Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou

by Phyllis Shalant

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART One

  Chapter 1 - Free Lunch

  Chapter 2 - First Cousin

  Chapter 3 - Homecoming Day

  Chapter 4 - Old Stump

  Chapter 5 - The Mysterious Friend

  Chapter 6 - Snacktime

  Chapter 7 - Winners and Sore Losers

  Chapter 8 - The Flooded Forest

  Chapter 9 - Swamp Sense

  Chapter 10 - The Swamp Meet

  Chapter 11 - Fishguts Brings Trouble

  Chapter 12 - Swamp School

  Chapter 13 - The Whoosh in the Woods

  PART TWO

  Chapter 14 - The Dry Spell

  Chapter 15 - Gone!

  Chapter 16 - The Search

  Chapter 17 - Seezer’s Secret

  Chapter 18 - Ssserious Consequences

  Chapter 19 - Bartleby of New York

  Chapter 20 - Good-bye, Bayou Life

  PART Three

  Chapter 21 - Chef Jerry’s

  Chapter 22 - Rocky and Princess

  Chapter 23 - Crumbs and Champions

  Chapter 24 - The Red Streak

  Chapter 25 - The Perilous Plan

  Chapter 26 - Best Dog in the World

  Chapter 27 - Race to Friendship Hole

  Chapter 28 - Reunion

  Chapter 29 - Lucky Alone

  Chapter 30 - Bartleby’s Posse

  Chapter 31 - The River Helps Out

  Chapter 32 - True Home

  OTHER NOVELS BY PHYLLIS SHALANT

  When Pirates Came to Brooklyn

  Bartleby of the Mighty Mississippi

  The Great Eye

  Beware of Kissing Lizard Lips

  DUTTON CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2005 by Phyllis Shalant

  Illustrations copyright © 2005 by Brian Floca

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in -Publication Data

  Shalant, Phyllis.

  Bartleby of the big bad bayou / Phyllis Shalant.

  p. cm.

  Summary: After making a dangerous voyage down the Mississippi from

  New York, Bartleby, who had started life as a pet turtle, and his alligator friend

  Seezer must learn to survive in their true bayou home.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15410-6

  1. Turtles—Juvenile fiction. [1. Turtles—Fiction. 2. Bayous—Fiction.

  3. Animals—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ10.3.S38425Bar 2005 [Fic]—dc22 2004022232

  Published in the United States by Dutton Children’s Books,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  www.penguin.com/youngreaders

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Beverly, who accidentally fried our goldfish on the radiator, whose hamster escaped in our bedroom, and who once wanted an iguana

  PART One

  1

  Free Lunch

  Bartleby was crawling along the bank of the wide, rolling water when something caught his eye. It was the glint of crinkly silver stuff lying on the shore. He perked up his head and listened for human voices. He felt the ground under his webs for the vibrations of human footsteps. There didn’t seem to be any, so he plodded over to investigate.

  Usually there was food inside a silvery wad like this. Not juicy worms or gooey slugs, but human food. A lot of it tasted sweet, which Bartleby detested. But sometimes there was lettuce.

  Once Bartleby had been a pet. He’d lived in a house with three boys and a mother. Mostly, they’d fed him turtle flakes. But sometimes, for a special treat, the mother had given him lettuce. Just the thought of it made his mouth tingle happily. He crawled up to the crumpled silver and stuck his head inside.

  Sure enough, it was there—a crisp-looking leaf poking out from two pieces of the soft, bland food humans sometimes tossed to ducks. Only a few bites were missing. And on top of the lettuce were two slices of something the pinkish brown color of earthworms. It had a spicy smell that Bartleby found interesting. But first he would eat the lettuce. Snap! He clamped his jaws down on the tasty green and began to drag it to the river.

  “Bartleby, are you sssunning on the bank?” a gruff voice called.

  “I’m over here, Seezer! I have found something very delicious. Lettuce! And I think there is something that you would like. Come and try it!”

  A blackish green alligator climbed out of the water. Part of his tail was missing. He swung his big head from side to side, scanning the shore, the brush, and the woods beyond. Cautiously, he treaded over the mud bank where Bartleby was waiting.

  “Bologna!” he exclaimed, peering into the silvery bundle. “I haven’t had bologna since I was a pet. My girl used to ssslip it out of her sssandwich and feed it to me when her mother wasn’t looking. Bologna is beautiful ssstuff!”

  “You can have it,” Bartleby said. “I’ll eat the lettuce. There’s more than enough.”

  With a quick clap of his long jaws, Seezer swallowed both pieces of the spicy meat. “Ahhh, ssscrumptious!” He looked around the bank and toward the woods. “But where there is bologna, there are humans. We mustn’t ssstay long. Besides, I believe we have finally reached our destination.”

  Bartleby’s mouth opened. He dropped his leaf. “The Mighty Mississippi?” His heart beat faster. “Really? How can you tell?”

  “Sssee how the water has become brown and muddy? Sssoon I think we will ssspot great garfish and juicy ssswamp rabbits. Mmmm ... even better than bologna.”

  Bartleby didn’t want to eat rabbits—and he hoped the great garfish didn’t want to eat him. Seezer had told him that the gar was so big and fierce it ate ducks for breakfast and muskrats for dinner! Thinking of it now made Bartleby shudder in his shell. Still, he couldn’t wait to get to Seezer’s bayou—a cozy creek filled with fresh water from the river. Many times his friend had told hi
m about the delightful water place he’d lived in before he’d been trapped by a pet seller.

  Bartleby had been hatched in a tank. He’d never seen a bayou. But he knew it was his natural home, too, because of a show he’d seen on TV when he’d lived with the boys. It had been called Turtles of the Mighty Mississippi, and there’d been red-ears like himself in it. More than anything, he longed to meet those turtles.

  He seized the lettuce and turned toward the powerful, churning river again. Once the pond in New York where he’d been dumped had been the biggest water place he’d ever swum in. Then he and Seezer had found a trickle of traveling water in which to begin the journey. At first, the moving water had felt so much colder, Bartleby had wanted to dig down under the mud and stay there. He’d had to get used to swimming with the quick, bouncy current—which was fun until he’d crashed into a rock. But now he was a strong swimmer and a good navigator. He was sure his old friends at the pond would be proud of him.

  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.”

  2

  First Cousin

  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.”