Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou

by Phyllis Shalant

  Lucky Gal was a good storyteller. Bartleby could imagine the two greedy creatures arguing. “What happened?”

  “Fishguts refused to give me up. So his friends began calling him names like Wormheart and Mousemettle. They teased him until finally, he bit my toes. But when I cried out, Fishguts dropped me. As fast as I could, I swam down to the bottom of the swamp and hid until they were gone.”

  “That must have really hurt!” Bartleby’s own rear webs twitched. “If Fishguts hates green food, why does he still hunt turtles—especially you?”

  “After it happened, he became the butt of all otter jokes around here. He’s determined to recapture me to prove that he’s no coward.” She paddled around to face Bartleby. “But he won’t!”

  “Definitely not,” Bartleby agreed quickly.

  Lucky Gal sank down in the water until only her eyes and the tip of her snout were showing. “We have to be very quiet,” she whispered. “The fish fry are just ahead.”

  Bartleby held his breath as he followed Lucky Gal into the shallows.

  Except for their dark, round eyes, the tiny fish were nearly see-through. But Bartleby and Lucky Gal sniffed them out among the clumps of water grass. The quick, slippery fry made a satisfying and delicious meal.

  “It was a long swim, but well worth it,” Bartleby said, when he was stuffed. “Thank you for showing me this place.”

  “Do you want to rest before we return?” Lucky asked.

  After all the swimming and the eating, Bartleby did feel like a nap. He looked around. “Yes, but there don’t seem to be any branches floating over here. And I don’t see any basking rocks to settle on.”

  “That vine will do.” Lucky pointed her snout toward a long, emerald green vine floating in a patch of duckweed leaves. “Come on!” She stroked over and clambered up easily.

  “All right.” Bartleby paddled after her. He grabbed the vine with a web. It wasn’t very wide, but the scratchy surface was easy to hold on to. He climbed up and balanced himself next to Lucky. The warmth of the sun began to soak into his carapace. His eyes began to close.

  “I hope you’re comfy,” a voice murmured. It wasn’t Lucky Gal’s.

  Bartleby jerked his head and limbs in. “Who said that?”

  “I did.” The vine bounced a bit. One end lifted up out of the water. A head with eyes as big as blueberries peered at him. A mouth that was purple inside said, “I’m called Curly.”

  “Lucky, quick! Swim away!” Bartleby cried. Faster than a frog off a mud bank, he plunged off the snake’s back.

  But Lucky Gal just wiggled her tail as if something were very funny. “We fooled him, Curly!” Her orangey ear patches seemed to grow brighter. “Bartleby, come back! Curly is my friend.”

  Bartleby didn’t stop swimming until he was out of reach of the purple mouth. “There was a snake at the water place where I used to live. He pretended he was my friend, but he tried to eat me.”

  Curly swirled her body into two soft curves. “Don’t be afraid. We rough green snakes only eat insects. Anyway, you’re too big for my mouth. I was just having a little fun. I’m sorry I frightened you. Please come back—I don’t get many visitors here.”

  Bartleby glared at her. “I don’t think that scaring someone is any way to make friends.”

  “You said you wanted to learn about this swamp,” Lucky Gal reminded him.

  “Not like that!” Bartleby snapped. He paddled to the edge of the water and climbed out. Without looking back, he crawled across the bank toward a thick, dark grove. He was tired of being teased about his lack of swamp sense.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Lucky Gal slid off Curly’s back and splashed into the water.

  “To explore on my own,” Bartleby called. With his head up high, he plodded straight into the shadowy, forbidding forest.

  13

  The Whoosh in the Woods

  Bartleby crept through the brush looking for the kind of place where earthworms liked to burrow—a shady spot with dirt that was cool and moist. He’d show Lucky Gal she wasn’t the only one who could find food! He headed deeper into the woods, stopping here and there to scratch the soil with his webs. Along the way, he ate a brown spider and a juicy red berry. He used his carapace to roll a rock over—and discovered several fat worms nestled underneath.

  Whoosh, whoosh.

  Bartleby was sucking down an earthworm when he heard the familiar sound. Quickly, he crawled under a bush covered in kudzu vine.

  Whoosh, whoosh.

  The sound was coming closer. Bartleby felt the ground vibrate. He sniffed and gulped the air. He smelled danger. He knew what was coming.

  “Bartleby, where are you? Bartleby, come on out!”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Bartleby moaned to himself. “Please, please go away!”

  Whoosh, whoosh.

  In another moment, Lucky Gal wandered into the clearing, dragging her ruined rear web. She was a lot slower on land than she was in the water.

  “Bartleby?”

  A very large alligator emerged from behind a giant oak tree. “No. It’s me—Number Four. Glad to meet you.” He put one of his fat clawed feet over Lucky Gal. It covered up her entire shell.

  “Leave her alone!” Bartleby scrambled out from under the thorny bush.

  Number Four swung his head around. “Present! I’ve been looking for you.”

  Bartleby’s throat was quivering as he crawled up to the gator’s snout. “Let Lucky Gal go and you can take me back to Old Stump.”

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her.” Number Four lifted up his claw.

  Lucky peeked her head out a bit. For once, she didn’t say anything.

  “Where are the others?” Bartleby asked.

  Number Four blinked. “Others? Do you mean One, Two, and Three?”

  “Yes. Are they searching for me, too? Or did they send you to catch me?”

  “Neither! Soon after you left, I snuck away from them. You have no idea how tiring it can get being ordered around by Old Stump and those other bullies. You and Seezer were so brave and clever—it was positively inspiring! Why, even Grub showed some gumption. Right away I knew I wanted to join you. But I got lost in these woods.”

  “How do we know we can trust you?” Lucky Gal asked. Her head was up, but her voice was still shaky.

  “Yes—at the bayou you were going to eat me,” Bartleby reminded him.

  “But I’m not really like that. I was only doing Old Stump’s bidding. Won’t you give me a chance to show you?” Number Four wagged his tail like an overgrown dog.

  “You weren’t going to give me a chance,” Bartleby retorted.

  “I can be better. Really! Please take me to Seezer and Grub.”

  “What makes you think they’d want you?” Bartleby scoffed.

  “We don’t need any more gators in our swamp,” Lucky Gal added.

  “Perhaps not.” Number Four twitched his tail. The yellow band at its end flashed like a warning. “But if the dry spell comes, Old Stump and his guards will go on the hunt to find food. If they ever came here, I could help defend you. Three gators could keep you safer than two.”

  Bartleby had never known a dry spell, although he remembered Quickfoot mentioning it. He wondered if it was really going to happen. Then he thought about Old Stump’s huge, smelly jaws, and his cave full of “goodies.”

  “Maybe we should see what Seezer and Grub think,” he suggested.

  Lucky snapped the air with her jaws—but she didn’t protest.

  Bartleby tapped Number Four’s snout with a web. “My name is Bartleby. Don’t ever call me ‘Present’ again.”

  “Well, this is a ssstinking sssurprise,” Seezer hissed from under the willow where he and Grub were floating. He gnashed his teeth as Number Four paddled in behind Bartleby and Lucky Gal.

  “What’s he doing here?” Grub swam up to Number Four and snapped his jaws. “You didn’t hurt my little bro’ did you?”

  “No! I wouldn’t think of it. Bartleby is a
hero.” Number Four stroked Grub’s back lightly with his tail. “I missed you, brother.”

  “Ugh! Get off!” Grub backpaddled away from him.

  “He ran away from Old Stump,” Bartleby explained. “He says he wants to join us.”

  Seezer struck the water with his tail. “You’re a ssscoundrel and a sssneak. Why ssshould we ssshare a sssingle fish with you?”

  Number Four hung his head. “Starvation can make any creature mean. But if you let me live here, I’ll change.”

  “You’re just saying that so we’ll let you stay,” Grub accused.

  “No—I mean it. I could be helpful.”

  With his snout, Seezer poked Number Four in the side. “What can you do to ssserve us?”

  “When a dry spell comes, Old Stump sometimes goes hunting. If he came here, an extra set of jaws could be useful. I’d help you fight him off.”

  “Who’s Old Stump?” Lucky Gal asked.

  “You don’t want to know, little sis,” Grub whispered.

  “The creatures of this ssswamp have my word and Grub’s that we won’t harm them,” Seezer said. “You must ssswear the sssame.”

  “I promise they can trust me, too. I’m really very gentle. I won’t eat much. Just a few fish.”

  “Phish! I don’t believe him,” Lucky Gal declared. “I think you should send him home.”

  “I’ll leave if you want. But it might be dangerous. If I go back to my bayou, Old Stump could force me to tell him where you are.” Number Four cast a sidelong glance at Seezer. “I wouldn’t be able to help it. I’m not as brave as you.”

  Seezer sighed a great, deep sigh. “I sssuppose it will be sssafer to keep him here than to sssend him back. We’ll have to let him ssstay for now.”

  PART TWO

  14

  The Dry Spell

  Bartleby tried to bask, but it was too hot. In no time at all, his carapace felt as if it were on fire. He slipped off the log he’d been resting on and plopped into the water. His plastron touched the sticky bottom before he floated up again. That had never happened before. Something was changing. There were no longer cool places in the water, not even in the shade, and the small fish that used to hide under the water lilies had disappeared. The mud bank was cracked and dusty, and the worms that had squirmed in it were gone. Even the air seemed to have fewer flies and mosquitoes.

  With sluggish strokes, Bartleby paddled to where the water lettuce grew. The big bouncy heads had become shriveled little knobs. Their brown, wilted leaves made Bartleby’s insides shrink, too. When he’d first come here, the patch had been busy with frogs, turtles, birds, and other creatures. Now it seemed deserted.

  “Isn’t anyone here?” he called.

  “I am.” Quickfoot paddled out from behind a bumpy cypress knee. Her ears flopped like wilted leaves.

  “Why were you hiding?” Bartleby asked.

  “Life is more dangerous during the dry spell. When the food supply grows scarce, hungry creatures come hunting for plump, tender rabbits.” Quickfoot’s pinkish brown nose twitched in the air.

  “But Seezer will protect us. As long as he’s here, we don’t have to worry.”

  At the mention of the alligator, Quickfoot glanced around. “As the dry time goes on, Seezer and the others will grow hungrier. Then a friend may become a meal.”

  “Seezer would never eat me!”

  “Perhaps not. But I can’t say the same for me. A swamp rabbit is too much of a temptation for a famished gator. And this swamp has three big ones! I’m afraid I must leave for a while.”

  “But where will you go?” Bartleby began thrashing his webs.

  “Deep in the woods where it is cooler and there may be ferns and bark to munch.”

  Bartleby thought about the dark woods where Number Four had once been lurking. “Will you come back?”

  “I hope so. In the meantime, be careful, Bartleby.” The swamp rabbit hopped out of the water and scampered across the bank. At the edge of the thicket, she stopped and looked back. “I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to Lucky Gal,” she called. “Would you tell her for me?”

  “I will,” Bartleby answered.

  But as he watched Quickfoot disappear into the woods, he wondered why Lucky Gal wasn’t here. They always met at the lettuce patch in the morning. Had something happened to her?

  He looked carefully under the lettuce plants and in between the leaves. He paddled in and out of the cypress knees. He sank down and combed the shallow, muddy water. He’d almost given up when Lucky came swimming into the grove.

  “Where were you?” he nearly shouted.

  Lucky Gal crawled onto a lettuce leaf. “I went to the far end of the swamp to look for fish fry, but there weren’t any. Curly is gone, too.” Her pert head sagged a bit, and her orangey ear patches appeared faded.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go so far,” Bartleby said. “Maybe you should stay nearby so the gators can come if we need their help.”

  “Phish! There’s nothing at the far end of the swamp to worry about. And you can still find duckweed there to eat. Besides, I’m not calling any hungry gators to come help me. That would be like walking into their jaws.”

  Hungry gators. That’s what Quickfoot had been worried about, too. It was almost as if everyone were blaming the alligators for their misery, when the real enemy was the dry spell. It was unfair, Bartleby knew. But Lucky’s spirits seemed so low, he didn’t argue. He climbed up on a plant beside her. For a while, the two red-ears rested side by side, drowsing and dreaming.

  Lucky was the first to stretch her webs. “Let’s dig for grubs at the edge of the woods.”

  “The last time we were in the woods, we had an unpleasant surprise,” Bartleby reminded her.

  “We’ll just go to the very edge. I see a moldering branch that looks like a promising place to try.”

  “All right.” Bartleby followed her to the thicket where Quickfoot had disappeared. There were still a few small, white grubs in the earth under the fallen branch. When they’d eaten all they could find, Lucky Gal headed back to the water.

  “I’m going to visit with Baskin and Digger at their log. Do you want to come?”

  “No. I want to spend some time with Seezer. I’ve been gone all morning.” It was funny, Bartleby thought. Before he’d come here, he’d longed to be with other red-ears. And although he did enjoy Lucky Gal’s company more than almost anyone’s, he didn’t always care to be around Baskin and Digger. He’d learned that creatures who weren’t at all like him could be much better friends.

  Bartleby began to paddle toward the giant willow. It was so broad and bushy, it stood out easily against all the other trees along the bank. Suddenly he stopped swimming and turned back around. “Lucky?” he called. “The next time you’re planning to go to the end of the swamp, would you let me know first?”

  “Why should I?” Her voice had the teasing note that could be funny—or exasperating. With her rear webs she kicked up a spray of water at him and swam away.

  15

  Gone!

  Bartleby was drifting quietly under the willow, dreaming of cool, fast-flowing water. Suddenly he heard Seezer bellow.

  “You ssstole my sssunfish!”

  Grub swallowed. “Sorry, bro’—I was hungry. Anyway, it wasn’t that good. Awfully bony.”

  “Why don’t you go fish sssomewhere else? This is my ssspot.”

  “But I like it here. The sun’s too hot.”

  “I’ll move, I don’t mind,” Number Four volunteered. “I’ll be back later when the sun goes down.” Slowly undulating his thick-scaled tail, he began swimming away.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Bartleby cried out before he could stop himself.

  “To the far end. It might be cooler.”

  Bartleby felt a ping of alarm inside. What if Lucky Gal were there? “No—it’s not cooler at all. I’ve already been there.” He tried to sound calm and reasonable. “You should take it easy in this heat.”

  Number Fo
ur flashed his sharp, crooked teeth. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine.” He kicked his rear feet once and took off.

  Seezer flicked his tail at Grub. “There’s ssstill not enough ssspace for me here. Find your own tree.” He tried to sink lower in the water. “This ssswamp is becoming a mud puddle. My belly is practically ssscraping the bottom.”

  “Maybe your belly is getting too big, bro’.”

  Seezer smacked his jaw against the water. “You’re the glutton, not me! Now ssscram before you’re sssorry.”

  Grub opened his jaws, displayed his teeth, and hissed. But he paddled over to rest under a feathery cottonwood that was nearby.

  Bartleby pulled his head in. He hated it when the alligators fought. He hated the dry spell. It was ruining everything here.

  Later, as the sun began to sink in the sky, Bartleby swam back to the water-lettuce patch. It was the time he and Lucky Gal usually hunted mosquitoes. He snapped halfheartedly at a white-winged moth while he waited for her to appear. But though he caught it easily, its wings were so brittle, he could hardly swallow the insect down.

  “Quag-quog! Quag-quog! Hello, Bartleby.” A great white egret landed gracefully on a branch overhead.

  “Billy! Where have you been?” Bartleby asked. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  “Plume and I are staying near the place where the river meets the sea. Food is more plentiful there, though a little too salty.” The egret plucked at a long, unruly tail feather. “I told Plume I would come back here to check our nest. We’d like to return when the dry spell ends.”

  Bartleby’s head perked up. “When will that be?”

  “No one knows. It can be short enough to hatch a chick—or so long, every drop of water dries up.”

  All the water, gone! Bartleby’s throat felt as if a lump of mud were stuck there. “But what happens to the creatures who live here?”

  “Those that survive will find new water places. Already, many are out searching. I saw them scampering, slinking, and skulking as I flew over the woods.” Billy flicked a few dried leaves from his nest, which was a rather messy collection of sticks and grasses. “Well, I’m going to rest now. I’ve promised Plume I’d return to the marsh early tomorrow. Good night.”