behind the empty house Mr. Derby appeared on his back porch. He swung a big wet gunnysack carefully from his back onto the porch floor, revealing a dark spot on his blue jumper where the sack had rested. As he shuffled into the house, his black rubber boots made a swishing sound on the worn hearthstone of the kitchen door.
He came out a few seconds later with three fishing nets and several bamboo fishing poles from four and a half to five feet long. He stood them in the far corner of the porch and hung the nets on a nail to dry.
One day I’ll be big enough to go crawdadding, he thought. The words sounded so strange that he imagined that he could see them, thathe could rub his finger through them, and that the white stuff would come off on his hands. Just then he heard Mr. Derby say:
“When you git high enough to stand waist-deep in three feet a muddy water I’ll take you. But you have to mind me boy, an’ do like I tell you. Then you kin go. ’T won’ be as long as you think — a couple a Fourth a Julys an’ Christmases or so — an’ you’ll be crawdaddin’ afore you know it!”
The words resounded as though he were hearing them from somewhere down the alley. Then suddenly thinking and talking stopped. He became all eyes because Mr. Derby was taking down the No. 3 tub that hung against the wall beside the kitchen window. Now he withdrew from his pocket a huge jackknife with a handle like the bark of a tree and cut the string around the neck of the sack. Then he grabbed the sack by the open, sagging end with one hand, grabbed hold of the bottom with the other, and tilted it so that the crawdads tumbled into the tub.
He watched the small grayish green crawdads scrambling futilely in the tub, their long feelers wavering, their sharp claws viciously biting the heads, legs, and tails of their neighbors. They all scrambled to reach the top of the pile, to gain the uppermost rim of the tub — to be free. The tub was so full that some of the big ones, which were almost six inches long and as round as Bra Mo’s thumb, almost escaped. But as soon as an apparently unnoticed one was about to get away, one of the others, which until then had also escaped notice, sometimes a little one not half as big, would catch him in his pincers by the tail or hind leg and pull him down again.
“People’s like that, boy,” said Mr. Derby without looking up: “Just like a mess of crawdads.” He nodded agreement to the back of his old brown hat knowing that the man whose attention was bent upon his work had seen him nod.
How
does he know? Amerigo looked at the sky, at the trees, at a cloud floating just above Mrs. Crippa’s roof; they all nodded, too.
Mr. Derby was spreading his sacks out on the floor of the yard near the garbage can to dry. Then he stepped into the kitchen and returned immediately with a big can of salt. He poured it over the squirming crawdads:
“That’s to make ’um puke,” said Mr. Derby.
He says that every time! — watching the crawdads scramble more confusedly than ever, their black beady eyes glistening on the outsides of their heads like miniature stars. It looked like they had been snowed on.
Mrs. Derby came out of the kitchen carrying a No. 2 tub, a little smaller than the No. 3. She placed it beside the other one and without a word went back into the kitchen. Then there was the sound of a rush of water beating against the bottom of a tin bucket from within the kitchen, and of water splashing against water, and of the pipe moaning just before she turned off the tap. Then came another bucket and the same medley of sounds, after which she immediately appeared on the porch with two buckets full of water, which she poured into the No. 2 tub. She patiently repeated this process four times, until the tub was full. Then she returned to the kitchen and did not return for a while.
She’s making the fire. Mr. Derby bit off a plug of his Brown Mule chewing tobacco, which he had withdrawn from his left
He came out a few seconds later with three fishing nets and several bamboo fishing poles from four and a half to five feet long. He stood them in the far corner of the porch and hung the nets on a nail to dry.
One day I’ll be big enough to go crawdadding, he thought. The words sounded so strange that he imagined that he could see them, thathe could rub his finger through them, and that the white stuff would come off on his hands. Just then he heard Mr. Derby say:
“When you git high enough to stand waist-deep in three feet a muddy water I’ll take you. But you have to mind me boy, an’ do like I tell you. Then you kin go. ’T won’ be as long as you think — a couple a Fourth a Julys an’ Christmases or so — an’ you’ll be crawdaddin’ afore you know it!”
The words resounded as though he were hearing them from somewhere down the alley. Then suddenly thinking and talking stopped. He became all eyes because Mr. Derby was taking down the No. 3 tub that hung against the wall beside the kitchen window. Now he withdrew from his pocket a huge jackknife with a handle like the bark of a tree and cut the string around the neck of the sack. Then he grabbed the sack by the open, sagging end with one hand, grabbed hold of the bottom with the other, and tilted it so that the crawdads tumbled into the tub.
He watched the small grayish green crawdads scrambling futilely in the tub, their long feelers wavering, their sharp claws viciously biting the heads, legs, and tails of their neighbors. They all scrambled to reach the top of the pile, to gain the uppermost rim of the tub — to be free. The tub was so full that some of the big ones, which were almost six inches long and as round as Bra Mo’s thumb, almost escaped. But as soon as an apparently unnoticed one was about to get away, one of the others, which until then had also escaped notice, sometimes a little one not half as big, would catch him in his pincers by the tail or hind leg and pull him down again.
“People’s like that, boy,” said Mr. Derby without looking up: “Just like a mess of crawdads.” He nodded agreement to the back of his old brown hat knowing that the man whose attention was bent upon his work had seen him nod.
How
does he know? Amerigo looked at the sky, at the trees, at a cloud floating just above Mrs. Crippa’s roof; they all nodded, too.
Mr. Derby was spreading his sacks out on the floor of the yard near the garbage can to dry. Then he stepped into the kitchen and returned immediately with a big can of salt. He poured it over the squirming crawdads:
“That’s to make ’um puke,” said Mr. Derby.
He says that every time! — watching the crawdads scramble more confusedly than ever, their black beady eyes glistening on the outsides of their heads like miniature stars. It looked like they had been snowed on.
Mrs. Derby came out of the kitchen carrying a No. 2 tub, a little smaller than the No. 3. She placed it beside the other one and without a word went back into the kitchen. Then there was the sound of a rush of water beating against the bottom of a tin bucket from within the kitchen, and of water splashing against water, and of the pipe moaning just before she turned off the tap. Then came another bucket and the same medley of sounds, after which she immediately appeared on the porch with two buckets full of water, which she poured into the No. 2 tub. She patiently repeated this process four times, until the tub was full. Then she returned to the kitchen and did not return for a while.
She’s making the fire. Mr. Derby bit off a plug of his Brown Mule chewing tobacco, which he had withdrawn from his left
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