FINAL EPISODE – SWAMP TOUR

by Pat Laster


Before Bryan knew what had happened, Rhoda had removed his binocs and placed his camera on a bench. He wailed, “But alligators!”
“Alligators run and hide during September,” Doke answered and laughed. “Can you swim?”
“No!”
“Then we’ll hold your feet and dunk you. Anything in your pants that might fall out?”
The smelly man knew he was caught. He emptied his pockets and climbed the railing. “Don’t let go, for God’s sake!” he said, and held his nose as the two laughed and pushed him under then quickly hauled him up. His slightness was no problem, but his wet baggy clothes added a little bulk.
He sputtered and shook his head like a dog, wiping the water out of his eyes with dirt-encrusted knuckles.
“Next time you decide to join a group of folks,” Rhoda said, “for goodness sake, shower. Have a little respect for your neighbors.”
Doke picked up a beach towel and tossed it to the dripping photog-painter. “Let’s go get our mudbugs,” he said, and turning the boat in a wide arc, revved the motor. Rhoda and Bryan grabbed the railing and Henry Elmas rolled off the seat. He woke up.
“Wha . . . ?” He tried to speak as he rubbed his neck. When the boat was running smoothly again, Rhoda reached out to help him to the bench.
“You had a little fall, that’s all,” she lied. “Does your head hurt?” She patted his bald pate; his hat had rolled off when he fell.
“How do you know where to go back to?” the still-wet Bryan asked Doke.
“The trees guide me,” he answered. And soon, he slowed the boat and nosed in to the bank where Timothy waved from the sand bar. His sack bulged and he grinned broadly.
Doke opened the gate, reached a gaff out to a sapling and pulled the boat in as close as he could. Timothy pitched his sack into the gate and climbed in after it.
“Good eating next week, Miss Rhoda,” he said, smiling at his success and patting his bag. She kissed his muddy cheek. “Would you like a permanent job at my restaurant?” she asked.
The trip back was quiet. Doke pointed out an eagle that seemed to nod at them as they passed. Bryan Creston did get a photo of the gate of the boat, but he saw no other gates. He realized his mother was right and he determined to take better care of his hygiene.
Henry Elmas would have to wait on alligator shoes. He couldn’t remember what happened after he spotted the reptile swimming in the bayou. But he would need to order another hairpiece––one with better adhesive.
Rhoda got her crawfish and found someone who could keep her supplied with the delicacy. She kissed Doke’s cheek and slipped something into his shirt pocket as she exited the boat.
After all his passengers had departed, Major Doke Amos––feeling the thickness of the bills in his pocket––smiled at yet another experience with the weirdness of the non-Cajun species. From now on he would hide his rifle from the passengers.
Suddenly, he remembered something and reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a bright red business card with silver letters. Rhoda’s Restaurant, it said, and included a street address and a phone number. An arrow pointed to the back. He read the hand-written note.
It said, “Call me sometime.”
The end
© 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press