hwrnmnbsol (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hwrnmnbsol) wrote2011-06-10 11:47 pm
hwrnmnbsol) wrote2011-06-10 11:47 pm
The Grabbing Hands Grab All They Can
Big Ray picked Little Ray up at her house. Her name was actually Rashonda, but everybody called her Little Ray, or sometimes Ray-Ray. It was no secret that Big Ray really wanted a grandson named after him, but six daughters and two sons consistently failed to deliver the proper gender. Rashonda was a bone thrown Big Ray’s way, he felt, but he loved that little girl just the same.
He came to the door wearing his bowling shirt and his stained khakis, worn tennis shoes and a simple straw hat. Big Ray had very dark skin but very white, close-cropped hair, and when he smiled his teeth glowed. He rang the doorbell and Little Ray opened the door. She was jumping up and down.
“Grabbing! Grabbing!” she shouted. Her mother Keisha appeared in the doorway holding a paper bag.
“Are we gonna catch something today?” asked Big Ray to his granddaughter. She was five and very, very excited.
“Yeah! Grabbing! Grabbing!” Big Ray took each of his grandchildren grabbing and finally it was Little Ray’s turn. Her mother handed the bag to Big Ray.
“There’s sunscreen, and some water, and a juice box,” she said.
“All right,” said Big Ray, taking the bag. He had all those things in his truck. Did his daughter think he was new at this? Shoot.
“Don’t get her home past dinner,” Keisha warned. “And don’t get her sugared up!”
“I know, I know,” said Big Ray, taking Little Ray’s hand. She skipped down the walk towards the truck. He had bought the truck for eight hundred dollars, and it worked great, although the A/C was permanently out. Little Ray turned to wave to her mother.
“We’ll be back soon!” she said. “With some hands for supper!”
Big Ray got Little Ray buckled into the passenger seat. He wasn’t a big believer in car seats for children. Big Ray felt that there were an awful lot of things sold for children’s use that were just flat wastes of money. He put the little clip in that pulled the seatbelt down across Little Ray’s chest, and he felt that was more than enough. Besides, he had been driving for almost fifty years and hadn’t had a wreck yet.
They drove down to the island, across the causeway. It was almost an hour’s drive and Little Ray got bored. Big Ray put in some of the music Little Ray liked, and she sang along to The Fifth Dimension and the Shirelles as they drove. Big Ray didn’t join in, but he bobbed his head to the music and smiled at his granddaughter.
They parked behind the seawall. Big Ray smeared sunscreen all over Little Ray, and then put some on his neck. His doctor had taken three big spots off his neck that year, and he really didn’t want to get any new ones. He left his head alone, though. Big Ray had faith in his good old straw hat.
Big Ray got his tackle out of the truck bed. He pulled out the big pickle bucket, and then the coil of twine, and a small net. Finally he pulled out a wax mannequin’s leg, which he had pulled from the dumpster outside a clothing shop almost twenty years ago. He stashed everything in the pickle bucket and then, holding Little Ray’s hand, walked across the seawall to the short wooden pier.
They set up about twenty yards off the surf, where the water was shallow enough to work with. Little Ray watched closely as Big Ray tied a length of knotted twine to one end of the plastic leg. He handed the bucket to Little Ray. “Now go dip me some water out of there,” he said. “Not a lot, just a little. And don’t get yourself wet.” Little Ray skipped away. She was only just down the pier but Big Ray watched her like a hawk.
Little Ray came back with the bucket sloshing. “What’s this for?” she asked.
“Anything we catch goes in there,” answered Big Ray. “Now watch.”
He threw the leg over the pier’s railing and lowered it down to the water. It slipped below the green waves. Big Ray played out the line and let the mannequin leg drop to the ocean floor. Then he tied off the twine.
“Now we wait,” he said.
“What are we waiting for?” asked Little Ray.
“For it to be long enough,” replied Big Ray. “You got to give the hands a chance to find the leg, and latch onto it. Do you want your juice?”
Little Ray sipped on her juice box and skipped around the pier. Big Ray watched the water and the big boats on the horizon. It was then that he noticed the tourist.
It was some lady wearing an enormous white hat and what looked like a terrycloth housecoat, and rubber flip-flops that clip-clopped as she walked down the seawall. She was carrying a canvas bag with a rolled-up towel peeking out of it, and she had enormous sunglasses. Big Ray watched her walk along the seawall. She was plainly headed for the beach. Big Ray frowned.
“Hey there,” he called. “Hey there, ma’am? You don’t want to be going in the water down here.”
The tourist stopped and stared at Big Ray. Big Ray pointed at his pickle bucket.
“There’s hands down in there,” he said. “Folks get grabbed all the time.”
The tourist smiled. “Oh, I’m an extremely good swimmer,” she said.
What did that have to do with anything? “Yes, ma’am,” said Big Ray, “but, you see, what the hands do…”
“I’m not afraid of being groped by a few sea creatures, if that’s what you’re saying,” called the tourist. “They’re just part of nature.” She turned and kept walking down the seawall.
Big Ray gave up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said to himself, and he adjusted his hat as he watched the woman go down the steps and find herself a place on the beach. Shrugging, Big Ray corralled Little Ray.
“Okay, it’s time to haul it up,” he said. “You got to help me. I’m going to pull this string up, right? And you’re gonna put the net under the leg. Then we’re both gonna knock any hands we see into the net. You got that?:
“I got that!” said Little Ray, jumping up and down. Big Ray untied the twine and pulled the leg up. Sure enough, six hands were clutching the leg. They looked just like a person’s hand, but they were a dead white, and on the smooth surface where the wrist would have been was a rubbery toothless mouth. They clung tightly to the leg, their fingers quivering.
Little Ray squealed, but she put the net under the leg. Big Ray batted at the hands, and they fell into the net. Their grip wasn’t very strong; he only had to swat one off with his hat. Big Ray took the net away from Little Ray before she dropped it.
“Now,” he said, “they go into the bucket. See?” She watched with huge eyes as he turned the net over and tumbled the hands into the pickle bucket, one by one. They righted themselves as they hit bottom and began scuttling over the bucket bottom on the tips of their fingers.
“Look at ‘em!” said Little Ray, crouching to watch her new pets. Big Ray looked down the beach and saw that the tourist-lady had unrolled her towel and taken off her robe. She had an unflattering black swimsuit on and was stretching a bather’s cap over her hair. “Oh, Lord,” said Big Ray, shaking his head. The woman walked down to the water line, tested the water with a toe, and stepped into the surf. She began slowly plodding out to sea, the water closing over her calves and then her thighs and midsection.
“Grandpa, what are they doing, what are they doing?” shrieked Little Ray. Big Ray looked into the bucket. A left-handed hand and a right-handed hand had interlocked fingers with each other and were now pulsing together, their thumbs caressing the backs of their mate.
“We’re just gonna put the lid on the bucket on right here,” said Big Ray.
“But I want to see!” protested Little Ray.
“Just gonna put the lid on the bucket,” repeated Big Ray, putting the plastic top on the bucket and screwing it down.
“I want to see the hands!” pouted Little Ray.
“Then let’s catch us some more,” said Big Ray. He swung the leg back over the side, and down it went again.
“Are these baby hands or big hands?” asked Little Ray.
“They’re full grown,” said Big Ray. “I never caught a baby hand before.”
“What’s the biggest hand you ever caught?” pressed his grand-daughter.
“I’ve caught some big ones,” said Big Ray. “There are big ones down there.” He looked uneasily down at the water. He had been in the coast guard a long time ago, and they had sometimes pulled some hands out of the water when they raised anchor that were as big as ponies.
Big Ray was startled by screaming coming from further down the shore. Oh no, he thought. Little Ray pressed herself up to the railing to see what was going on. Big Ray caught her by the shoulder, picked her up and turned her so she couldn’t see what was going on.
The tourist woman was screaming. She was holding her arms in front of her face. Her hands were missing, and at the wrists there was nothing but smooth skin. She was looking frantically around her, as if something she had dropped had gone missing.
“I told her,” muttered Big Ray. “Didn’t I tell her? I told her.”
He came to the door wearing his bowling shirt and his stained khakis, worn tennis shoes and a simple straw hat. Big Ray had very dark skin but very white, close-cropped hair, and when he smiled his teeth glowed. He rang the doorbell and Little Ray opened the door. She was jumping up and down.
“Grabbing! Grabbing!” she shouted. Her mother Keisha appeared in the doorway holding a paper bag.
“Are we gonna catch something today?” asked Big Ray to his granddaughter. She was five and very, very excited.
“Yeah! Grabbing! Grabbing!” Big Ray took each of his grandchildren grabbing and finally it was Little Ray’s turn. Her mother handed the bag to Big Ray.
“There’s sunscreen, and some water, and a juice box,” she said.
“All right,” said Big Ray, taking the bag. He had all those things in his truck. Did his daughter think he was new at this? Shoot.
“Don’t get her home past dinner,” Keisha warned. “And don’t get her sugared up!”
“I know, I know,” said Big Ray, taking Little Ray’s hand. She skipped down the walk towards the truck. He had bought the truck for eight hundred dollars, and it worked great, although the A/C was permanently out. Little Ray turned to wave to her mother.
“We’ll be back soon!” she said. “With some hands for supper!”
Big Ray got Little Ray buckled into the passenger seat. He wasn’t a big believer in car seats for children. Big Ray felt that there were an awful lot of things sold for children’s use that were just flat wastes of money. He put the little clip in that pulled the seatbelt down across Little Ray’s chest, and he felt that was more than enough. Besides, he had been driving for almost fifty years and hadn’t had a wreck yet.
They drove down to the island, across the causeway. It was almost an hour’s drive and Little Ray got bored. Big Ray put in some of the music Little Ray liked, and she sang along to The Fifth Dimension and the Shirelles as they drove. Big Ray didn’t join in, but he bobbed his head to the music and smiled at his granddaughter.
They parked behind the seawall. Big Ray smeared sunscreen all over Little Ray, and then put some on his neck. His doctor had taken three big spots off his neck that year, and he really didn’t want to get any new ones. He left his head alone, though. Big Ray had faith in his good old straw hat.
Big Ray got his tackle out of the truck bed. He pulled out the big pickle bucket, and then the coil of twine, and a small net. Finally he pulled out a wax mannequin’s leg, which he had pulled from the dumpster outside a clothing shop almost twenty years ago. He stashed everything in the pickle bucket and then, holding Little Ray’s hand, walked across the seawall to the short wooden pier.
They set up about twenty yards off the surf, where the water was shallow enough to work with. Little Ray watched closely as Big Ray tied a length of knotted twine to one end of the plastic leg. He handed the bucket to Little Ray. “Now go dip me some water out of there,” he said. “Not a lot, just a little. And don’t get yourself wet.” Little Ray skipped away. She was only just down the pier but Big Ray watched her like a hawk.
Little Ray came back with the bucket sloshing. “What’s this for?” she asked.
“Anything we catch goes in there,” answered Big Ray. “Now watch.”
He threw the leg over the pier’s railing and lowered it down to the water. It slipped below the green waves. Big Ray played out the line and let the mannequin leg drop to the ocean floor. Then he tied off the twine.
“Now we wait,” he said.
“What are we waiting for?” asked Little Ray.
“For it to be long enough,” replied Big Ray. “You got to give the hands a chance to find the leg, and latch onto it. Do you want your juice?”
Little Ray sipped on her juice box and skipped around the pier. Big Ray watched the water and the big boats on the horizon. It was then that he noticed the tourist.
It was some lady wearing an enormous white hat and what looked like a terrycloth housecoat, and rubber flip-flops that clip-clopped as she walked down the seawall. She was carrying a canvas bag with a rolled-up towel peeking out of it, and she had enormous sunglasses. Big Ray watched her walk along the seawall. She was plainly headed for the beach. Big Ray frowned.
“Hey there,” he called. “Hey there, ma’am? You don’t want to be going in the water down here.”
The tourist stopped and stared at Big Ray. Big Ray pointed at his pickle bucket.
“There’s hands down in there,” he said. “Folks get grabbed all the time.”
The tourist smiled. “Oh, I’m an extremely good swimmer,” she said.
What did that have to do with anything? “Yes, ma’am,” said Big Ray, “but, you see, what the hands do…”
“I’m not afraid of being groped by a few sea creatures, if that’s what you’re saying,” called the tourist. “They’re just part of nature.” She turned and kept walking down the seawall.
Big Ray gave up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said to himself, and he adjusted his hat as he watched the woman go down the steps and find herself a place on the beach. Shrugging, Big Ray corralled Little Ray.
“Okay, it’s time to haul it up,” he said. “You got to help me. I’m going to pull this string up, right? And you’re gonna put the net under the leg. Then we’re both gonna knock any hands we see into the net. You got that?:
“I got that!” said Little Ray, jumping up and down. Big Ray untied the twine and pulled the leg up. Sure enough, six hands were clutching the leg. They looked just like a person’s hand, but they were a dead white, and on the smooth surface where the wrist would have been was a rubbery toothless mouth. They clung tightly to the leg, their fingers quivering.
Little Ray squealed, but she put the net under the leg. Big Ray batted at the hands, and they fell into the net. Their grip wasn’t very strong; he only had to swat one off with his hat. Big Ray took the net away from Little Ray before she dropped it.
“Now,” he said, “they go into the bucket. See?” She watched with huge eyes as he turned the net over and tumbled the hands into the pickle bucket, one by one. They righted themselves as they hit bottom and began scuttling over the bucket bottom on the tips of their fingers.
“Look at ‘em!” said Little Ray, crouching to watch her new pets. Big Ray looked down the beach and saw that the tourist-lady had unrolled her towel and taken off her robe. She had an unflattering black swimsuit on and was stretching a bather’s cap over her hair. “Oh, Lord,” said Big Ray, shaking his head. The woman walked down to the water line, tested the water with a toe, and stepped into the surf. She began slowly plodding out to sea, the water closing over her calves and then her thighs and midsection.
“Grandpa, what are they doing, what are they doing?” shrieked Little Ray. Big Ray looked into the bucket. A left-handed hand and a right-handed hand had interlocked fingers with each other and were now pulsing together, their thumbs caressing the backs of their mate.
“We’re just gonna put the lid on the bucket on right here,” said Big Ray.
“But I want to see!” protested Little Ray.
“Just gonna put the lid on the bucket,” repeated Big Ray, putting the plastic top on the bucket and screwing it down.
“I want to see the hands!” pouted Little Ray.
“Then let’s catch us some more,” said Big Ray. He swung the leg back over the side, and down it went again.
“Are these baby hands or big hands?” asked Little Ray.
“They’re full grown,” said Big Ray. “I never caught a baby hand before.”
“What’s the biggest hand you ever caught?” pressed his grand-daughter.
“I’ve caught some big ones,” said Big Ray. “There are big ones down there.” He looked uneasily down at the water. He had been in the coast guard a long time ago, and they had sometimes pulled some hands out of the water when they raised anchor that were as big as ponies.
Big Ray was startled by screaming coming from further down the shore. Oh no, he thought. Little Ray pressed herself up to the railing to see what was going on. Big Ray caught her by the shoulder, picked her up and turned her so she couldn’t see what was going on.
The tourist woman was screaming. She was holding her arms in front of her face. Her hands were missing, and at the wrists there was nothing but smooth skin. She was looking frantically around her, as if something she had dropped had gone missing.
“I told her,” muttered Big Ray. “Didn’t I tell her? I told her.”