It
started as a light pitter-patter on the roof. Then, for three days, it
rained. Caribbean islanders have always welcomed the rain.
When it came the land yielded a rare and precious gift - crabs!
Thousands of them, a homeless horde evicted from their underground
shelters by the rainwater.
Groups
of men gathered in the deep, velvet-black Antiguan night to reap this
rich harvest. Some carried "flambeaux," torches made in the
traditional way, bundles of green firewood wrapped with kerosene-soaked
rags, designed to burn for hours. These sputtering, smoky
firebrands added to the drama of the hunt.
That
night my uncle Sydney took me out "torching." I was in a
whirl of excitement, oblivious to the fact that at the age of twelve, I
was likely to be more of an irritant and a hindrance than anything else.
However, this was not lost on the group's leader, Mister Oliver, who
wasted no time making his feelings known.
"What
you here to do, boy?" he asked, sternly. "Tell you what, you
can be a bag man." With that, he tossed me a rough sack. A few of
the other men began to laugh uncomfortably, covering their mouths with
their hands. "Somebody catch a crab, you hear them call, you go
over with the bag, OK?"
"What
they will say?" I asked, all wide-eyed innocence. The sniggering
broke out into derisive laughter, quickly stifled by a glare from Mister
Oliver. He turned back to me, he said: "Just lissen, right,
and you will hear. Oh, another thing," he continued, "You
carry the bag, right? You don't drop it, you don't put it down.
Okay?"
"Okay,
" I said. My chest swelled happily with the burden of
responsibility.
As
we set off, our way was lit by three of the men. The catchers were
behind them and the bag men brought up the rear. The average
"land" crab is about the size of a big man's hand and weighs
approximately half a pound. It has two claws. The larger claw is
used to catch and hold its prey, the smaller claw to rip it to pieces
and feed itself. When a torchbearer spotted a crab he moved in front of
it, blinding it. The catcher then moved into position behind these
land-dwelling creatures making sure to avoid the wildly waving pincers,
which could deliver a painful, skin-piercing nip. As soon as the catcher
had the crab, someone shouted, "Over here" and one of the bag
men rushed over, carefully opened the neck of the sack, and
deposited the flailing victim inside.
I
was always the first to rush when I heard the call. At first I wondered
why the other bag men didn't seem bothered that my sack was
filling up much faster than theirs. But after half an hour, I discovered
the reason for their reticence - and my artificially elevated status.
As
the sack filled up, it became more difficult to carry. At first, I held
it away from my body but as it became heavier - and as the night drew on
and I became more tired and sleepy - I needed to use my body as a
fulcrum for the weight.
The
first time I allowed the bag to rest against my legs, the sustained
pincer attack made me scream out in pain. The rest of the group hissed:
"Quiet! You will frighten de crab!" Mister Oliver added:
"Make sure you don't drop de bag!" Their concerns were simple,
clear and did not include sympathy for my suffering.
After
my sack was nearly full, I carried its live and angry burden for the
remainder of the outing. At some point, tiredness and continuous pain
combined to render me completely numb. I hoisted the bag onto my back,
the neck slung over my shoulder. The mud threatened to hold my feet
captive and I had to fight it with each step. I was completely drenched
and my teeth chattered from the cold.
Eventually,
around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m., we had caught all the crabs that we could
carry and headed back to the truck. I was past caring about any share of
the spoils. Exhausted, I set down my sack and fell fast asleep. I
woke up when we stopped in town. Mister Oliver was the first to get off
the truck. Just before he climbed down, he reached over and patted me on
the head.
"Well
done, younger, well done," he said. "You really work hard for
yours!" There was admiration in his voice and, as he spoke, a
broad grin covered the stern set of his features. I felt a burst of
pride that almost - almost - obliterated the pain, the cold, and my
tiredness. A bag man. That was me!
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