The Red-Hot Cajun (25 page)

Guar-an-teed!

Justin, meanwhile, was taping everyone and everything, Val at his side doing the interviews to go with the film. Rene was impressed with her professionalism... and, okay, with Justin’s expertise, too. Even the guy who owned the bait shed along the road, which also advertised alligator meat, got his chance to vent for nationwide TV. Rene noticed Justin doing a few close-ups of Val, which tempted him to do something foolish, such as knock out his perfect front teeth. But Justin also gave equal film coverage to him and other members of the crew. Rene was deliberately keeping his shirt on, just in case he found himself on some poster someday. He could see it now, himself as “The Very Virile Cajun.” Heck, they might even put such a picture on Juju tea. Yeah, that’s what he needed—his naked chest on tea bags around the world.

They planned to spend a week or two filming the bayous, the marshland, and the barrier islands. Then Justin and Val would go off by themselves—
which pleased him to no end.
..
not!
—while he took care of personal business, including some job interviews. It was time to think about what kind of work he wanted to do in the future. Justin and Val at this point would only be developing a proposal for the documentary to be shown to some big shot named Anderson in New York City. If he didn’t buy it, there were a few other cable channels that might be interested.

It sounded well-organized and as if it were running according to plan. Not so. Not with seven people involved, all having strong opinions to express.

Most of all, though, he worried about the danger. Not for him and J.B. and Maddie, but the others.

They weren’t accustomed to the anti-environmentalist sentiments that abounded, even from their own people, who viewed their efforts as a potential trigger for a loss of jobs.

Val, himself, J.B., and Maddie had all gotten voice mails threatening their lives if they proceeded with the documentary. Water had been poured into the gas tank on the boat, which caused delays. His bank called in the mortgage on his town house, which he already put on the market. But he had to have Luc file orders to “cease and desist” with their threats of a sheriff’s sale until the structure was sold. Val’s mother claimed she was disinheriting her daughter if she continued with this “foolishness.” The windshield of J.B.’s truck was shattered by what appeared to be a bullet.

He’d discussed the danger with all of them. J.B. and Maddie would die for the cause so this latest threat didn’t faze them. Tante Lulu said, “I’m almos’ eighty years old. Let ‘em take me iffen they wants.”

Tee-John considered it a great adventure. Justin said that he’d faced worse in Iraq. And Val, bless her heart, said she felt alive for the first time in five years. Let them try to stop her.

Ihope I have something to do with her feeling alive, too.
That’s what Rene thought, but he wasn’t about to say that to her, not with five sets of ears listening in.

So now they were off, chugging down the bayou, heading slowly toward the Gulf. This was backcountry at its best. Along the way they saw fields of golden green marsh grass. Pink blooming mimosa trees added a bit of color. What habitation there was, outside the small towns, came in the form of fishing camps or clapboard cottages on pilings, always trying to escape the encroaching sea. Several times they saw gators in the water and on the banks, some of them as much as ten feet long, just staring at them with their googly eyes for daring to intrude into their world. There was even the occasional porpoise, romping playfully in the water; they came inland to feed on the crabs and fish.

One of the problems was the saltwater intrusion that was being caused by the coastal erosion. In essence, as the saltwater moved farther and farther inland they were pickling the swamplands. As a result many animals were pushing north, like gators and oysters.

Traffic was light on the bayou today, but still there were fishing boats going out and coming in. All the vessels were manned by deeply tanned fishermen who waved happily at them as they passed.

Rene walked over to stand by Val, who was leaning on the rail. The moving boat created a slight breeze that offered some relief from the intense heat. She was watching the landscape pass by—a landscape he considered beautiful. But what did she think?

There were things that could be done. Filling in oil company canals. Rebuilding barrier islands.

Rerouting the Mississippi River for controlled flooding as a first step for dumping new sediment.

In the meantime, a disaster of horrific magnitude that would affect the entire world was taking place here, but he didn’t know if he had the ability to
show
her and Justin how bad it was. The coastal wetlands were vanishing at such a shocking rate, there would eventually be no shield at all against the hurricanes that assaulted this area routinely, thus leaving two million people exposed.
How do I get that point across? I
could use a little help here, St. Jude.

You’re doing just fine,
that voice in his head said.

“So what do you think so far?” he asked Val, looping an arm over her shoulder.

“Some of these people are so poor, and yet they seem so happy,” she remarked.

“They are happy. And why not?”

“They barely eke out a living.”

“True, but they’re continuing a family tradition of living off the water. They feel the same way about the bayou as farmers do about their land.”

“I suppose so.”

“Many of their children have gone off to work in town, no longer willing to struggle so hard, always at the whim of the tides. But for those able to stay, it’s a good life. Perhaps not by Beverly Hills standards, but—”

“Oh, don’t go getting your back up. I wasn’t criticizing or being condescending. One of the first things a jury analyst is taught is not to judge people by first impressions.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. “How about that fisherman you interviewed yesterday in Houma? What did you think of him?”

“The guy with one hand and crooked teeth?”

He nodded.

“Well, on first glance, I would have thought, why doesn’t he get a prosthesis and why didn’t his parents put braces on him as a child?” She put up a hand to stop him when he was about to speak. “But immediately, I realized they both cost money, which they probably didn’t have. Nor medical insurance.”

“What else?”

“His name is Clarence Dubois. His nickname ‘Speedy’ was given to him for his ability to sort by-catch from shrimp so fast, before the accident. What sticks with me about him is his love for his family. Every other sentence he mentioned his wife, Rose, who works at a convenience store to supplement their income, and his three-year-old son Sam. I believe he is probably a hard drinker, but never at the expense of his family.”

“Not bad, but what you don’t know is that Speedy was an All-American high school quarterback at one time. He was offered athletic scholarships to a number of colleges. He chose this, instead.”

He could tell that she didn’t understand why a man would have made such a choice. Maybe by the end of this week she would.

“Oh my God! Look at that... over there. What is it?”

“A graveyard,” he said. “Those stones you see sticking out of the water are grave markers or sarcophagi.”

“Look at that stone angel. It must have sat on top of a large tombstone at one time. And look at that marble cross.” Val was clearly astounded.

“Holy shit!” Justin remarked from the other side. “Hey, J.B., can you stop this wreck so we can get a better look?” With his camera up to his eye he was already filming the marshland off to the right, and Val took out the small handheld recorder she used to take notes. “Talk to me while I do the filming, Rene,” said Justin. “And, Val, you’re recording, right?”

Rene began, “All this used to be land, obviously. I keep telling you that the Louisiana coastline is being washed out to sea. This is clear evidence of that fact. Why else would you see telephone poles like those over there submerged in the water, not to mention giant oak trees? In Louisiana, because of the low water tables, we bury our dead above ground, but in this case the water caught up with the cemetery anyhow.

Some fishermen love to work sites like this because there’s an abundance of fish; they hide among the nooks and crannies of the grave markers.”

“Eeew!” Tante Lulu interjected, having just come up from the galley kitchen, where it was probably 150 degrees. She wiped the moisture off her forehead and neck with a wet cloth. Her white T-shirt was indeed soiled already, both by perspiration and food. “Who’d wanna eat crabs or fishies what been feastin’ on human remains?”

“The human remains are still in their stone caskets, Auntie,” Rene said.
For now, anyhow.

Succulent smells of crawfish etouffee wafted up to them. The crawfish, also known as mudbugs, had been caught by an age-old method just this morning before they embarked on their journey. Maddie had swung a leafy green branch over the water, and J.B. had used a net to scoop up the crawfish that clung to the branches. Raw chicken necks worked just as well, tied to a long string.

J.B. killed the engines and dropped anchor. Using a telephoto lens, Justin was filming like crazy. “This is unbelievable,” he said with excitement. “I can see the letters on some of them, and they date back to the Civil War. In fact, one of them is for a Sergeant Jeremiah Delacorte, who died at Shiloh. God, the historical preservationists will have a field day with this.”

“At one time, not so long ago, either, there was a small town here, and it was twenty miles from the Gulf,” Rene noted. “I remember it well because it was a place where teenagers came to park. In fact, I lost my... oops!” He cut himself off. But too late.

Val flashed him a glare. “Was that before or after our big event... or, rather, non-event?”

“Shhh!” he said. Again, too late.

“What event?” Tante Lulu wanted to know.

“Betcha I know,” Tee-John offered, a wide grin on his face.

“See, the thunderbolt was already doin’ its work on you two long ago. It’s a sign.”

“The thunderbolt was definitely not involved back then. And it is not a sign.” Just then, he noticed that Justin was filming their ridiculous conversation and Val’s recorder was presumably still on. “I better not hear myself discussing thunderbolts on nationwide TV or losing my virginity in a freakin’ cemetery.”

Justin just smiled.

Tante Lulu made a
tsk-ing
sound at his language.

He decided to change the subject. “Back to this watery graveyard. The townspeople left, but they couldn’t take their dead with them. Eventually this area will probably be part of the Gulf itself, totally underwater, if nothing is done to save the coastline.”

Just then, some egrets rose from the marsh grass in a white cloud, like ghosts rising to the sky, or angels. A mystical silence overtook the scene. They were all stunned by the beauty of it. Luckily, Justin got it all on tape.

During the rest of the morning and afternoon they passed some small towns, often only a bait shed, a couple of trailers and fishing camps on stilts near the water, usually with patched tin roofs. Aside from those meager signs of habitation, it was mostly a solitary journey. Other boats, everything from small outboards to large trawlers, were on the water, usually passing them by, since they were going so slowly.

Early in the afternoon, they saw a shrimp boat coming back in. The captain slowed almost to a standstill and yelled out to J.B., who was apparently a friend, that the catch was meager that day, not worth going out for. He tossed over a bag full of freshly caught shrimp packed in ice.

“Do you like sushi?” Rene asked Val and Justin.

They both nodded.

“Try these then.” He cracked open and peeled a couple of shrimp, handing them the meat.

“I don’t know about this. Eating raw shrimp,” Val said, scrunching up her nose.

“Sushi,” he reminded her.

Justin tried his and made a swooning sound. “Mmm-mmm. That is delicious.”

Val tentatively tried hers. She, too, said it was wonderful, just the right amount of salty taste.

J.B., Maddie, Tee-John, even Tante Lulu, were partaking of the delicacy now, as well. There was nothing in the world like shrimp fresh from the water.

Rene used his thumb to wipe Val’s mouth after her third shrimp. Just that small touch ignited something between them. He knew how he felt, deep in his gut, but it gave him immense pleasure to see Val’s dark Creole eyes burn with the same awareness.

It had been a week since their night of lovemaking. They’d both had to go separate ways to get this project going. One night was not nearly enough. And there was going to be little chance of them connecting on this journey with so many other people around.

“I miss you,” he said in an undertone so others wouldn’t overhear.

“I miss you, too,” she said, and dammit, she didn’t keep her voice low.

Unfortunately Tante Lulu overheard. “Of course you two miss each other. The thunderbolt never misses.”