Snapper by Felicia Zekauskas, Peter Maloney Page A

My missing hand didn’t hurt or itch. In my case, I felt the bones of my missing hand trying to claw their way out of the turtle’s belly. Part of me – my hand – was a prisoner inside that beast. But no matter how much my hand clawed and scratched, it wasn’t getting out. It was trapped. There was only one way for my hand to escape. The beast had to be killed – and I had to do it. And that is what your Daddy and I were doing out on the lake that moonlit night.”
    Grandpa Owen shifted his grandson from one thigh to the other. When the boy was comfortably settled, he continued.
    “We paddled out to the middle of the lake. Then we lifted the trap door of the cage and we waited.”
    “Waited for what, Grandpa?”
    “We waited for the beast to come and take the bait.”
    “What did you use for bait, Grandpa?”
    The boy’s brain was teeming with possibilities.
    “I used what I knew it liked. I used one of my limbs. I greased my right leg with animal fat so that I could slip it in and out quickly without getting snagged. Then I slid it into the hole we had made in the top of the trap, and we waited.”
    “How did you know he would come, Grandpa?”
    “I didn’t know. But I had a feeling . The moon had been full the first time he attacked. I thought maybe the full moon might draw him out again. I did mention there was a full moon that night, didn’t I, Augie?”
    “Yes, Grandpa, you did, several times. A September moon.”
    “Yes, well, so as I was saying, we sat there and waited. And as we waited, I began to feel certain the turtle was coming. ‘He’s coming,’ I said to your Daddy. And your Daddy said, ‘How do you know?’ And I said, ‘I can feel my hand drawing near.’
    “The lake shimmered in the moonlight. The surface was still, calm, flat and shiny. Then suddenly your Daddy cried out, ‘Look!’ Your Daddy pointed. And I saw what he was pointing at. Cutting through the water like the fin of a shark was a wooden handle – the handle of the ax I had planted in the beast’s back the night it had attacked us.
    “‘Get ready!’ I told your Daddy.”
    “Get ready for what?” asked August. “What was my Daddy supposed to do?”
    “After the turtle went for my leg and the trap door dropped, your Daddy’s job was to cut the rope that secured the cage to our raft and then shove the boulders in the steel mesh sacks over the side.”
    “What would that do?” asked Augie.
    “Remember, the steel mesh bags full of boulders were connected by cables to the bottom of the trap. The plan was for those heavy rocks to drag the cage and the turtle in it to the bottom of the lake. We were going to bury him in the deep dark depths from which he came.”
    “So what happened. Grandpa?”
    “At first, only a few inches of the ax handle protruded above the surface. But as the monster approached, it stuck out higher and higher. It was closing fast. I wiggled the toes of my right foot to make our bait seem lively. Then, like a car crashing into a wall, the turtle struck. As it entered the cage, the handle of the ax was knocked backwards from its upright position. The trap door dropped down and the turtle began thrashing furiously. Through the hole in the top of the trap, it eyed us with unspeakable hatred. You’ve heard the saying, ‘If looks could kill?’ Well, if they could, none of us would be here today. Your Daddy and I would be dead, and you, my boy, would never have been born. But the monster’s eyes, yellow and horrible as they were, had no power to harm us. The beast’s weapons were its claws, its jaw, and its razor sharp beak. Its eyes? I spat in them! Then I told your Daddy, ‘Cut the rope!’ Your Daddy sawed through the rope. ‘Now shove the boulders overboard!” I told him. ‘It’s time to bury this bad boy!’”
    “But what about your leg, Grandpa? Did he bite it off when it was inside the trap?”
    “No, August. I pulled my leg out of the trap in the nick of time. That’s what