By the time the night was almost over, both alligator and turtle were worn out. Seezer’s circling and digging became slower. Bartleby’s head drooped lower and lower. Finally, Seezer sank down in the middle of the bowl he’d begun and shut his eyes. Bartleby crawled under the kudzu and slept, too.
Day after day, Seezer kept on digging. And day after day, Bartleby hid and watched. He wished Lucky Gal could see the home that Seezer was making. If she were here, he was sure she would demand to help. Already, the hole was beginning to look like a pond. All it needed was fresh, sweet water that was waiting deep underground. Surely, Seezer was going to reach it soon—he had to!
Yet Bartleby couldn’t help thinking that even the most wonderful new water place would feel empty without Lucky. He still spent short periods searching the woods for her each day. But if he stayed away too long, Bartleby began to worry about Seezer. His friend hadn’t eaten a thing since he’d begun excavating. He seemed to be in a trance—one that wouldn’t let him stray from the hole until he finished it. He just kept on working until he couldn’t scoop out a single clawful more of dirt. Then he would lie down and sleep—but only long enough to regain the strength to dig some more.
One awful night Seezer didn’t awaken. Bartleby could hardly breathe as he watched his friend’s motionless body for some sign of life. “A sleeping alligator is always as still as death,” he reminded himself. “It’s good that Seezer takes a break. Tomorrow he’ll be refreshed.”
Bartleby stayed calm while a big spider crawled onto the gator’s back, thinking him nothing more than a fallen limb. He stifled a protest as a possum climbed down from a tree to sniff at the long, green body. But when a great horned owl swooped down and poked at his friend with its sharp, hooked beak, Bartleby couldn’t stand it anymore.
“That fierce alligator is only sleeping,” he warned. “You’d better flee before he wakes up.”
“Hoo says?” the owl asked.
Bartleby crept out from behind the kudzu. “I do—a red-eared turtle.”
The owl’s round yellow eyes alighted on Bartleby. Was she sizing him up for a meal? He drew his head into his shell. But the cautious owl turned her head back to Seezer.
“He looks dead to me, but hoo knows?” She spread her great wings and flew up to a branch overhead.
Bartleby looked up. “You are smart to be careful,” he agreed quickly. “Alligators are a tricky bunch. When they are hungry enough, they fool their prey into coming closer by playing dead. But I suppose you already knew that.”
“Er, yes, of course I did. Owls are wise.” The bird preened her feathers, which were as many shades of brown as the trees in the forest. “But thanks for reminding me. I’ve two young ones in the nest hoo still need a mother.” She turned her head this way and that, inspecting the landscape with her moonlike eyes. “You should be careful as well. The woods are full of creatures that could make a meal of you. Hoo knows when the next one might appear?”
“You’re right,” Bartleby agreed. “I was just going to hide among those rocks when you flew by.”
“In the rock pile? What a hooot! Though I suppose you’ll blend in quite nicely.” The owl opened her wings once more. “I must get home to my nestlings.” Silent as a cloud, she sailed off into the night.
Bartleby crawled up to Seezer’s head. “She’s gone, Seezer. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll stay right here and protect you while you get a good rest. You’ve been working so hard. Maybe I could bring you some food, so you wouldn’t have to—”
Seezer’s eyes snapped open. They flashed at Bartleby like angry sparks. “You red-eared sssneak! You’ve been ssspying on me!” he growled without raising his head.
“I only want to help you,” Bartleby explained. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“Then go away. Ssshove off!”
“All right—I’ll return to the swamp. But at least let me bring you back a fish. You need to eat to keep up your strength. Otherwise, you won’t be able to finish digging—”
“Sssilence! Didn’t you hear me? I sssaid beat it! This is my hole!”
“But I could push rocks out of the way. Or dig with my webs. I want to help make our new home.”
“You ssself-centered creature. This isn’t our new home—it’s my new home. I’ve sssupported you long enough.”
Bartleby’s throat was pulsing so fast it hurt to speak. “I know you don’t mean what you’re saying. You’re just tired.”
With a great effort, Seezer stood up. “Exxxactly—I’m tired of taking care of you! You’ve sssapped me dry. Besides—you’re always sssniveling over your sssassy friend! Well, go and sssave her—if you can!” He shoved Bartleby with the tip of his snout. “Ssscram!”
Bartleby was so stunned he didn’t even tuck into his shell. His head was spinning with dreadful thoughts. Seezer means what he said. I’m just a burden to him. He doesn’t care about me anymore. He wants to be rid of me.
In spite of the shock he felt, he drew up his head. “You don’t have to push—I’m happy to go. I don’t need you anymore, anyway. I can take care of myself now. And it will be easy to find companions who are nicer to be with. Since you came to the bayou, you’ve become mean and disagreeable. I don’t even like you anymore.”
Seezer didn’t answer. On his wobbly legs he began digging as if Bartleby didn’t exist.
Bartleby trudged off into the woods. But as soon as he was out of the gator’s sight he plopped down on his plastron without bothering to hide. He didn’t care what happened to him anymore. He’d lost his two best friends in the world. Seezer didn’t want him, and Lucky Gal had deserted him. He wished he’d never come here. “I should have stayed in the pond in New York! At least the creatures I cared about were truly my friends,” he moaned. Suddenly, more than anything else, he wanted to be back there.
“I could do it,” he told himself. “The Mighty Mississippi would help me find my way back to New York. I’ve become a strong swimmer and a good hunter. I’m clever at escaping creatures that want to eat me. I don’t need Seezer’s help.”
But for now he was tired. It would be better to start in the morning when he was rested. He crawled between two carapace-shaped rocks and settled down to sleep. “Tomorrow I will face my first challenge,” he whispered as he drifted off. “I will have to find my way through the woods to the river without anyone to lead me.”
19
Bartleby of New York
It took an entire day for Bartleby to find his way out of the deep, twining woods, and another to climb over the great mound of earth called the levee. Yet the journey back to the river was neither as difficult, nor as scary, as it had been when he’d first crawled out with Seezer. He followed his tiny but excellent snout toward the scent of the river—a delightful mixture of fresh and ancient waters, creatures finned and webbed, cushy-mushy mud, motor-oil fumes, and mysterious human junk. His long memory led him the rest of the way to the rock where he’d first climbed out.
Bartleby crept onto the stony shelf. He gazed over the vast, slow-traveling water. Its familiar brownish color was inviting. But before he dove in, he turned around for one last look at bayou country.
He thought of Grub, Quickfoot, Big-Big, Billy, Plume, and the others, and he wished he’d said good-bye. He felt sad knowing he would never find out what had happened to Lucky Gal.
Finally, Bartleby let himself think about Seezer and all that they’d been through together. By persuading him to come here, Seezer had given Bartleby the chance to be a real turtle—to live as a red-ear was meant to do. That life had been harsh, but it had been challenging, too. Sometimes it was even thrilling.
But now Bartleby wondered if he’d allowed Seezer to be himself. Alligators were such proud creatures. Was it possible Seezer had been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to reach the underground water? Did he think he might fail? Had he been worried that Bartleby would be disappointed in him? Could that be why he’d driven Bartleby away?
“I should have been mo
re understanding,” Bartleby exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have poked my snout in. I should have let Seezer be Seezer.”
Suddenly Bartleby felt as if he were a hatchling just out of the egg—as if he were seeing things for the first time. Since they’d arrived in bayou country, Seezer had suffered terrible disappointments. He’d been chased away from his beloved bayou by Old Stump. And the brothers and sisters he’d longed to see had disappeared. Yet Bartleby had been too worried about himself to think about what Seezer had lost. He hadn’t offered to help Seezer search for his family. They hadn’t even spoken of it.
“Seezer was right,” Bartleby whispered. “He guided and protected me, but what did I give him in return? I’ve been nothing but a burden.”
He had to go back. No matter how difficult it was, he had to set things right. He needed to earn Seezer’s friendship again.
“I’ll just rest on this rock for a bit,” he said as he settled down. “Then I’ll get going.”
“Cousin, are you there?”
Bartleby gasped at the familiar voice. Could it be the same, sly alligator gar that had tried to fool him when he’d first arrived here? He crept forward on the rock and peered down at the river. “Who is calling me?”
Through the murky water Bartleby saw a flash of yellowish hide. A long creature rose to the surface. It rolled its body over and over, churning the water until it was foamy. Then a gatorlike head broke through the surface.
“Welcome, dear Cousin,” the cunning creature said. “You are just in time. I’ve caught a tender crappie, but it is much too large for me to eat. Won’t you join me in the water and help me finish it?”
During his time in the bayou, Bartleby had learned a lot. He knew that most living things were creatures of habit—and that fish had short memories. This tricky gar doesn’t remember me, he thought. He edged a bit closer to the end of the rock. “I don’t believe you and I are related at all.”
The gar raised itself higher out of the water and nodded—a nifty feat for a fish. “Of course we’re related—I am an alligator and you are a turtle. We are both reptiles. Now please come and join me for a bite.”
Bartleby backed away from the edge. “Not all relatives are trustworthy. Even if you were an alligator, you might eat me. But I don’t think you are an alligator at all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I’m an alligator. Look—I can breathe air!” The gar took several noisy, grunting breaths.
“I’ve seen fish suck in breaths of air while swimming near the surface,” Bartleby said. “But those of us with lungs can do it on land.”
The alligator gar snapped its jaws. “Are you saying that I can’t really breathe? I can breathe as well as you!”
“If that is true, come out of the water and show me.”
“I could—but I don’t want to.”
“Ha! Sounds like a fish story to me.” Bartleby turned around and began crawling toward the mud bank.
“Wait! Just a minute! I will leap onto the ledge and show you. But when I roll back into the water, you must promise to come along. We must eat the crappie before some other creature makes off with it.”
Bartleby thought for a moment. “All right—but you must promise that you won’t try to eat me.”
“You have my word,” the gar agreed quickly. “Now just a moment. I’ll need, ha ha, a running start.”
As the creature dove beneath the water, Bartleby had a good look at its fins and fishy tail. Then he scrambled off the rock and waited far back on the mud bank. He had to fight a strong urge to hide in his shell again. In another moment, the alligator gar burst out of the water and flopped onto the rock shelf.
Before he could stop himself, Bartleby gasped. The gar was longer than he remembered—perhaps even longer than Seezer. It appeared to be nothing more than a giant head and a muscular tail.
“What’s the matter?” the gar wheezed.
“I was right—you’re a fish. You have fins where your feet should be,” Bartleby replied.
“But I am also an alligator—an alligator garfish. Now let’s go get that crappie. I left it on the river bottom.”
Bartleby didn’t move from the mud bank. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
“You promised!” the gar hissed.
“You lied,” the red-ear retorted. “You said you were a reptile and my cousin.”
The fearsome fish gnashed its horrible teeth. “You think you can get away from me just because you have legs? Well, I’ll show you!” It began rolling toward Bartleby. With a great effort, it flipped itself off the rock shelf and onto the mud bank. Smack! It landed on its belly and began rolling after Bartleby.
Bartleby was terrified. He scuttled into the thick grass at the edge of the levee and hid.
“Wait!” the fish cried in a pitiful voice. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me here. Please! I don’t think I can roll back into the river by myself. It’s too great a distance.”
Bartleby peeked at the gar through the tall grass. “Why should I help you? You were trying to catch me and eat me.”
“No, I wasn’t—really! I’m just lonely. Here I am, a fish with an alligator’s head, an alligator’s teeth—and the ability to breathe. Other fish are afraid of me. They hide when I swim near. Yet no reptile will accept me, either. I’m an outsider to everyone.”
Bartleby knew what it was like to be an outsider. “Do you mean you’ve never had a friend?”
“Never,” the gar whispered. “I’ve spent my entire life alone. It’s because others always misunderstand me.”
“If I help you back into the water, do you promise not to eat me?”
“I will treasure you always,” the creature wheezed. “Er, what did you say your name was?”
“Bartleby.”
“Please hurry, Bartleby. I’m beginning to dry out in the sun.”
“All right.” Cautiously, Bartleby emerged from the grass. “Can you move at all?”
“Not much. Without water I’m actually quite weak.” “I’ll push at your middle. When I do, you must try to roll,” Bartleby instructed.
“Do you really think you are strong enough to move me?”
“I am persistent,” Bartleby told the gar. “Sometimes persistence is more valuable than strength.”
“How wise of you, Bartleby. I thoroughly agree. With your help, I, too, will be persistent.”
Bartleby crawled up to the fish’s midsection. He wondered if the gar’s skin would feel slippery or squishy. He pushed at it with his snout to see. “Your scales are almost as tough as a turtle shell!” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps you’d like to feel my teeth, too.”
Before Bartleby could crawl away, the gar crooked its mobile head around. Whap! Snap! It grabbed Bartleby up in its jaws.
20
Good-bye, Bayou Life
“Let go!” Bartleby cried.
“Why, then I wouldn’t be persistent! I went to a lot of trouble to catch you, red-ear. You were right—persistence can be very valuable.” The gar clamped down harder on Bartleby’s carapace. “But I always say, ‘The stronger the jaws, the longer the life.’” Suddenly full of strength and energy, the wily fish began rolling for the river.
Bartleby struggled to free himself. He used the sharp nails on his webs to scratch the gar’s jaws. He bit at its monstrous mouth. He wriggled and kicked as hard as he could.
“Uh! That hurts!” the gar grunted without dropping Bartleby. “Quit being so persistent and this will all be over much sooner.”
The garfish’s spinning was making Bartleby dizzy. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a human and a dog, running together across the mud bank. The gar saw them, too. It tried to roll faster. But it had been out of the water too long, and it was becoming weary. It was grunting harder and faster now. It was gritting its teeth on poor Bartleby’s carapace.
As the human came nearer, Bartleby could see it more clearly. It was a man—a fishing man. He recognized it by its tall, rubbery foot co
verings and the fishing branch it was carrying.
“Lookit that, Bertha!” the man exclaimed to the big, black dog that was running beside him. “That garfish is goin’ as fast as if it had legs. I’ve seen ’em roll in the river, but I never saw one git out before. What a fish story to tell the customers!”
Mrrr-ruff! Bertha agreed. Which meant, “You bet!”
“Easy now, Bertha,” the man said. “I don’t want you tearin’ up that gar. It’ll make quite a tasty addition to the menu at Chef Jerry’s. Lookit the size of that thing! It’ll feed half our diners tonight.”
Brr-ruff! Grr-ruff! Bertha barked. Which meant, “Can’t we please eat it now?” She ran ahead of the man.
The gar’s round, flat eyes appeared to get bigger. It picked up speed as it rolled.
Bartleby was afraid of dogs, but he was much more frightened of the gar. “That dog is right behind you,” he told the fish. “If you drop me, I’ll distract it so you can get away.”
“Let it find its own dinner,” the gar retorted. “You are mine. I’ve earned you.” It rolled onto the rocky ledge.
Bartleby squeezed his eyes shut. One more twist and the fish would drop into the river, taking him with it. He heard the fish grunt with effort as it strained to flip over.
“YOUCH, MY TAIL!” it shrieked suddenly.
Bartleby’s eyes popped open. He craned his neck around and caught sight of the dog. It had the gar’s tail in its mouth.
“That’s right, Bertha. You hold that fish. Don’t let it git away!” the man shouted.
The gar thrashed violently on the rock, but the dog held on. Grrr-ruffuffuff it growled. Which meant, “I don’t like you, Big Fish Thing.”
“I don’t like you either, Dumb Dog Thing!” The gar whipped itself around and snapped at the canine. When it opened its jaws, Bartleby dropped out.
Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou Page 8
