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By Henry P. Gravelle
At the age of thirteen I was a spry, curious Creole boy growing up in a small
farming community deep within Cameron Parish, southwest of Lafayette,
Louisiana. Since papa had left home, at least we thought he did, couldn’t tell for
sure, we all did our share to help mamma raise us. So like my brothers and
sisters, I did whatever I could to help put food on the table.
Papa loved to fish, ‘specially catfish from the rivers and inlets along the bayous.
He used to bring a few home and we would have a feast with the crawfish,
jambalaya and pies mamma and my three sisters would serve up. Yep, them
were the good ole days before papa went fishing on Grenouille Pond and never
came back.
He said he wanted to try his luck somewhere else. Somewhere he had a hunch
held some big fish and a place maybe nobody else had fished ‘fore. He
gathered his fishing pole and headed out to the pond on the Marquette’s farm.
Next day we found papa’s pole and bait box beside a clump of earth raised from
a fallen tree, left there as though he had just strolled away. We never heard
from him again, just vanished from the face of the earth.
I still can recall that hot summer with humid days and warm, moonlit nights. I
worked for a nickel a day on the Marquette Farm not far from our three-room
shanty. It was my job to clean out the stables, while my older brother rubbed
down and cooled the horses.
Mamma cleaned the house and sometimes kept an eye on Guy, the only son of
the Marquette’s. Guy was a shy kind of boy, kept pretty much to his self but I
liked him.
Mamma would bring Guy home to our house on occasion to share sausage pie
or shrimp gumbo. Afterwards, Guy and me would follow the path through the
western pasture of his fathers farm down to the swampy lowlands were we
eventually arrived at Grenouille Pond.
The pond was a black inkwell of murky water surrounded by fallen trees, brush
and moss, shaped like a horseshoe with its deepest end at the arc of the shoe.
Papa claimed it was near twenty-feet deep there.
Cypress and gum trees fallen by storms and time defined the muddy edge of the
pond with sharp angles and twisted branches. A few algae coated boulders
jutted from the mire near the tip of one horseshoe tine. An uprooted tree trunk
firmly caught between a boulder and its moss-coated stump on the bank
provided a perfect bench to net bulls.
Most of the algae coated water was in shade from the surrounding canopy of
thick vegetation. The trees seemed to guard the pond from the eyes of intruders
like it was trying to remain undiscovered by humanity and left to stand alone
within its private existence. Not many folks were aware of the pond but those
who did treasured its gift and spoke of Grenouille Pond with a sort of reverence.
Papa was the one who named it, called it Grenouille meaning frog, ‘cause the
banks of the pond were lined with the biggest and loudest bullfrogs you would
ever hope to see. That was the gift of this hellish watering hole infested with the
humming clouds of mosquitoes and other creatures, including a few angry
cottonmouths … the gift of food.
Here papa would come and harvest one, maybe two-dozen bulls then bring ‘em
back to the house for us to de-leg and skin. The Marquette’s even paid mamma
extra for her special frog leg delights and we would eat like kings.
But it was my job now. I was chosen to continue the frog hunting and I did almost
every night. That was the best time, when they came out to feed. They’d be
lined up along the edge of the pond croakin’ that ‘jug o rum’ deep tone until it
sounded like one big bass drum. I wasn’t as good as papa but I managed to net
me six or so.
One night during that summer especially remains burned in my memory,
haunting me to this day because of my failure to alert someone, anyone. But I
knew it would do no good, no one would’ve believed a young black boy in
Cameron Parish. I will always remember that night, the night I saw it.
Guy and me had made our way to the pond and sat quietly near the rock with the
tree across it. We heard bulls near the rock and wanted to approach quietly.
We waited, allowing our eyes to adjust to the moonlit waters and shoreline. Then
a voice from behind scared the devil out of us.
“Those bulls are mine.”
I sucked in a lung full of night air. Guy gasped aloud. The croaking along the
shore ceased followed by some heavy splashes as the bulls scattered for the
water. We turned to find a single shadowy form standing near the pathway along
the marshy shore. It was Royce Henry.
“Now see what ‘ya went and did?” The tone of his meaning was anger but he
said it in a whisper. Royce was the parish bully but he still respected the first rule
of bull hunting. Keep quiet
“Ya scared us, Royce.” I offered softly.
“Shut up boy. No one’s talking to you.” He pushed me aside with one of his
unusually large hands. Royce was two years older and two feet taller than most
so he got what he wanted and took what he needed. I was glad we didn’t catch
anything yet ‘cause he would have taken ‘em, the biggest ones anyway.
“Ya scared them into the water, now I have to bait and wait,” he said into Guy’s
astonished face. Royce’s fist balled up and came inches from Guy’s nose.
“I should beat the crap outta ya but it would make too much noise.” He glared
into Guy’s wide eyes, “take your boy and get home before I change my mind.”
Guy gulped then headed for the path and off the pond’s edge into the tree line. I
took a few steps then glanced back at Royce. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to
wait for him to leave so I could return to our spot among the brush. Guy called
out for me, in turn alerting Royce of my hesitation. He came to me quickly,
whispering tensely through clenched teeth. “I told you to scram!”
In the darkness of the swampy pond I never saw his fist. It slapped aside my jaw
and knocked me to the ground. Guy returned helping me to my feet.
“Go on boy, get on outta ‘ere … before I use your ass for bait.”
Massaging a growing bump on the side of my jaw formed by Royce’s knuckle, I
slowly walked with Guy onto the pathway out. Once we cleared the trees and
reached the pasture I stopped.
“I’m going back.” I stated defiantly.
“Are you crazy boy? That nutcase will toss you in the pond after he beats the tar
outta ya.” Guy walked backwards as he spoke. “I’m not going back.”
“I have to, I need the bulls.”
“Good luck.” Guy said quickening his pace for home. I knew in my heart he was
a friend but he was also a prime target for bullies like Royce ‘cause he submitted
to them every time.
Silently and carefully I returned to another spot along the shore far enough to
hunt on my own but keeping Royce in sight. He sat still atop the largest boulder
nestled furthest into the black water unaware of my presence. I could see in his
grip a net raised and ready to swoop down on the bulls once they returned to
feeding and croaking.
It was the first time I ever really noticed the strange beauty of the silent water, its
dark shadowy forms and whispered sounds of insects and swimming creatures.
The moon’s light reflected off the water lilies and duckweed like a mirror
displaying the ring of treetops around the shore. I almost forgot about Royce.
Then I spotted movement in the water, ripples at first and then something silently
slipped to the surface. I thought Royce had tossed something into the water but
he was unmoving, sitting quietly… waiting.
I don’t think he was aware of the floating object directly in front of him. Perhaps
the angle of the moonlight didn’t let him see it floating nearer, but I did.
Squinting, I was able to see it was like two watermelons surfaced and were
innocently floating towards the rocks and Royce.
Suddenly a lighter shade of black lowered over the front of each of the two
round, black floating objects, like a shade being drawn in a window.
My heart jumped in my chest when I realized they were huge eyes that just
blinked, like bulls do with that protective film.
Eyelids!
I swear I did not have a second to think, cry out and warn ole Royce or even take
a deep breath, it happened so quickly. Royce might have seen the approaching
head but thought the light on the water was playing tricks with his imagination.
It was the size of a pick up trucks hood and closed in on him swiftly. The black
form of the giants back crested the water and opened its monstrous mouth
exposing the yellow throat of a male bull. Realizing what had surfaced nearly ten
feet from him Royce also opened his mouth, to scream.
A sticky mass quickly unfolded from the creature’s mouth snapping with a juicy
slap as it found its mark and engulfed Royce in its hold.
He gasped as the remaining air gushed out of his lungs with the huge tongue
bringing in its dinner. I placed myself behind a tree and watched the monster slip
under the dank water. Then I ran.
Well as expected, the Sheriff came calling a few days later to hear what I had to
say about the disappearance of Royce Henry. Seems my friend Guy had let it be
known I had an argument with him and went back into Grenouille Pond where
Royce was.
I told the Sheriff that I did have the fight and did start to go back but changed my
mind after I felt my jaw starting to swell up so I went on home. I never saw Royce
after that. I reckon no one did.
That was many summers ago and the incident at Grenouille Pond has been a
lifetime secret locked away deep in the farthest corner of my memory. I never
went there again. Caught my bulls at another pond four miles walking distance
away where I felt a lot safer.
I was the only one who knew the real fate of papa and Royce Henry and why they
never came home. Sometimes I feel guilty ‘bout knowing and not telling.
Sometimes things are better left as is. Who gonna believe an old fool anyhow?
Over the years I married and was blessed with seven children like my papa
excepting I have grand kids and great grand kids. Something he didn’t get to
enjoy ‘cause of that pond. Wasn’t long ago my friend Guy went fishing on the
pond and never came home … he clean disappeared also.
Marquette Farm was since sold to a developer who’s gonna build houses on the
pastures and rolling fields. Grenouille Pond (that’s the official Parish name for it
now) will be pumped out and filled in starting today. This ole boy hopes they
have a big ‘nough net.
The End
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