A Summer Morning

It was one of those long, hot summer days when school was out and the whole district of Harmony Hall seemed to belong to the boys now on summer school break. Glen, twelve years old and thin as a cane stalk, met his friends Tony and Clive by the old breadfruit tree at the edge of Mr. Grove property.

All three wore short pants and were barefoot. Glen carried a small cutlass while Tony and Clive each carried a small butter pan for the fish they intend to catch.

“Today wi a catch nuff black hag,” Glen declared.

“Bwoy ah would like fi catch a cray fish.” Tony responded. “Ah long time me nu catch one.”

Off to Jimmy River

The boys set off along the dirt path that wound through banana trees and open cow pastures. A cow chewed lazily beneath a guango tree. Goats nibbled at bushes. Tiny “grass squit” birds hopped among the grass while the black and yellow “beeny” birds darted through the air from tree to tree.

Jimmy River lay almost three miles away, but nobody minded the walk. Half the fun was getting there.

Along the way they searched for bananas. Whenever they found a bunch with fruit turning yellow and speckled black, they peeled and ate. By the time they reached the river, the sun was high overhead.

Jimmy River was not a wide river. During the dry season it became a narrow stream winding through stones and boulders. Water trickled through the center while shallow pools collected along the banks. Fallen leaves lay thick beneath the still water.

The Hunt Begins

The boys immediately got to work.

Clive scooped up a handful of wet leaves from the river bottom and flung them onto the bank. Instantly tiny fish called “jumpy seary” shrimps sprang in every direction.

“Hold dem! Catch dem!” Tony shouted. The boys grabbled at the little shrimps.

Within a few minutes they got deeply entrenched in their favorite fishing, slowly encircling rocks with both hands and grabbing the “black hogs” shrimps hiding in the cool water underneath them.  

Before long the butter pan held a respectable catch. Then Glen spotted something. A dark shape moved beneath a large stone in a deeper patch where water rushed around the rocks. His heart quickened.

“Tony,” he whispered. “Look deh.”

Tony crouched beside him. “Lawd! Dat look like crayfish!”

The boys froze. A crayfish was no ordinary catch. They were rare. Big ones were even rarer. Glen eased his hand beneath the stone. Slowly. Carefully. The water tugged against his arm. Then suddenly; SNAP!

The crayfish flipped against the rock. Its massive claws opened wide. Glen jerked back. “Watch him! Him big!”

The creature slowly backed up towards the hole under beneath the rock. It seemed determined to escape. Then Glen threw both hands forward. Splash! His fingers closed behind its head.

The crayfish twisted violently. Its claws snapped at the air. But Glen held him firmly.

“I get him!” His shout echoed through the river.

The boys watched excitedly yelling, “Is a big one Glen.”

The crayfish was enormous. Its shell glistened black and brown in the sunlight. Then a shadow fell across the water.

“Gimme dat.”
The voice was deep.

Trouble at the River

The boys turned. Blackie stood on the bank. Everybody knew Blackie. He was older, taller and heavier than most boys his age. He came from another section of the district; Cumsee it was called. Glen tightened his grip on the crayfish.

“No.”

“Mi see it first. Before you catch it.”

“No yuh lie.”

“Gimme it.”

Glen shook his head. “A mi catch it.”

The river suddenly became very quiet. Blackie stepped into the water.

“Ah say gimme it.”

Glen backed away. “No.”

The Crayfish Fight

In a flash Blackie lunged. His hand grabbed Glen’s wrist. The crayfish nearly slipped free. Glen twisted away. Blackie shoved him. Glen shoved back. The next moment both boys crashed into the water.

The cray fish slipped between two stone. Tony rushed forward and grabbed it before it flicked into the water.

Clive watched the boys fighting. “Lick ‘im Glen. Buss up ‘im mouth.” He shouted.

The boys rolled among the stones.

Blackie was stronger but Glen kicked him in the mouth. He grabbed Glen by the shoulders and threw him onto a shallow gravel bed.

Glen scrambled up and swung wickedly to the belly. The blow landed hard but Blackie roared and tackled him again flinging him into the water. Water flew everywhere.

Tony joined Clive shouting encouragement. “Buck ‘im, Glen!”

“Don’t mek him tief yuh crayfish!” Tony shouted.

But Blackie held Glen, pulling him, his knees scraped against the stones. His shirt tore.

In the excitement the fish flew from Tony’s hand and scuttled beneath a rock. Both boys froze.

The prize was gone. For a second neither moved. Then a voice thundered down the river.

Miss Mable Arrives

“BLACKIE!”

Every boy in the district knew that voice. Miss Mable. She had been washing clothes farther downstream. Now she came marching through the water, skirt tucked high. Blackie’s eyes widened. Before he could move, Miss Mable seized him by the arm. Hard.

“OWWW!”

She twisted. “Yuh big enough fi fight little bwoy?”

“No Miss Mable!” She twisted again.

“Yuh come a river fi fish or fi bully people?”

“Owww! Miss Mable!”

She shook him. Hard! “Answer mi!”

“Fi fish, Miss Mable!”

“Then fish! Whey yuh a fight fo?””

The boys tried not to laugh. They failed. Clive nearly fell over. Even Glen grinned despite his scraped knees.

Miss Mable marched Blackie to the riverbank still holding his arm.

“You see dat road?”

“Yes Miss Mable”

“Gwane.”

“Yes Miss Mable”

“Now.”

Blackie trudged away rubbing his arm while the boys burst into laughter. Miss Mable turned to Glen.

“Yuh alright?”

“Yes Miss Mable”

“Good. Next time don’t fight di bigga bwoy dem. Run!”

Then she turned and walked back to her washing as though nothing unusual had happened.

The boys turned to where the fish had fallen. And as luck would have it, beneath a stone in the deep pool Glen saw the crayfish.

It backed away slowly as his hands moved towards it. He grabbed at the fish and his hands held its claw. He pulled it from the waters.

The fish was too weary to scramble away. The toll of being dashed against the stones and  held for so long out of the water had weakened it.

Lessons from Jimmy River

When the sun began to sink, the three friends started the long walk home. Their butter pan full.

They would have shrimps and rice for dinner later as their sisters and other friends gather for a cookout that night.

For years afterward, as was customary in the hills of St. Mary, whenever old friends gathered and stories began to flow, somebody would eventually say: “Remember di day Miss Mable box down Blackie at Jimmy River?”

And the laughter would begin all over again.