Silas and the Dog Star

Silas came to Marco on the eve of autumn and just before Labor Day. He was a self-proclaimed and very proud Cajun from a parish so far out in the bayou no one had ever heard of it, let alone find it on a map. According to Silas, after he came to work at the biggest beach on the island, that was also home to the biggest hotel in the county, New Orleans was the center of the world, but even the descendants of the Great Louisiana Purchase needed to travel from time to time to search for companionship and the consequences of life.

When Silas made his appearance on the big white strand, the last of August was hot enough to melt tar and make dogs go crazy. Everyone at the beach soon learned of these comparisons because Silas was far from shy and was clearly fond of exercising his back-of-the-bayou Cajun wisdom and flair for speaking.

One of the reasons Silas was so adept and convincing at delivering backcountry knowledge was that he appeared to be ageless. Silas could have been anywhere between 35 and 55, and his rugged good looks, wiry frame, and dark swarthy features did speak of an insight or perhaps a mystery that was as old as the light from the brightest star in August.

One broiling day when the sky was reluctant to produce an afternoon thunderstorm and when the sea breeze on the Gulf was nothing more than a sigh of regret for lack of trying, Silas decided to share some Cajun wisdom to help with the hot and slow business of summer.

He began with one of his mostly one-sided conversations that was always full of vivid comparisons. “Marco Island sure is pretty. You folks have a right smart little pile of sand, but what y’all are calling hot is nothing more than a warm spell back in the bayou. Back in the wet backcountry where the salt mingles with the brackish and the sweet water, the snakes climb up in the trees to hang down and cool off. Now that is some hot weather and something to see. Some folks say the snakes hang like sausages in a smokehouse because of the Dog Star.”

“When the old Dog Star rises before the morning sun,” Silas said, “The Cajun folks know, the dog days of summer are shining, and that’s when the snakes start climbing to hang and cool down. Some say it gets so hot that dogs go crazy. That might be true with fancy dogs, but bayou hounds know to go in the water, especially when the water is hot enough to make the ticks climb out of an old hound’s hide.”

“The trouble with the Dog Star in most places is the consequences,” Silas continued. “When the Dog Star rises before the sun, it is sure a sign of bad trouble. Bats go crazy first, then the madness goes into the raccoons, and then, anywhere you can find teeth that bite. When the Dog Star shines in August, trouble is brewing somewhere.”

After explaining about the late summer madness of bats, dogs, and rabid raccoons, Silas stopped drawling. He paused suddenly as if he had mistakenly given away too much information. Our Cajun visitor had only been around for a little over a week, and he told everyone who would listen that he was not the kind to stay in one place too long. No one seemed to mind that the rambling man with the restless shoes was a temporary fixture. Everyone was happy to have help for the Labor Day weekend, and most were wise enough to know that a long, hot summer in the tropics always needed something or someone with real character to beat the heat.

Silas explained straight from the beginning he was “traveling,” but on occasion, he was willing to stop and stay awhile and maybe pocket a little gas and drinking money to use when he was a little further down the road.

On the broiling August day when Silas paused to brood over the end of summer, the madness of bats, and raccoons foaming at the mouth with rabies, he began to drawl again on the topic of the Dog Star, and the benefits and consequences of Cajun wisdom. After a brief tacit in his narrative, the backwoods bayou man shivered, shook himself like a dog, and began to tell the Cajun story of the Rougarou.

Apparently, the Rougarou came from the French Loup-Garou or werewolf, but according to Silas, the Cajun version is real and readily prowls the wetlands at night under the summer light from the Dog Star. Whereas the French story tells that a mortal human and wolf become one under the full moon, the Rougarou speaks more of an ancient hound that shape-shifts back and forth between a human being and a bayou hound.

The Cajun consequences of the Rougarou are simple. Anyone who wanders into a dark place without any light but the Dog Star can become another Rougarou when bitten by a shapeshifter that sometimes travels in the heat of the day as a human.

In the bayou, all of the Cajun children know of the Rougarou and to stay away from the swamp water at night. The Rougarou can ride on a pool of starlight that moves over the water, and on occasion, the Cajun hounds that walk upright can hunt in packs if the summer is long, the clouds are scarce, and the Dog Star is bright.

On the day before Silas headed back to New Orleans, the center of the world, and the bayou, there was a question where he faltered and for once, would not answer. “Can the Rougarou travel and stalk anywhere the Dog Star shines?”