Over the next few weeks the old boat brought up enough shrimp to make ends meet and then some. The more money they made, the more amiable Colette became. Paul asked her once if he could come over late one evening and spend the night. She bit a fingernail playfully and told him not yet, and he was not discouraged. He went out that night to the Little Palace, drank several rounds, and kidded with the old men. But when Ray-Ray showed up and asked him to go over to a dance in New Iberia, he thought a long time about a tight accordion band and hot two-stepping on a waxed floor before saying no.

On the boat he endured the rocking squalls, snagged nets that took a day to repair, and endless hot days when the Gulf, spread out like a mirror, would yield only seaweed and old tires. Even so, most of the out-of-work men in Tiger Island envied Paul and his crew; though they worked hard for no great profit, at least they had something to do. The front porches and backyards of town were burdened with young men either waiting for their jobs to come back in like a sluggish tide or daydreaming about moving to Texas or Florida, anyplace that would get them away from their yards, where they puttered daylight away cleaning awnings, touching up peeled paint, repairing lawn mowers, expending any effort so they could look in the bathroom mirror in the mornings and see a working man.