instead, he had ’em wave a piece of meat in front of the turtle’s nose, and sure enough, it let loose and took the bait.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I always did wonder how he got that scar on his finger. He told me about having a fight with an alligator!”
Jimmy Cat answered, “All I know is, he’s thought of highly here in the village. He’s the kind of man that makes you proud to be an Indian.”
Johnny Cat said, “What about those stories of him taking people snipe huntin’?”
“Oh yeah. Did he ever tell you about that, Bones?”
“Snipe huntin’? Not that I can recall. What’s that?”
Jimmy Cat continued, “Well, sometimes when curious white people would stop by the village to buy stuff like necklaces and such, Uncle Nolay would ask ’em if they wanted to go catch a snipe. He told ’em it was a magnificent little bird that was real hard to catch, but for five dollars he would take ’em out to catch one. After they paid him he would give ’em a croker sack and walk ’em out in the swamps. He told ’em they had to squat down and stay real still and quiet, and he would circle around and scare the snipe in their direction. When the little bird saw the open croker sack, it would think it was a safe place and jump right inside.”
Johnny Cat chimed in. “After he got them folks situated, Uncle Nolay would come back to the village. Everybody got a good laugh out of them people sittin’ out there, gettin’ ate up by skeeters and waitin’ for a imaginary bird to jump in their sack.”
I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing. “And people would really do that? They would sit out there getting eaten by mosquitoes and wait for a little bird to run inside their sack?”
“Oh yeah. My daddy said sometimes they would stay out there for hours. And when they made it back to the village they were usually whoppin’ mad. But Uncle Nolay would be hiding inside one of the chickees, so nobody ever found him. Daddy said Uncle Nolay had a way with words, he could charm the bark off a tree.”
The sound of a shrill whistle drifted out over the swamp and signaled us to come in for noonday dinner. As we walked back to the chickee, I noticed a shiny airboat moored next to several dugout canoes.
“Whose airboat is that?” I asked.
Johnny Cat replied, “That’s Uncle Bob Cat’s. He’s had it for about a year now. It sure has come in handy. It’s a lot faster than our dugouts.”
Inside the cook chickee it was a crowded affair as women bustled around, ladling out bowls of sofkee, a traditional Indian dish of boiled corn. In the middle of the chickee, small blue and yellow flames fluttered up from the star-shaped fireplace. Around its edge the women had placed woven mats. On the mats, along with the bowls of sofkee, they sat wooden palmetto-lidded containers piled high with steaming swamp cabbage and wild pork. Stacked beside the customary containers, like leftover Christmas presents, were bright orange, yellow, and red plastic bowls and plates.
The first plate of food was given to Blind Spot; then all us kids filled our plates and found a comfortable place to sit together.
We all sat cross-legged on the floor. The chickee’s thatched sides were rolled up to let in a soft cool breeze. The men leaned against poles along the sides of the chickee and laughed over the telling and retelling of stories. They talked of the changes that were rapidly seeping into their way of life.
Bob Cat said, “Nolay, after we eat, maybe you can take a look at my airboat. It ain’t been running right. You might be able to help me with it. I need to keep it in good running order. Been making some good side money, taking tourists for rides.”
Nolay shook his head. “Bob Cat, I don’t know about bringin’ strangers here to the village. This is about all we got left of our land and our way of life. Be careful. Outsiders have already done enough harm. They done tried to drain the swamps to build hotels and bridges all over the place. Seems like all they want to do is change and destroy things.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Nolay, but if we don’t change with the times, we’re gonna get left sittin’ in a hole we can’t dig ourselves out of. There ain’t many of us left, and there’s plenty of them. We’re dying, and they keep comin’.”
Blind Spot sat, quietly listening. Then she said, “An airboat is like a mindless metal animal. It burns holes in the water and covers the air with its foul smell. It chases life away, instead of bringing it closer.” Blind Spot tilted her head as if hearing a silent voice. “Yes, the times have changed and we must change with them. But never lose your respect for Pa-hay-okee. She is hurt. We need to take better care. If Pa-hay-okee dies, we will all die with her. Man can change what lies on the outside, but he can not touch what lives here.” Blind Spot pressed a wrinkled hand over her heart. “Here in the center.”
Nolay’s voice floated out into the stillness. “Grandma, we will always respect our traditions, and we will do everything we can to to see that our way of life lives forever.”
Everyone nodded in
silent agreement. The room filled with a quiet admiration for the words Nolay had spoken.
As soon as our food was finished, me and the kids raced each other back to the pond. The day went by all too fast; another shrill whistle signaled us to return to the village. It was time to help load up the Champion and start back home.
As we drove out of the small village, our relatives, dressed in their traditional multicolored clothes, stood waving goodbye. They looked vibrant and solid, like a patchwork quilt of people.
On the drive back home, I sat in the front seat again, between Nolay and Mama.
I asked Nolay, “Who is Pa-hay-okee?”
“It’s the old Indian name for the Everglades; it means ‘the grassy water.’ ”
“Is it true, is it really dying?”
“It’s hurt, but it ain’t so bad yet that we can’t fix it.”
I looked at Mama and said, “I wish I could live on Cat Island. It’s always so much fun there.”
Mama put her arm around my shoulders and said, “Bones, it’s fun because you’re visiting. If you lived there, it would be like home. You would still have chores to do, and you would still go to school, just like all the kids there do.”
“I reckon so.”
Mama’s fingers found the string necklace hanging around my neck, and she asked, “What is this?”
“It’s a gator tooth. Jimmy Cat gave it to me; he said it was good luck and would keep away bad spirits.”
At that moment, Nolay jerked the Champion into the other lane so hard, it shoved me and Mama into each other.
“Sorry, ladies. I didn’t want to run over that possum crossin’ the road. There’s too many danged things trying to get across the road these days.”
I dangled the alligator tooth in front of Mama. “See, it must work. That was pretty good luck.”
“It was good luck for the possum.”
“Mama, did you know that the possum is a mammal and that there are over four hundred different kinds of mammals that live right here in Florida?”
“I did not know that.”
“Well, it’s true, and the possum is the only one that is kin to the kangaroo. It’s a mar-soupel just like a kangaroo. Kangaroos live in Australia.”
“You mean a marsupial?”
“Yes, ma’am, ’cause it keeps its babies in a pouch just like a kangaroo. And do you know how it gets its babies into its pouch?”
“Do tell.”
“Well, it keeps its babies in its nose and when it’s ready it sticks its nose down in the pouch and sneezes them in there.”
“Good Lord, Bones, did Mr. Speed tell you that?”
“No, ma’am, he told me the part about the four hundred mammals and the kangaroo. Nolay told me about sneezing the babies into the pouch.”
Mama glanced in Nolay’s direction. “Well, isn’t that interesting. And just where did you come up with that sort of information, Nolay?”
“I just might of seen it happen a time or two,” he said.
“Well, the next time you see it happen, please let me know, because I would certainly like to witness such an event.”
I looked up at Nolay and said, “You know, today when I was out with the kids, they told me a story about when you used to live in the village. Johnny Cat said you used to take people out snipe hunting.”
Nolay let out a little chuckle. “We used to have some good times growing up.”
“But what if something happened to someone out there? You know, like if they got snakebite or something?”
“I didn’t take ’em anyplace dangerous. Just having a little fun is all.” Nolay glanced down at me. “Bones, if you couldn’t have fun in life it would be pretty boring, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir. I reckon so.” I snuggled in closer to Mama. “Nolay, why is Grandma Spot called Blind Spot?”
“When she was younger, before she lost her sight, she was known as Spotted Cat. I reckon as she aged and her life changed, her name aged right along with her.”
“I wish she could still see.”
“Grandma probably sees more than most people do with two good eyes. She sees from the inside, from her heart.”
I sat and pondered on that. It was sort of the way Mr. Speed saw things, too. I guess him and Grandma Spot had a lot in common.
I looked up at Mama. “Mama, tell me again about how Grandma Spot named me.”
“Bones, you do love your stories, don’t you?” Mama scrunched down and settled herself on the seat before she began. “When you were born, you weren’t much bigger than a puppy with its eyes still closed. For a solid week at the Melbourne hospital, the doctors tried their best to get milk or any kind of nourishment into your tiny body. They finally gave up and told me and your daddy to just take you home and enjoy the short time we would have with you. I cried so much, I felt like an empty bucket.”
Mama placed her hand, soft as a feather, on my head as she continued. “We wrapped you up in a blanket and got in the truck, and Nolay drove us straight to Cat Island. The moment I placed your little body in Grandma Spot’s arms, she peeled the blanket away and ran her hands all over your body. She started saying, ‘Bones, precious little bones.’ She had some different herbs and powders brought to her, and for three days and three nights she kept you right there next to her. You never left her side. She would dip her fingertip into the herb-and-powder mixture and put it in your mouth; she whispered words that only the two of you could understand. Then she would rub her hands over you and say, ‘Bones, precious little bones.’ It wasn’t long before your eyes had a sparkle to them and you were sucking from a baby bottle.”
“I like that story, Mama. Sometimes at school I get teased about my name, but it don’t matter, because I know how special it is.”
“It is a special name given to you by a special person. Precious Bones. At first I wanted to call you Precious, but Bones just sort of took over.”
Exhausted from the long day, I laid my head in Mama’s lap and let the steady hum of the Champion’s engine lull me to sleep.
I awoke to the sound of unfamiliar voices. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Darkness had already covered over the day. The only light was the moon’s long silver shadows. We were parked in front of the Last Chance gas pumps; Nolay stood outside, filling up the Champion’s hungry tank.
I looked into the dimness and made out the massive frame of Sheriff LeRoy Hasket as he leaned against the side of the car, facing Nolay. Hanging from the thick leather belt wrapped around his broad waist were a set of handcuffs, a flashlight, a collection of keys on a metal ring, and an enormous black-handled .357 Magnum pistol.
I recognized the pistol because Sheriff LeRoy let me and Little Man hold it one time. It was almost as heavy as a sawed-off shotgun. The sheriff had told us how valuable it was, and I could tell from his voice how much he treasured it.
Little Man had said Sheriff LeRoy was like a walking jukebox. Every step he took was accompanied by the squeak of leather, clinking of metal, and jingling of keys.
Sheriff LeRoy spoke in his slow, steady voice. “That’s a mighty fine vehicle you got there. Fishing must be good.”
“Yep, there’s a lot of fish jumpin’,” Nolay said.
“I heard you had a little disturbance with a couple of Yankee boys out at your place. Last week one of ’em stopped by my office to report his partner missing. Told me they had drove out to your place and you attacked ’em and run ’em off with a gun.”
“Durn it, LeRoy, that was nearly two weeks ago them Yankees came out to my place. Never even got out of their car. How come they’re only telling you about it now? They’re just troublemakers.”
“Now, like I said, there was only one of ’em, and he was reportin’ his partner missing.” LeRoy shifted his body and folded his arms across his chest. “You do know that all that turned up of that Yankee was one of his legs?”
“I heard that.”
LeRoy leaned down and looked inside the car. “In fact, little
Miss Bones and her friend was the ones that found that leg. Right out in back of your land.”
“LeRoy, we know good and well that’s what happened. So what?”
“Well, sir, seems like the rest of ’im got found. I hired Jakey Toms and his hound dogs and they found the body—or what was left of it—buried in a muck pit. Out at about the end of your swamp.”
“Is that so? Well, it’s a big swamp, LeRoy; if you’re stupid and you don’t know what you’re doing, a swamp will eat you right up.”
“That may be true, but the interesting thing about that body is the bullet hole in that man’s head.”
“You don’t say. And just what’s the point of tellin’ me about this, LeRoy?”
“Just doin’ my job is all. I’ll be doin’ a little more po-lease work. Might be stoppin’ by your place to ask a few questions.”
“You do that, LeRoy, you just do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day. I need to get my family home.”
Sheriff LeRoy turned toward me and Mama; he tipped his oversized Stetson and said, “Evenin’, Miss Lori.” He turned slowly and squeaked, clinked, and jingled off into the gloom of dusk.
As Nolay slid into the driver’s seat, Mama asked him, “What was that all about?”
“Lori, Honey Girl, it was just LeRoy being LeRoy. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”
We weren’t worried about it then, but maybe we should have been. It would be all too soon that Sheriff LeRoy would come jingling back into our lives.
After we returned from our trip, Mama went on one of her cleaning rampages. She cleaned out our closets and dug through the big cedar chest she kept at the end of her bed. That cedar chest was where we stored clothes and anything else of value to keep them from being devoured by bugs.
When I came in for noon dinner, Mama announced, “Bones, I have some boxes of clothes and other stuff you’ve outgrown, and we need to take them out to the Reems family.”
“The Reemses! Mama, do I have to go out there?”
“Well, if you don’t come along, it won’t look like a friendly visit, and they might take this as charity.”
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