Shrimp Party

Shrimping is fun.

Bolden and Bailey work the pulleys, and on both sides of the boat, the mesh nets come down and sink into the water. Willie Mae counts the time and when she’s ready, she shouts, “Rise!”

Up, up come the nets. Some hauls are fair, some good. This one is GREAT. Rushing seawater drains from the nets. “Pull!” shouts Bolden. He and Bailey make the nets move inward, over the deck. Water sprays everything. Me and Bear giggle, already soaked.

The nets burst with shrimp, wriggling like oversize brown bugs.

“Open!” me and Bear squeal, and Bolden and Bailey make the nets spring wide. Thousands of shrimp tumble down and out.

I never knew shrimp had fanned tails, three pairs of legs, long antennae, and bulging black eyes. In the store, shrimp are frozen-white and curled like a C.

Here, seeing them flop on deck makes you wonder how such funny pink creatures can taste so good.

Me and Bear start hollering. “Thank you!” “Thank you!” “Thank you so much!”

“Who you thanking?” asks Willie Mae, handing me a wide broom.

“The shrimp. Like Sweet Pea giving us eggs for eating, I’m thanking the shrimp for the goodness they’ll give us.”

“You sound like Queenie.” Then, she tells Bailey and Bolden, “Thank the shrimp. Thank them for gumbo. Jambalaya. Shrimp étouffée. Shrimp and grits. Barbecued shrimp. Boiled shrimp. Thank them for the—what did you say, Maddy?”

“For the goodness they’ll give us.”

“The goodness they’ll give us,” echoes Bear.

“Thank you, thank you,” everyone calls as we sweep and sweep the shrimp into the ice-filled hold.

Wearing gloves, me and Bear check corners and beneath ropes, and pluck shrimp still caught in the net. Not a single shrimp is forgotten.

Soaking wet, our arms, legs, and backs aching, everyone’s happy.

“Bear,” calls Bailey. “Come here.” Bailey tousles Bear’s hair and gives him a wet, sloppy hug. Pleased, Bear, eyes closed on his pa’s chest, hugs back.

Bolden, grinning, says, “Close the hatch. Time to head home.”

Me and Willie Mae snap the locks in place. The engine chugs to life. More sun, wind, salt, and shrimp smells. Pelicans and swallows swoop low, sniffing our boat, searching for spare shrimp.

Bailey, Bolden, and Willie Mae are in the cabin. Laughter floats out. Bailey talks about “good eating.”

Bolden crows, “Shrimping and the bayou belong together. Like white on rice.”

Bear and I sit on cushions, staring over the side into blue water. We’re quiet. My bones are tired. I feel good. Tonight, I’ll introduce Bear to Mami Wata.

“Look, Maddy. A dolphin.”

“Where?”

“There.”

I gaze where Bear’s pointing. A few waves out, there’s a shadow gliding, keeping pace with the boat.

“Hope it jumps.”

“Me, too.” I see the tail flap up, down. It changes course, swimming ever closer to the boat. I squint. Light reflecting off the waves makes it hard to see.

Its upper body seems more brown than gray. Long black strands—seaweed?—fan back and sideways.

“Probably a bottlenose.” The shadow disappears. “It’s gone now. Too bad it didn’t jump.” Bear sits, cross-legged, on deck.

Kneeling, I lean farther and farther over the boat’s side. The shadow appears again, swimming closer and closer. I think it might be Wata.

I stretch my hand.

A hand reaches upward. Fingertips touch. I see black eyes.

I squeal and fall back on Bear. “Whoa!” he gasps, steadying me.

“You kids all right?” yells Bailey, poking his head out of the cabin.

“We’re fine,” I say.

“What’s wrong, Maddy?”

Breathing heavy, I say, “Secret, Bear. I saw another mermaid.”

Scrambling up, clutching the boat’s ledge, Bear asks, “Where, Maddy? Where?”

“There. Don’t you see her? You saw her shadow before.”

Bear stares ever so hard, searching the sun-streaked ocean. “I don’t see anything,” he says sadly.

“She’s there.”

I see silver, not rainbow scales. A face lighter brown than black. Black eyes, pink lips. Unsmiling, she swims back and forth, like she’s pacing beside the boat.

Dumbstruck, I shake my head. “She’s not Mami Wata.”

“You mean there’re more? More mermaids?”

“Hello,” I call. But I don’t hear sounds back.

“Look!” I shout. “Another mermaid!”

“Where?”

“And another,” I point right.

“I don’t see anything,” Bear complains. “Not even a shadow.”

“You believe me, don’t you?” It’s important that Bear believes me.

“I believe you, Maddy.”

The mermaids keep pace with the boat. “Grandmère couldn’t see them, either.”

“If Queenie couldn’t see them, I surely won’t. What do they look like, Maddy?” Bear asks, good-natured, excited.

“One has black eyes and silver scales. This one, treading right here, has tan skin and white hair. All three seem young.” I pause. Three.

“The third one, Maddy. What does she look like?”

My throat feels dry. “Her scales are bright blue. She’s wearing a circle of yellow flowers on her head.”

“I’ve bet they’re beautiful.”

“They are.” Heartache comes in threes. But I can’t believe these mermaids mean harm.

All three raise their arms. They seem to be embracing the whole sky.

Their arms lower, and they point to the horizon. I search the distance, the invisible line from their fingers, through air, stretching to where water meets sky. And then I spot it.

A thin, black line like someone took a felt marker and drew. And drew. And drew.

The line thickens.

Scared, I remember my dream.

Black ink—no, crude—spreads like a thick blanket over the water.

Panicked, I shake Bear’s arm. “Do you see? Do you see?”

“Shhh, Maddy, shhh.” Patting my back, Bear tries to comfort me.

“I’m not crazy, Bear.”

“Never thought you were.”

Mermaids. Blackening water. I’m not sure what it means. Water laps against the boat; crests of foam rise and fall. “The mermaids are gone,” I whisper, my voice catching.

Washed with sunlight, the sea sparkles blue again.

Motorboating, hearing whiffs of grown-ups’ chatter, smelling sea and shrimp, the day seems happy. But, trembling, I slump on the deck.

Something bad is going to happen.

Quiet, Bear sits beside me. He’s patient.

“I did see a shadow, Maddy. That must mean something.”

“Yes, Bear.”

But my dream stays with me.

Something bad will happen.