The True Blue Scouts of Sugar Man Swamp

by Kathi Appelt

  Mr. Beaucoup? Sonny Boy?

  As soon as Mom set the phone down, Chap asked, “Sonny Boy Beaucoup is coming here with twenty-three other people?”

  That’s when Coyoteman Jim stepped in. Rubbing his hands on the front of his apron, he said, “Didn’t y’all hear the announcement about the groundbreaking ceremony?” Judging from the looks on their faces, he guessed not.

  Chap let the news soak in. A ground breaking? But . . . but . . . it was too soon. How could they fill up the boat in such a short time? The little fish of hope that Chap had just experienced swam right down the toilet.

  In the same exact moment, the truth ran up and bit him: A groundbreaking ceremony meant that all their options were off the table.

  Chap realized right then that Sonny Boy and Jaeger had simply been playing a cruel joke on them. All that work, all the bills he and his mom had set inside the boat? They had never even had a chance. Sonny Boy had never intended for his deal to be real. Even if they had stuffed the little pirogue to the very brim with cash, it would never have been enough. Not in the face of a sprawling extravaganza like the Gator World Wrestling Arena and Theme Park.

  And for the first time ever, Chap felt something he had never felt before. Not once. Not ever. Not in his whole twelve years. He felt humiliated. How could he have let himself be duped by someone with such stupid, stupid socks?

  His mother recovered first. “Pies for twenty-four,” she said. Then she handed Chap an unopened bag of Community Coffee. “We’re going to need more.”

  Reluctantly, he took the bag and turned toward the grinder. This was not what he wanted to do. The high pitch of the grinder grated on his nerves. He could feel his cheeks burn in the hot air of the kitchen. Even without taking a single sip of coffee, his mouth was filled with bitterness.

  All at once, he wanted to be anywhere but in the kitchen of Paradise Pies Café making stupid coffee that had not inspired even one stupid hair on his chest. He especially did not want to be making coffee for such a stupid person as Sonny Boy Beaucoup.

  He felt trapped.

  And in that split second, the sound of the coffee grinder peeled away every inch of nerve coating in his brain, and he remembered: “The trap!” In the flurry of the morning’s activity, he had forgotten to check the Havahart trap.

  He yanked his apron over his head and ran through the back of the cabin, past the boat, and down the steps of the back porch. Wham! The screen door slammed behind him.

  Sure enough. The trap had worked. But not in the way he had intended. There, in full hissing and spitting glory, was one very large, very angry . . . primeval possum.

  “Great balls of fire!” Chap cried. (Okay, he didn’t really say that, but we can’t repeat his true words in polite company.)

  From behind the wires of the cage, one of the swamp’s nastiest denizens glared at Chap with its tiny little black eyes and very, very sharp teeth. Chap gingerly stood behind the Havahart cage and slowly lifted the lid, whereupon the primeval possum lumbered out.

  While he watched the possum disappear into the thick underbrush, even more humiliation dripped down Chap’s neck, his chest, his waist, until it settled right smack in the middle of his gut.

  Could this day get any worse?

  86

  THE DAY WAS NOT GOING very well for a very large alligator either. WHOOMPH! With one last fierce shove, Jaeger Stitch grabbed the side of the ten-foot-long reptile and flipped him onto his back.

  The gator had been a worthy foe. All morning long she had teased it with her pointed stick by poking it through the bars of the trailer. It had responded with a fury of snaps and hisses.

  And then, once all of the dignitaries had arrived and settled at their tables on the wide veranda, once lunch had been served, Jaeger Stitch opened the back of the trailer, and the huge beast leapt out into the open. She circled it with her pointed stick.

  Each time she prodded it, the gator whipped its tail toward her in an attempt to catch her and sweep her into its enormous mouth. After spending all those hours cooped up in the trailer, after all those jabs and pokes, the animal was furious.

  Time after time, it leapt toward Jaeger. But she was too quick for it. The folks on the veranda watched in amazement as the two feinted and dodged.

  The alligator was a creature with a million years of survival instincts going for it. A species doesn’t prowl the earth for such a long time without a surplus of skills to keep its kind going.

  Jaeger Stitch was a creature of wile. After several minutes of provocation, Jaeger danced her way behind the alligator. Then with a running leap, she jumped onto its back, and with her tiny hands she reached for its foot-long jaws. The alligator’s tail whipped furiously back and forth. At the same time, its mouth whipped back and forth too.

  Jaeger held on.

  What she knew, and what a lot of folks don’t, is that an alligator has very little strength in opening its jaws. Where its power lies is in closing them.

  Jaeger Stitch knew exactly what to do. First, she leaned forward until her cheek was almost between the beast’s eyes. She pushed her face down hard against the alligator’s face so that its jaws were forced to close, and then she clamped them shut with both of her hands. Once the alligator’s jaws were clamped, the gator was powerless.

  The wrestlerette slowly sat up, and as she did, she pulled the animal’s head toward hers in a ninety-degree angle so that the alligator’s snout was facing straight up toward the sky. She held it there for a long minute, and right before she let her hands go, she leaned forward and kissed it.

  She kissed the alligator.

  And as soon as she did, she leapt off its back, spun around on her toes, and bowed to the audience. They all stood up and gave her a rousing ovation. None of them had ever seen anything quite like it. Sonny Boy’s smile went from ear to ear. It was obvious that they were all in the presence of the World Champion Gator Wrestler of the Northern Hemisphere. Suddenly, they all knew what Sonny Boy knew: People would come from miles around to see her. The economy of the region was about to pick up. The mayor even shook Sonny Boy’s hand.

  Right on cue, Leroy pulled the superstretch Hummer up the drive. “Grab your shovels, everyone,” said Sonny Boy. And the entire group, all twenty-four of them, plus Leroy, headed to Paradise Pies Café for pre-groundbreaking dessert.

  As for the alligator, once it managed to roll itself back onto its legs, it headed for the azaleas, where it took a nice, long nap.

  87

  OKAY, YOU WANT TO TALK about naps? The Sugar Man had been napping for a very long time, and even though there was an emergency at hand, he moved rather slowly, know what I mean? Waking up was hard to do. He scooped up Bingo and J’miah in one of his palmetto-size hands and set them on his shoulder.

  To Bingo it was almost like being at the top of a tree. He loved it.

  To J’miah it was almost like being at the top of a tree too. Frankly, he didn’t feel the love at all.

  Both of them grabbed fistfuls of fur in order to hang on.

  Raccoons are quite dexterous. They can swim, climb, and scamper better than most other critters. (One mode of transportation that they don’t do is flight, and that can be excused for lack of wingage.) But riding atop the Sugar Man was a wholly new form of transportation. And even though J’miah had mixed emotions, it was much more expedient than trekking by foot through the dark trails of the forest.

  “Let’s go,” Bingo urged.

  And with that, the Sugar Man began to plod his way along, toward the Bayou Tourterelle and the canebrake sugar. Bingo and J’miah looked down at Gertrude, slithering ahead of them in the water. She was, in fact, a monster of a rattlesnake. But from their vantage points she didn’t look nearly so menacing.

  What was menacing was the rumble-rumble-rumble-rumble.

  “Hurry,” Bingo said.

  “Hurry,” J’miah said.

  To our little Scouts, looking around at the beautiful green trees, with their wispy beards of moss,
seeing the silvery bayou as it slowly slid to the sea, breathing in the thick, moist air of early summer, it seemed like the whole world was depending upon them.

  “Hurry up,” they said. “Hurry.”

  88

  THERE WAS PLENTY OF HURRY-UP going on at Paradise Pies Café. Chap stuffed sugarcane into the juicer as fast as he could. Mom rolled out the batter. And Coyoteman Jim washed the coffee cups. The deep-fat fryer bubbled with pies.

  Sweetums was in a hurry too. “Heads up, people!” he said. But before he could really process his family’s failures of comprehension . . . rumble, rumble, rumble, rumble . . . he scrambled for his place underneath Chap’s bed. The floorboards shook. The bed above him shook. What if the bed fell on top of him? He shot out from under there. But the open room was too . . . open.

  The closet!

  He darted into the farthest corner and curled into a very tight ginger ball. He had done what he could.

  Rumble-rumble-rumble-rumble.

  89

  IN THE CAFÉ, THE LAST of the regular customers had just rolled away when Chap looked through the kitchen window and saw the Hummer roll in. Like it had before, it took up the entire parking lot and then some.

  As Chap watched, the driver hurried to the side doors and swung them open. Twenty-four people, including Sonny Boy and Jaeger, stepped onto the red gravel surface. Chap could see that all of them were dressed in fancy suits and shiny shoes; the mayor and her husband even wore matching scarves. None of their outfits were suitable for mucking about in the swamp. In their hands each of them held a gold-plated shovel. Chap watched as one by one the dignitaries leaned their shovels against the porch rail.

  “Guess they’re gonna eat pies first, then do the ceremony,” said Coyoteman Jim. Chap could tell that was right. The golden shovels gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  “Pies for everyone,” ordered Sonny Boy Beaucoup as they filed in through the door. In the kitchen, the sound of Sonny Boy’s voice scraped against Chap’s insides. The knot of humiliation that had smacked him earlier reared back and smacked him again. Whatever manliness he had acquired over the past few days flew right out the window. Worst of all, Chap now knew exactly what it meant to “be put in one’s place.”

  Face it, old Chap, he thought. You lost.

  But as he waited for the twenty-four dignitaries to take their seats, he made a decision. He might have lost, but he was not a loser. He was not going to let Sonny Boy Beaucoup, with his stupid socks, know that he, Audie Brayburn’s grandson, had been bested. His mind raced over the image of the greater roadrunner his grandfather had drawn in the sketchbook, the one with the heart drawn over its breast. It rested on the word “greater.” “Greater Chaparral.” That’s what it said. Not “greater roadrunner.” Not “lesser roadrunner.” Greater Chaparral.

  And with that in mind, he straightened into his full six-foot-plus frame. He might be a boy, but he was a tall boy. Taller than Sonny Boy. Taller than Jaeger Stitch. Taller even than the mayor and her husband.

  Like trees. Grandpa’s voice whispered in his ear.

  With that, Chap walked out of the kitchen with a heaping tray of fresh, hot fried sugar pies and started serving them up. As soon as the dignitaries got a whiff of them, they dug in. All you could hear was chewing and chomping.

  The smell of sugar filled the air.

  Finally, the mayor said, “My, those were wonderful.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and grinned. That was followed by many, many compliments. When everyone was finished, Sonny Boy tried to hand Chap a stack of bills. “Here,” he said, “this should cover it.”

  Chap looked at the stack. He could see that it was way more money than was called for. “I threw in a little tip,” Sonny Boy said. Then he started laughing his ridiculous laugh. Chap was used to tips. Most of their customers left tips. But this was more than a tip. It was something else. It was pity. Sonny Boy thrust it at him again. “Here, boy,” he said. But Chap just stood there. He wanted nothing to do with Sonny Boy’s money or his pity.

  And even though there were more than two dozen people in the same room with him, Chap felt more alone than ever. The cloud of lonesome that his grandpa had left behind sat right between his shoulder blades.

  While Chap stood there, staring at the wad of cash in Sonny Boy’s outstretched hand, Chap’s mother walked up. He would let her handle the money. But instead of reaching out for it, she put a dab of flour on Chap’s cheek. And in that simple gesture, Chap felt the smallest bit of courage.

  “Keep it,” he told Sonny Boy. “It’s on the house.”

  90

  THEY SAY THAT LIGHTNING NEVER strikes in the same place twice, but the same is not true for courage. As it turns out, when courage strikes, it almost always begets more courage.

  “Whatever,” said Sonny Boy, staring at Chap, who suddenly seemed way too tall to be a twelve-year-old boy. Sonny Boy tucked the wad of bills back into his pocket. Then he and Jaeger led the rest of the groundbreaking contingency out the front door. One by one they collected their gold-plated shovels.

  While they were doing that, Chap Brayburn, filled with twice-struck courage, rushed to the back porch. He swung open the door and hauled the pirogue, now two-thirds filled with cash, down the steps and into the yard. The groundbreakers would have to walk right by it, and sure enough there they came.

  Chap blurted out to Sonny Boy, “Here you go, Mr. Beaucoup. As long as you’re taking cash, you might as well take a boatload.”

  Sonny Boy stopped in his tracks. Chap could tell that he had not expected that. So he added, “It was a deal, remember?” Sonny Boy tried to ignore Chap. He looked over his shoulder. He brushed the front part of his seersucker suit and straightened his tie. Then he waved for the shovelers to press ahead.

  But first, the mayor chimed in, “You made a deal with this young man? What deal?” By then Chap’s mother and Coyoteman Jim had caught up with the crowd.

  Chap could see that Sonny Boy felt cornered. His jaw tightened. He clenched his teeth. His freckles popped out against the skin of his pale cheeks. Jaeger stepped up next to him. Her eyes blazed.

  Chap spoke up, “A deal—a boatload of cash.” He didn’t mention the Sugar Man.

  “That’s exactly what you said,” added his mother. She walked up next to Chap.

  “Sure I did,” said Sonny Boy, trying to get his jaw loose enough to smile. Then he pointed to the pirogue. “But surely you don’t call that a boat?” He paused. “When I said a ‘boat,’ I meant something along the lines of a yacht.” All at once, Chap realized how small the little pirogue was, only large enough for two, himself and his grandfather. Somehow the bills that rested inside it looked pathetic.

  And with that, Sonny Boy said, “Does anybody see a boat here?”

  “I don’t see a boat,” said one of the dignitaries.

  “Boat?”

  “Is that a boat?”

  “Rather picayune, if you ask me.”

  Picayune? What does that even mean?

  Then, to Chap’s disbelief, Sonny Boy took his toe and turned the pirogue onto its side. The small bills that had been set in there so lovingly by Chap and his mother and Coyoteman Jim, set there with so much hope, went floating out into the afternoon air. Some of them flew into the trees, some of them wafted into the pricker vines and stuck there. Most of them just sat beside the boat in a modest heap.

  “Oops,” said Sonny Boy. (We believe that is the third “oops” we’ve heard recently.) As if that weren’t bad enough, Sonny Boy said, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the Sugar Man, too?” Sonny Boy’s laughter rolled over Chap’s crushed heart. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Jaeger stepped in with her own brand of humor. “I don’t suppose pigs fly,” she said, whereupon another gale of laughter engulfed the group.

  Chap wanted to spit on Jaeger Stitch, but then he decided that he didn’t want to waste his good spit. Instead, he crossed his arms and spun around. He couldn’t look at them anymore, couldn’t look at his grandfather’s bo
at, lying on its side.

  Chap closed his eyes as tight as he could to keep the hot, furious tears from rolling down his cheeks. Finally, he opened them again and turned back toward the bayou. He could see the backs of the groundbreakers as they marched in a single line toward the canebrake. With their gold-plated shovels over their shoulders, they looked like horrid little trolls, going to dig a hole that would drain the entire swamp.

  Chap felt like he was caught in their hideous whirlpool. To keep from being sucked under, he sat down hard, right on the ground, and dropped his burning face into his hands.

  But then he had a horrible thought: The groundbreakers were on the trail to the canebrake. With his heart pounding in his chest, he realized, Oh no! Each one of the dignitaries was a walking, talking target for . . . Crotalus horridus. Canebrake rattlers.

  He might have hated all of those gold-plated shovelers, but he was still . . . “Wait!” he called. “Wait!” He ran after them.

  But instead of heeding his pleas, Sonny Boy turned around and snapped at him. “Haven’t we had enough out of you, kid?”

  “Snakes!” said Chap.

  But the marchers just kept on marching.

  91

  IN THE DEEPEST, DARKEST RECESSES of Chap’s closet, Sweetums curled his ginger body into a ginger ball. The rumble-rumble-rumble-rumbles were making him shed. He was a sorry sight.

  92

  FOR AN EVEN SORRIER SIGHT, take a look at Sonny Boy Beaucoup’s socks. As he walked down the trail behind his merry band, Jaeger in the lead, his socks kept getting snagged on the pricker vines, which seemed to reach for them. Step. Snag. Step. Snag.

  He finally leaned down to pull one of the burrs out. “Ouch!” The points were sharp. They poked into his fingertips.

  Then he stumbled over another pricker vine. He reached for it. “Ouch!” A drop of blood pooled on his fingertip. For a moment he felt a little woozy. He had never been very good at the sight of blood, especially his own.