“It’s not a girl. It’s male.”

“How you know that?”

“I know.” Estelle turned and went back to her painting. “I feel it.”

“How you know it look like that?”

“It does, doesn’t it? It looks like this?”

Catfish scratched the stubble on his chin and pondered the paintings.

“Close. But it ain’t a boy. That ol‘ monster the same one come after me an

Smiley for catchin its little one.“ Estelle stopped painting and turned to him. ”You have to play tonight?“

“In a little while.”

“Coffee?” He stepped up to her, took the brush and palette from her, and kissed her on the forehead. “That sho‘ would be sweet.” She padded to the bedroom and came back wearing a tattered kimono.

“Tell me, Catfish. What happened?” He was sitting at the table. “I think we done broke a record. I’m sore.” Estelle smiled in spite of herself, but pressed on. “What happened back then, in the bayou? Did you call that thing up out of the water somehow?”

“What you thinkin, woman? I can do that, you think I be playin clubs for drinks and part the door?”

“Tell me how you felt back then, when that thing came out of the swamp.”

“Scared.” “Besides that.”

“Wasn’t nothing besides that. You heard it. Scared is all there is.”

“You weren’t scared after we got back here last night.”

“No.”

“Neither was I. What did you feel back then? Before and after the thing came after you.”

“Not like I’m feelin now.”

“And how is that?”

“I’m feelin real good to be here talkin to you.”

“No kidding. Me too. How about back then?”

“Stop doggin me, girl. I’ll tell you. But I gots to go play in an hour and I don’t know that I can.”

“Why not?”

“The Blues ain’t on me. You done chased ‘em off.”

“I can throw you out in the cold without a shirt if you think it will help.”

Catfish squirmed in his chair. “Maybe some coffee.”

After we gets some distance from whatever chasin us, we stop the Model T Ford and me and Smiley put that big ol‘ catfish thing in the backseat—his tail hangin out one side an’ his head out’t‘other. Now this ain’t at all what I expected, and Smiley ain’t got the Blues on him, but I’m gettin me a grand case myself. Then I realizes we got us five hundred dollar coming, and them ol’ Blues done melt right away.

I say, “Smiley, I believes we should have us some celebratin, startin with some liquor and endin up with some fine Delta pussy. What you say?”

Ol‘ Smiley, like usual, don’t wanna piss on the parade, but bein who he is, he point out we aint got no money and Ida May don’t approve of no pussy more’en a hundred yard from the house. But he feelin it too, I can tell, and before long we headed down a back road to find a bootlegger I know down there name of Elmore that sells to colored folk.

That ol‘ white boy ain’t got but two teeth, but he grindin ’em when we pulls up, all mad and wavin his shotgun like we come to bust up his still. I say, “Hey, Elmore, how your lovely wife and sister?”

He say she fine, but lessin we shows some money quick, he gonna shoot him some niggers and get back to her before she cool off.

“We a little short,” I say. “But we have us five hundred dollar come morning iffin you kind enough to give us a jug on credit.” An‘ then I shows him the catfish.

That boy liked to shit his pants, and I was hopin he would, just to cover the smell comin off him natural, but instead he say, “I ain’t waitin ‘til mornin’. You want a jug, you give me a hunk o‘ that catfish right now. A big hunk.”

Smiley and I thinks it over, and before long we got us a half-gallon of corn mash and ol‘ Elmore got hisself enough catfish to feed his wives and children and them-thats both for a week or more.

Up the road a spell and this old whore name of Okra givin us the same speech about money, plus she sayin we need to take us a bath before she let us anywhere near her girls. And I comes back with the five-hundred-dollar story. She say five hundred dollar tomorrow and we can come in tomorrow, but if we want some pussy tonight, she want a hunk of that old catfish in the back. Them hos can eat some catfish too, I’m tellin you. I thought Smiley finally gettin the Blues on him when I hears him sayin how he give up a hundred dollar worth of catfish just for a bath. But that his choice. He wait in the car ‘til I’m done and we head off to find a place to sleep ’til morning when we can cash in the fish.

We pulls down a side road into some bushes, and we commencin to get us some sleep after a drink or two, when who come out the woods but a whole bunch of boys wearin them white sheets and pointy hoods, sayin, “Nigger, I guess you didn’t read the sign.”

And they tie us up to that ol‘ catfish and make us drag it back in the woods to a big ol’ fire they got goin.

That sho‘ a chill, I gots to tell you. To this day I can’t walk by sheets hangin on a line without my backbone freeze up. I knows we sho’ gonna die now, sayin my prayers and all best I can, while them boys kickin me in the mouth an‘ such while eatin catfish pieces what they roasted on sticks.

Then I feels it and the kickin stops. I see ol‘ Smiley lyin in the dirt, coverin his head with his arms, one ol’ bloody eye lookin‘ over at me. He feel it too.

Them Klansmen staring into the woods like they long-lost momma gonna come out, big ol‘ grins on they faces, half of ’em rubbin they dicks through they pants. And she come out, all right. Big as a train, a howl like to make your ears bust and bleed. She take two of them in the first bite.

I don’t have to write Smiley no letter. Before we can say somethin, we up and runnin, still tied up to what left of that catfish carcass, running back for the road. We finds us a knife in the car and we gets loose lickety-split—Smiley crankin that ol‘ Model T and me behind the wheel workin the choke. Hollerin and screamin comin out the woods sounding like music now, them Klansmen gettin all eat up.

Then it get quiet, just the sound of our breath and Smiley crankin the Model T. I’m yellin for him to hurry, I can hear that thing crashin though the woods. And finally, the Model T cranks over, but I can hardly hear it, ‘cause that old dragon thing done broken out the woods and lets go a roar. I tells Smiley to get in, but he run back to the back of the car.

“What you doing?” I say.

“Five hundred dollar,” he say.

And I see he throwing the catfish in the backseat. That stinky thing ain’t nothin but a head now, so Smiley throw it in by hisself. Then he makes to jump on the running board and I looks over and he just snatched out the air. Gone. And them jaws coming down for the second time when I pull that ol‘ Model T in gear and take off.

Smiley gone. Gone.

Next day I find that white man say he pay five hundred dollar for the catfish, and he look at that big fish head and jus laugh at me. I say I lose the best friend I ever had, he better give me my goddamn money. But he laugh and tell me go away. So I hit him.

Took that old fish head to court with me, but it don’t make no difference. That judge give me six months in jail—hittin a white man and all. He tell the bailiff, “Take Catfish away.”

They call me Catfish since. I don’t tell the story no more, but the name still there. Had the Blues on me ever since, but they ain’t no makin amends. By the time I get out, Ida May die of grief, and I ain’t got a friend alive. Been on the road since.

That thing on the beach, make that sound, she lookin for me.

“It’s a male,” Estelle said. She didn’t know what else to say.

“How you know?”

“I know.” She took his hand. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“I just wanted him to get the Blues on him so we can make us a record.”

They sat there at the table for a while, holding hands.