Tooloulou by Holly Grover Brandon

I called him Tooloulou, the Cajun word for crab. He reminded me of them little critters, the way he scurried ‘round the Square on skinny legs before stoppin’ at my table, watchin’ me read a tourist’s palm.

“You got a mama, cher?” I asked the lil’ crab.

“Ain’t never had no mama but this city.”

I saw hunger in them brown eyes, so I gave him half my jambalaya. “Can’t be feeding you every day now, understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He ate, tappin’ toes to the rhythm of New Orleans, spices and music flowin’ through his veins like voodoo magic. Then Tooloulou stood and started singin’. I can’t recall the words or the tune—only how my heart leapt about like a catfish on the line.

Guess I’m a fibbin’ fool ‘cause I fed Tooloulou again the very next day, and every day after that. ‘Spose you could say he fed me too with that honeysuckle voice of his. Folks and fauna came from all around to hear his song—a whole mess of souls just rompin’ and roarin’, spinnin’ and grinnin’.

The city itself paid attention when that boy sang. Gators climbed from the river, tails swayin’ to the beat. Skeeters swarmed above, waltzin’ as one in the hot, humid air. ‘Bout a hundred rats skittered outta sewers, dancin’ the Cajun jitterbug with copperheads and opossums.

Those who had ‘em to spare poured coins at Tooloulou’s feet like summer rain. He shared that money with anybody who asked—and many who didn’t.

He tried to pay me for the food, but I wouldn’t take a dime off him. So he hired me for a palm readin’. When I took that warm little hand in mine, I told Tooloulou he had a long life ahead—couldn’t bear to give him the sad truth.

When that hurricane came a brewin’ and the newsfolks started talkin’ bout mandatory evacuation, Tooloulou said he wasn’t goin’ nowhere.

“Don’t want no life if it ain’t New Orleans.”

I was searchin’ for him when the buses pulled into the Square, but that little crab had already scuttled out of sight. They say that after the sky went dark and the levees shuddered, Tooloulou rode away on a pelican’s back, just a singin’ his song for the city he loved.

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HOLLY GROVER BRANDON — Holly is a stay-at-home mom of four. She used to be something before that, but can’t quite remember what that was. She’s hoping her newly rediscovered love of writing will help bring it to the surface. She’s been dabbling in short fiction for about a year, and she has landed a few Honorable Mentions and nabbed a spot on a few longlists. She is ecstatic to have her first published story in Flash Frog. 

Art by NINA SEMCZUK — Nina’s illustrations and comics can be found on The Rumpus, Short Story, Long, Weekly Humorist, and other websites. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Post Road, the Los Angeles Review, The Offing, Sinking City Literary Journal, Coal Hill Review, and elsewhere. Nina is a Ukrainian American who grew up in the rural foothills of the Adirondack Mountains.