The Swamp Girl: Ina

Back in 1942.

The oldest Cottonwood trees in the Louisiana swamp lands seem to bow down, lowering their stems in servitude to the traveling creatures. Owls perch on the limbs of strong branches with closed eyes that open as the day shuts to an end.

During the day, squawking birds spread their wings, landing on a limb to look out at the overview of the marshy terrain. The smallest bird carries sharp whistles heard through the area, and most sing songs that fill even the most dreary with hope. The lazy gator sits out in the hot sun, awaiting a squirrel to come near, the deadly snakes slither, passing bumpy roots and leaving behind their textured skin in trails along their journey.

Walking upright and conscious, humans in the area run through the varmint's habitat, protecting themselves from those vicious creatures. Both are the same, searching the soil for nurturing food, gaining vitality from the rich soil, and seeking shade from the shared overhead star shining brutally in the southern hemisphere.

Those rattlesnakes and alligators live and die, and so do people, replaced with new generations. The same new beings, growing and grooming for change, crave more than the previous earthlings, wanting riches, nourishment, and love.

Whether that is the hope for the lowest mosquito will forever be a mystery. But humans crave control and power over other beings, creating a deep passion and devotion for each other and themselves.

The want for more has never changed throughout humanity. There will always be a want and desire for something other than the past we've known. It's more than unruly children escaping their parents' mild understanding of the vast world before them. It's more than a longing instinct to find their way and put tradition aside for a thrill.

Some find the answers in the past, following a path set for them. Others learn that in search of a good life, you can not believe the ancient riddles and wise antidotes passed down for generations. If you do, you may end up like the old twisted trees, forever bending to the world's limitations.

Robert, Rob, or Robbie, to the community of Crawl Rock in Iberville Parish, was trekking through the mud with a similar thought. As an only child, the dying legacy of his forefathers crossed his mind with each step he took.

His great fathers died out before his adulthood, one of which was a civil war hero almost a century ago. One great-father had even fought against the British government's rule on the American colonies long before Rob was a reflection in heaven. Even his father, the man named before him and the cause of his tall, robust physical condition, had served in the first great war, coming home a shell of a man.

Rob had fed him a spoonful of oats the day he closed his eyes to this cruel world. His spirit, Rob believed, went somewhere peaceful. Whether it was only a traditional tale, it healed his dismay from losing his last remaining family member.

Like his forefathers, Rob had thought about going overseas, leaving the small town outside Baton Rouge to see the world and fight for his country. But over there, he didn't know anybody worth saving. His sort of people were right here in America, and they needed just as much protection as the foreigners that called the second great war.

Rob stayed in Crawling Rock and joined an organization he believed was as powerful and honorable as wearing camouflage in the trenches he'd heard so much about. He was a policeman.

Rob enjoyed his job for the most part, regardless of the sketchy folks roaming around threatening his life daily. He had something they didn't have: a badge that gave him respect and pride to pin on his shirt each morning.

Rob flung a hunk of Spanish moss off his collared shirt. The once white material was dirty, along with his polished shoes. He stepped into a puddle and cursed the wetlands, shaking the dense mud from his heels.

The shack a few yards away looked abandoned, but that wasn't the case. Wooden logs marked the windows, keeping the candlelight in and the sunlight out. Some short-winged birds flew around the house, landing on the dull furniture on the porch.

Mosquitos roamed around his head, and Rob swatted at their silent attacks on his reddened skin. He had never been this far out of town. It was a haunted location, even with the sunlight poking out from the gaps in the sky. A loud croak of a bullfrog caused him to flinch. Another biting creature squealed in the distance, unnerving him so severely that he developed goose bumps that pierced his covered arms.

He was several yards away when someone retreated from the hollow opening of the shack. Despite her small stature, her voice rang out in a blare across the patch of soil, "What you want?"

Rob paused and steadied himself in the thick mud that swallowed his feet. At a loss for words, he was amazed to see her in person. There she was, the epitome of fragile, barely a dot on the slight stoop, but he had heard otherwise.

Rob had grown up hearing stories of the respect and fear she won from the locals. He knew a few fellow white people, none very religious, that visited the woman weekly for elixirs to cure their desires for more.

His desire came in the form of lineage. Rob had tried, and his wife had labored, but the pair had yet to conceive a child. Rob didn't blame himself. He was a strong man with vigor. If he wanted to, he thought, he could run around and litter the town with bastards. But Robert Campbell Jones wasn't one to cheat.

That is why, as Rob looked across the marsh at the tiny negro lady and her depleted shack, he felt the need to turn around. His father, God rest his soul, would have beaten the tar out of his only son for coming out here. But he had come this far, and running away seemed like a coward's move.

Believing himself valiant, Rob stepped up and reached his neck out to yell, "I need some assistance from ya, Mama Opie."

Holding her hand up to her brow, she yelled, stomping her foot, "What the hell do you want, boy?"

A black woman wouldn't dare talk to a man of his profession like that, but this was no ordinary woman. Mama Opie wasn't a woman at all; in his opinion, she was wiser than most he knew, kin to outer space. A sister of the dark arts, Mama Opie, was a voodoo queen.

Her authority and confidence rang out in her loud voice, "Who is you, boy?"

Another step into the muddy soil nearly made him slip, but Rob dragged his leg out and jumped over the waterhole before answering.

The minor delay followed by his quick movement caused Mama Opie to get her shotgun. She was hoisting it up for a good shot.

Opie knew good and well that the man was an officer. His authoritative tone, slicked-back hair, and creased pants gave him away from yards off.

"Go on back to town! We don't want no trouble!" Mama Opie blared, improving her stance, "Don't move another inch!"

Rob stopped his challenging tour and removed his hat to show he was a peaceful visitor, "No trouble at all, ma'am. I need your help if you're willing to assist me."

"Hell no," Mama Opie announced, pointing the shotgun at his muddy leg.

She knew better than to kill a lawman, but if he was here to start trouble, she didn't mind injuring the man. If he came for bloodshed, indeed, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot him dead and add his body to the collection of parts buried deep in the wet soil. Anyone heroic enough to try and arrest her had to battle her bullets first.

"What that sheriff sent you here for, huh? You came here to arrest me, boy?"

"No, ma'am," Rob called out, digging his feet out of the mud, his heart was pounding, but he stepped closer, "I came-"

*Boom*

The yell of the shotgun caused him to crouch, but the blasted mud was too thick and pulled him down like moist quicksand into the damp earth.

*Boom*

"Goddammit, woman," he mumbled, crawling to his feet, "Don't shoot, Mama-"

*Boom* *Boom* *Boom*

Dropping his face into a muddy puddle, Rob prayed none of the shots would connect to him.

After another round, he rolled over and yelled, "Damnit! I don't want any trouble. Don't shoot!"

"You got till I load these bullets to get off my property," Mama Opie shouted.

Rob heard the jingle in the distance and jumped up to his feet. He hauled through the mud, not caring about building up the dirt on his starched tan pants. He didn't stop rolling until he reached a nearby land clearing. There, Rob threw himself on the ground and took several deep breaths, trying to calm his haggard nerves.

He swiped at his beard, damp and dirty, with his palm and vowed right there that he would never do something so idiotic again.

"Mister."

Rob jumped back to his feet and reached for the gun in his holster when he heard a silky voice behind him.

"You dropped somethin', sir."

"Aye! Don't shoot!" Rob barked, retrieving a perfect stance to blow whoever had come after him.

His wide eyes focused on the young girl's sights, and a confused expression crossed his dirty face.

Swamp native Inabelle Tracy stood at five feet, looking up at the giant man aiming his gun to blow her away. She noted his body shook, holding the gun with trembling hands. Realizing the scared man wasn't anything to fear, her long dark lashes flashed as she scrutinized him with a slowly forming smile.

"I ain't gonna shoot you, sir," she responded, "So, don't shoot me. I haven't got a gun."

Rob took a deep breath and examined her face. She was pale enough to calm his nerves but looked out of place in the world with an angelic set of large slanted eyes, sharply rimmed with a dark black coal liner that elevated her thick lashes.

Even with the gun pointed at her head, she kept a calm posture, placing her hand on her hip. A bunch of soft brown spirals rolled down her slim shoulders, stopping at her tiny waist.

Overwhelmed with his earlier misfortune, Rob dismissed her beauty. His chest heaved, and he drove his head nervously, "Go on, get outta here, girl."

A broad smile came to her lips, disclosing deep lines and a dimple in the corner of her grin. Rob frowned as she revealed his pocket knife in her tiny palm.

"Give me that." He snatched it, eying her for any more weapons, "What the hell are you doing with my knife?"

"You dropped it," she chuckled, "I won't gonna take it. I already got a knife."

"Well, I got a gun," Rob snapped, "So, I reckon you need to go back where you came from."

Rob studied her toned thighs and ended at the dried dirt covering her bare feet.

He backed up, keeping his gun up, "Go, get on."

"Why are you afraid of me? Wasn't it Mama Opie shooting at you?"

"Go on!" Rob shouted, motioning with the weapon for her to keep it moving down the dirt path, "Ain't nothing to see here."

"Are you mad at her? That's why she was trying to kill you. Or were you trying to kill her?"

Rob looked around suspiciously, then back to her dazzling grin, "Who else with you, girl?"

Ina peered over her shoulder and looked back at him, confused, "It's just me."

Taking a deep gust, Rob nodded before lowering the weapon and dropping his head. His heart was racing, mixing with hypertension; he suddenly felt weak. The little woman didn't scare him, but knowing the swamp people were nothing to toil with, Rob kept an eye on her.

Despite her small size, Ina had a womanly figure, reminding him of a film star he had seen at the picture show. Her dress had once been yellow but was now a piss color from the soot. The number fit her perfectly with thin straps wrapped tightly around her slim shoulders. Her round breasts sat high on her chest, needing no bra to hold them up.

Rob couldn't help but notice her nipples poking from the thin fabric. The dress highlighted her toned torso, revealing a valley between her thighs. Rob felt a slight tingle at the sight of her and quickly shook the notion, continuing with his task of getting back to town.

Ina stepped up and softly spoke, "You were gonna kill me, huh?"

"No." Rob shook his head, softening his voice, hoarse from yelling and running, "I thought you were someone else, is all."

She stepped closer, and Rob backed up, regaining his earlier brashness.

"Go on, now."

"Here," Ina grinned, reaching into her bosom and handing him a handkerchief, "You got mud all over your face."

Rob looked toward her and noticed she had all her teeth, differing from many swamp people he had met. They were straight and pearly white, except for one tooth on her bottom right that had a golden plate, an alluring touch to her bright smile. She wore a golden ring tied to a string around her neck which seemed to showcase the valley between her round breasts.

Rob looked away, "I'm alright, just go on your way and leave me be."

She bit her lip and stepped closer as Rob shook the moss and dirt from his shoulder. Had he not been met with the unwelcoming swamp beauty, he would remove his murky shirt and pants too.

"I bet that mud got in your eyeballs. That's why you thought I was someone to be feared, huh?" Ina giggled, "Here, wipe it off. Someone liable to think you're a swamp monster."

Rob looked toward her tiny hand and nodded, "I appreciate it," he mumbled, reaching for the rag.

Ina watched the officer wipe his face, producing a muddy stain on the once-white material.

"All this damn dirt and shit," Rob muttered, swiping his neck.

"Are you hurt?" Ina asked with concern, "Did Mama hit you?"

Rob ignored her questions, using his palm to swipe away the thick hunks of mud in his beard.

Ina circled, scanning his tall frame for bloody leakage, "I heard a boom and then another and another. I said to myself, whoever Mama Opie was shooting at is probably good as dead." She smiled wide and chuckled, "But you're alive."

Rob shook his head and moved from her, hovering, "She won't shooting at me," he lied.

Ina dropped her smile in bewilderment, "Well, why was you running from her house?"

Rob peered at the dirty rag and turned his back toward the short swamp lady.

"Thanks for the napkin. I'll have to keep it. I doubt you want it back," he explained before trudging further into the wetness, ignoring her questions.

But she was persistent and followed after him, "Why Mama Opie wants you dead for?"

Rob sighed in frustration, "I already told you. She won't shooting at me, girl."

"Well, she was shooting at someone. Mama Opie doesn't use her shotgun unless she's gonna put one in the ground. And I know she wouldn't waste a bullet."

Rob stopped and turned toward her puzzled expression that yielded as appealing as her smile.

"Shut up, will ya? You ain't seen nothing."

"I didn't see it. I heard it, Boom boom-"

"Hush!" Rob barked, "Ain't nothing happened back there. Do you hear me? You ain't heard nothin', and you ain't seen nothin'. Mama Opie was acting crazy like she always does."

"Mama Opie a lot of things, but she ain't crazy," Ina chuckled, "She is one of the smartest people I know."

Rob chuckled bitterly, "You must not know many people, then."

"I know some. And I know you."

"You damn sure don't know me."

Rob turned his back on her and walked into the dirty water puddles. The sooner he got to his truck, the better, he thought.

"I do know you. You're my daddy's friend, Robert Campbell Jones, Jr."

Rob hadn't heard his full name said aloud since graduating from the police academy. His complete title made him turn around in shock.

"How you...." he took a full minute to examine the young girl and scowled, realizing he had never seen anyone like her.

Her smile enhanced her delicate features, and he noted a collection of light brown freckles that rolled across her nose, and a mole sat perfectly on her chin. Regardless of her beauty, Rob didn't know this negro woman.

"I don't know ya damn daddy, girl."

"Yeah, you do. You know my Papa Joe. Jerome Tracy."

"I don't know, no damn Jerome, nobody."

"You said you were his friend when I answered the door...." Ina folded her thin arms, "Then, you locked him up and threw away the key."

"You got the wrong officer. And my name ain't no Robert Campbell Jones either," Rob announced, annoyed.

"You probably don't remember me. I was a child then," She giggled, "I'm a grown woman now, and I still remember your sore eyes and mean mug. You had that same face when you tried to kill me."

"I ain't tried to kill you." Rob groaned, "You shouldn't be sneaking up on people."

"I won't doing no kinda sneaking, Mr. Jones," Ina gave a small giggle and appeared at his side as he trekked through the wet soil, "I see, you're getting feverish again. Why are you so sore?"

"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I am not mad at nobody. Just don't like this mud, is all."

"You're just as mad as a hornet in a Coke can," Ina giggled.

Rob stopped moving to rest his sore calves and swiped the sweat from his brow.

"And, Your face is red."

"It's hot as hell out here!"

Ina waved her hands, producing little to no wind gusts around his tempered expression.

"Stop that." Rob gently swatted her hand, "Quit pestering me, girl. And go on your way."

"You look like you want to shoot me right now." Ina moved her thick curls to one shoulder and giggled, "You almost did."

Rob peered down at her big brown eyes and knew he could never harm the little woman without good purpose.

"Well, go on, fore I change my mind and shoot you and this mud."

"The swamp can't help but be muddy. I like the wetlands."

Rob stepped over a puddle and found his footing, "Go play in the mud since you like it so damn much."

"You're just full of ideas, Mr. Jones." Ina chuckled, walking faster to keep up with his long strides, "I used to play in the mud. I've run through this swamp all my life."

"You can't run through the mud. Dry land is better for maneuvering."

"If you don't like it, why did you come out here?"

Rob moaned and took another few steps from her hugging walk behind him, "Why do you keep asking me a bunch of questions?"

"Cause you ain't supposed to be out here."

Rob stopped and looked toward her assessment, feeling he should have heard those words hours ago.

"You're out here for some special reason, I bet."

Rob eyed her body again, scanning over her popping breasts and roaming down her sculpted waist. He got curious, looking down at her feet. He frowned, "Why you ain't got no shoes on?"

"My sandals got stuck in the mud."

Digging in his pocket, Rob removed a nickel and a half dollar handing it to the little woman in a rush, "Here. Is this what you want? Now, go on," he shooed and rushed his pace.

Mama Opie wasn't on his heels, but this swamp girl was working his last nerve.

Holding the coins in her palm, Ina rushed to his side.

"I don't need no money."

"Well, keep it and leave me alone."

Her tiny voice rang again in his ear, "What were you doing at Mama Opie's house?"

Rob rolled his eyes at having her back near him, "None of your goddamn business, girl."

"You were looking for a spell?"

"No."

"A potion?"

"The hell you doing out here?" Rob snapped, peering down, and shaking his head.

"I'm walking home."

"Well, go ahead then, git. Your mama probably worried sick, scared a gator got you."

"I am gettin'."

"Get over there," Rob pointed toward the forest.

"Why don't you want me to walk with you?"

"Cause I don't." Rob groaned and stopped to kick his legs out to remove the thick dirt block on his heels.

"You gonna throw away your shoes when you get home?" Ina asked.

"Yeah, I'll have to; I can't wear these dirty things."

"Might as well give them to me."

Rob chuckled, "I think my feet are a bit bigger than yours."

"How come?"

Rob looked at her, confused, "Cause. Cause I'm bigger than you. I'm a man, and you're a child."

"I'm not a child, I'm nineteen." Ina smiled, slipping the coins in his hand, "And I told you, I don't need this. I got my own money."