vapros
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Finally Luke spoke, but without turning his head to look at Druby. “Brudd'n-law, you got any messages for Victoria?” The silence continued for several minutes.
Druby commented, “Look at that red-wing blackbird on the other side. He's got a very pretty call, him, and I love to hear it, me. He's got him a grip on that roseau with them little toes, and he's getting him a nice ride.” The reed waved in the wind, making an elliptical orbit for the bird. “Nonc Benny wants me to go shrimp wit' him this year. I 'magine I'll do that, mos' likely.”
“You goin' wit' him, on the 'Baby Ruth'?”
There was another silence before Druby spoke again. “I 'magine I will. You know?”
“You know why nobody don't want to go wit' him, Druby? Sometime Nonc Benny goes on the outside with that little flat-bottom boat. One day the weather is gonna catch him out there and him and his little flat-bottom boat gon' go turtle, man. Bottom up.”
Druby shrugged. “Maybe not.”
“Where you gon' stay, Brudd'n-law?”
“On the boat. In the camp, here,” he explained, and then repeated. “On the boat, in the camp.” Neither man had faced the other throughout the exchange. “Look at me, Brudd'n-law. I'm good. I'm good where I'm at. Ol' Guillot is all but dead, and I can use the camp as much as I want. Nonc Benny feels good when I'm on the boat – he can leave it and go home to Houma when he wants, and he won't worry about the boat. So I'm good, you know? On the boat, in the camp, in the camp, on the boat, I'm good where I'm at.”
“That's what you want me to tell Victoria?”
“I already told her. I told her on Saturday. Victoria knows.”
A full moon was rising, and so were the mosquitoes, and they all moved into the camp, which had tight screens on the windows. A Coleman lantern burned on the table. Druby covered the pot of rice and moved the pot of stew into the ice chest with the beer. Both were still half full. Braud began to wonder about the trip back to the landing. “We goin' back by moonlight?”
“Deputy,” said Sostan, “we ain't goin' nowhere until the tide turns. In an hour they won't be fo' inches of water in this canal. We'll catch the tide in the morning, after it turns. All this pretty water in the marsh ain't nothin' but a mud flat when the tide is out. People who don't know about that can spend a lot time out here, sittin' on the bottom and waiting for the next tide. If you come into the marsh, you better know the tide.”
Everyone settled in for the night. There was one spare folding cot, and the brothers insisted that Braud take it. They slept on the floor, on pallets of well-worn quilts. Braud wanted to take off his uniform, but he was unwilling to be the only one undressing. They all slept well until the sun was turning the sky orange across Little Bayou Go To Hell. Luke was first up and made coffee and pulled Honey Buns from a Walmart bag. Druby went out onto the porch and reported that it would be another forty minutes before the skiff floated again, so they sat on the porch and smoked and talked about people and events foreign to Braud. The water level in the canal rose as they watched it. Shrimp boats and work boats passing in the bayou, two hundred yards away, sent their wakes through the marsh grass, wakes that were little more than faint ripples as they reached Druby's little canal. There was no more mention of Victoria.
The trip back to the little workshop went quickly and without much conversation. Luke gave the skiff a sudden burst of power that drove it into the grass, and then he cut the motor. Victoria was at the landing, leaning against a vintage Cutlass Supreme and smoking. There was no sign of the brothers' wives. “Y'all seen Druby?” she challenged.
“We seen him,” said Luke. “We spent the night at Druby.”
“He didn't come back witch'all?”
“Druby said he's good where he's at. He said he told you Saturday.”
“Well, I guess he did, but I just wanted to know, you know? I guess I'll go back to Morgan City.”
“Richie still there?”
“Yeah, he's there. I talked to him today.”
“Looks like that's the thing to do, well. Don't leave me no mess, Victoria. You pick up good, inside and outside, you hear?”
“Well, Baby, I'm gonna need me some gas money,” she was speaking to Sostan's back. With a small nod toward Luke, he redirected her attention. Luke gave her twenty dollars from his wallet and she turned her attention back to Sostan, getting another ten. She sighed and lit another cigarette and returned to the elderly Oldsmobile. It started quickly but was in serious need of a muffler.
She turned around in the yard and was gone. Luke and Sostan were loading the skiff back onto the trailer and back into the shop. They began to remove items from it. Braud wondered how he might help. He was being ignored.
Druby commented, “Look at that red-wing blackbird on the other side. He's got a very pretty call, him, and I love to hear it, me. He's got him a grip on that roseau with them little toes, and he's getting him a nice ride.” The reed waved in the wind, making an elliptical orbit for the bird. “Nonc Benny wants me to go shrimp wit' him this year. I 'magine I'll do that, mos' likely.”
“You goin' wit' him, on the 'Baby Ruth'?”
There was another silence before Druby spoke again. “I 'magine I will. You know?”
“You know why nobody don't want to go wit' him, Druby? Sometime Nonc Benny goes on the outside with that little flat-bottom boat. One day the weather is gonna catch him out there and him and his little flat-bottom boat gon' go turtle, man. Bottom up.”
Druby shrugged. “Maybe not.”
“Where you gon' stay, Brudd'n-law?”
“On the boat. In the camp, here,” he explained, and then repeated. “On the boat, in the camp.” Neither man had faced the other throughout the exchange. “Look at me, Brudd'n-law. I'm good. I'm good where I'm at. Ol' Guillot is all but dead, and I can use the camp as much as I want. Nonc Benny feels good when I'm on the boat – he can leave it and go home to Houma when he wants, and he won't worry about the boat. So I'm good, you know? On the boat, in the camp, in the camp, on the boat, I'm good where I'm at.”
“That's what you want me to tell Victoria?”
“I already told her. I told her on Saturday. Victoria knows.”
A full moon was rising, and so were the mosquitoes, and they all moved into the camp, which had tight screens on the windows. A Coleman lantern burned on the table. Druby covered the pot of rice and moved the pot of stew into the ice chest with the beer. Both were still half full. Braud began to wonder about the trip back to the landing. “We goin' back by moonlight?”
“Deputy,” said Sostan, “we ain't goin' nowhere until the tide turns. In an hour they won't be fo' inches of water in this canal. We'll catch the tide in the morning, after it turns. All this pretty water in the marsh ain't nothin' but a mud flat when the tide is out. People who don't know about that can spend a lot time out here, sittin' on the bottom and waiting for the next tide. If you come into the marsh, you better know the tide.”
Everyone settled in for the night. There was one spare folding cot, and the brothers insisted that Braud take it. They slept on the floor, on pallets of well-worn quilts. Braud wanted to take off his uniform, but he was unwilling to be the only one undressing. They all slept well until the sun was turning the sky orange across Little Bayou Go To Hell. Luke was first up and made coffee and pulled Honey Buns from a Walmart bag. Druby went out onto the porch and reported that it would be another forty minutes before the skiff floated again, so they sat on the porch and smoked and talked about people and events foreign to Braud. The water level in the canal rose as they watched it. Shrimp boats and work boats passing in the bayou, two hundred yards away, sent their wakes through the marsh grass, wakes that were little more than faint ripples as they reached Druby's little canal. There was no more mention of Victoria.
The trip back to the little workshop went quickly and without much conversation. Luke gave the skiff a sudden burst of power that drove it into the grass, and then he cut the motor. Victoria was at the landing, leaning against a vintage Cutlass Supreme and smoking. There was no sign of the brothers' wives. “Y'all seen Druby?” she challenged.
“We seen him,” said Luke. “We spent the night at Druby.”
“He didn't come back witch'all?”
“Druby said he's good where he's at. He said he told you Saturday.”
“Well, I guess he did, but I just wanted to know, you know? I guess I'll go back to Morgan City.”
“Richie still there?”
“Yeah, he's there. I talked to him today.”
“Looks like that's the thing to do, well. Don't leave me no mess, Victoria. You pick up good, inside and outside, you hear?”
“Well, Baby, I'm gonna need me some gas money,” she was speaking to Sostan's back. With a small nod toward Luke, he redirected her attention. Luke gave her twenty dollars from his wallet and she turned her attention back to Sostan, getting another ten. She sighed and lit another cigarette and returned to the elderly Oldsmobile. It started quickly but was in serious need of a muffler.
She turned around in the yard and was gone. Luke and Sostan were loading the skiff back onto the trailer and back into the shop. They began to remove items from it. Braud wondered how he might help. He was being ignored.