vapros
Verified Member
“I got it, Luke. Comin' in wit' it.” Braud hauled on the rope and the skiff swung around and nosed up into the marsh grass by their feet.
Luke climbed in over the bow and let the big Yamaha motor down into the water on pneumatic shocks. He turned the key and the motor started quickly and idled softly. Sostan drove the truck forward and left the trailer in its original position. “Go 'head,” he said. “I'll get on last, I got my boots on.” Braud climbed onto the bow and over the windshield and Sostan, standing in the shallow water, gave the boat a shove and hoisted himself aboard by his big arms. Thirty seconds later they were cruising slowly down Little Bayou Go To Hell, careful to make no wake until they had passed all the moored vessels. From there on, it was wide open, and the brothers grinned at one another and turned their caps around backward, so the Deputy did the same. The glass would certainly have kept them out of the wind, but they sat on the backs of the seats and took the rushing air in their faces, bending forward only to light cigarettes.
They passed two luggers without slowing down, waving at the crews on the decks, and then made a right turn into a canal. Sostan smirked at Luke, noting the alarm showing on the Deputy's face as the boat seemed about to slide off into the marsh, gaining traction again and leaping forward. Right turns didn't offer the same firm control as turns to the left. Fifteen minutes took them five miles into the 'sea of grass'. Braud had long-since lost his way. He was from Houma and this was not his part of the salt marsh.
They passed two or three empty camps, on stilts or on pontoons, and suddenly they turned at idle speed into a canal that was little more than a ditch, and there was Druby Benoit sitting on the porch of a tiny building mounted on a small barge hull. There was a dock of sorts, where a fourteen-foot aluminum bateau was tied. It had a small outboard mounted on the transom; shroud removed, uncertain maker. Probably an Evinrude, as the blue paint could still be seen. Sostan stepped onto the dock and tied the line to a stake sticking out of the water and Luke cut the motor.
“Qui ca dit, brudd'n-law?” said Druby, without getting up.
“I smell shrimps, brudd'n-law,” said Luke.
“Oh, I got shrimps. And you better pick up your motor, too. I see you brought the law wit' you. I'm trying to think which crime he might know about.
“He ain't workin', he knocks off at five. He smelled shrimps, too. Look at him. He's young and single and got a steady job, and I couldn't leave him there with my wife, you know, so I brought him. You better have plenty shrimp.” Luke thumbed a button on the dash, and the big motor tilted forward, bringing the propeller clear of the water.
“Yeah, but I'm out of beer. I hope you brought beer.”
“The boat's full of beer,” said Sostan, “we're lucky it didn't sink on the way, with all the beer.” He lifted a hefty ice chest onto the porch and passed around the beers. The quartet of Cajuns sat on the porch, as best they could; a couple on overturned five-gallon plastic buckets and one on the ice chest. Druby still had not gotten to his feet. The little porch sagged under the weight. They smoked and drank beer and made small talk in a combination of English and French.
Druby pointed out across the marsh grass to a shrimp lugger chugging along. It was one of the ones they had passed earlier, and it was still in the main bayou, maybe two hundred yards away as the crow would fly. Most of it was plainly visible, including the name on the bow – 'Little Brother'. The grass in the salt water did not grow higher than about two feet.
“Maybe an eight' of a mile away,” said Druby, “but maybe three miles by water. I see the boats pass every day, goin' and comin'. Sometimes they wave, but they couldn't none of 'em get to this place. They don't know how. That's how I like it.” He looked at the Deputy.
“Hey, man, don't worry about me. I wouldn't tell, even if I could. I thought Sostan was lost two or three times. I know I was.”
Druby stood up and entered the little camp and walked to and fro, serving huge amounts of shrimp stew over rice on assorted china plates, with heavy metal forks. Duke brought two loaves of French bread from the boat, and they tore great ragged chunks. They ate with great appetite, smacking their lips and wagging their heads over the delicious meal. Dusk was beginning to fall by the time they had finished, and they all leaned back and lit cigarettes and smoked in silence.
Luke climbed in over the bow and let the big Yamaha motor down into the water on pneumatic shocks. He turned the key and the motor started quickly and idled softly. Sostan drove the truck forward and left the trailer in its original position. “Go 'head,” he said. “I'll get on last, I got my boots on.” Braud climbed onto the bow and over the windshield and Sostan, standing in the shallow water, gave the boat a shove and hoisted himself aboard by his big arms. Thirty seconds later they were cruising slowly down Little Bayou Go To Hell, careful to make no wake until they had passed all the moored vessels. From there on, it was wide open, and the brothers grinned at one another and turned their caps around backward, so the Deputy did the same. The glass would certainly have kept them out of the wind, but they sat on the backs of the seats and took the rushing air in their faces, bending forward only to light cigarettes.
They passed two luggers without slowing down, waving at the crews on the decks, and then made a right turn into a canal. Sostan smirked at Luke, noting the alarm showing on the Deputy's face as the boat seemed about to slide off into the marsh, gaining traction again and leaping forward. Right turns didn't offer the same firm control as turns to the left. Fifteen minutes took them five miles into the 'sea of grass'. Braud had long-since lost his way. He was from Houma and this was not his part of the salt marsh.
They passed two or three empty camps, on stilts or on pontoons, and suddenly they turned at idle speed into a canal that was little more than a ditch, and there was Druby Benoit sitting on the porch of a tiny building mounted on a small barge hull. There was a dock of sorts, where a fourteen-foot aluminum bateau was tied. It had a small outboard mounted on the transom; shroud removed, uncertain maker. Probably an Evinrude, as the blue paint could still be seen. Sostan stepped onto the dock and tied the line to a stake sticking out of the water and Luke cut the motor.
“Qui ca dit, brudd'n-law?” said Druby, without getting up.
“I smell shrimps, brudd'n-law,” said Luke.
“Oh, I got shrimps. And you better pick up your motor, too. I see you brought the law wit' you. I'm trying to think which crime he might know about.
“He ain't workin', he knocks off at five. He smelled shrimps, too. Look at him. He's young and single and got a steady job, and I couldn't leave him there with my wife, you know, so I brought him. You better have plenty shrimp.” Luke thumbed a button on the dash, and the big motor tilted forward, bringing the propeller clear of the water.
“Yeah, but I'm out of beer. I hope you brought beer.”
“The boat's full of beer,” said Sostan, “we're lucky it didn't sink on the way, with all the beer.” He lifted a hefty ice chest onto the porch and passed around the beers. The quartet of Cajuns sat on the porch, as best they could; a couple on overturned five-gallon plastic buckets and one on the ice chest. Druby still had not gotten to his feet. The little porch sagged under the weight. They smoked and drank beer and made small talk in a combination of English and French.
Druby pointed out across the marsh grass to a shrimp lugger chugging along. It was one of the ones they had passed earlier, and it was still in the main bayou, maybe two hundred yards away as the crow would fly. Most of it was plainly visible, including the name on the bow – 'Little Brother'. The grass in the salt water did not grow higher than about two feet.
“Maybe an eight' of a mile away,” said Druby, “but maybe three miles by water. I see the boats pass every day, goin' and comin'. Sometimes they wave, but they couldn't none of 'em get to this place. They don't know how. That's how I like it.” He looked at the Deputy.
“Hey, man, don't worry about me. I wouldn't tell, even if I could. I thought Sostan was lost two or three times. I know I was.”
Druby stood up and entered the little camp and walked to and fro, serving huge amounts of shrimp stew over rice on assorted china plates, with heavy metal forks. Duke brought two loaves of French bread from the boat, and they tore great ragged chunks. They ate with great appetite, smacking their lips and wagging their heads over the delicious meal. Dusk was beginning to fall by the time they had finished, and they all leaned back and lit cigarettes and smoked in silence.