The lady beckons us through a door that leads into a cave of boiling tubs. Reaching into one, she fishes out a fat, wriggling crab and plunks him into a plastic bag. I feel slightly squeamish, and keep my distance as I follow my family to the cash register. While wringing up the purchase, my host mother and the vendeuse engage in lively conversation, which comes to an abrupt halt when they realize the purchase is gone.
“Attend!” Shouts the vendeuse. The bag is scuttling away. After a lively chase around the shop, during which I have a close encounter with the crustacean and have to step outside, the bag is secured and double knotted this time. I’m trying to act as nonchalant as possible, but my host sister knows only too well my fondness for reptiles, and on the walk back the bag keeps finding its way over to me. Her mother is enjoying the entertainment, putting an end to it only after my yelp and leap to the side almost knock over a passing baby carriage.
Off we go, host sister and mom in the front, me and crab in the back. It turns into quite a bonding experience. Every time the car rounds a sharp corner, and we hear the cooler tip over in back, everyone shouts, “Le crab!!” They keep catching me peering cautiously over my shoulder for signs of movement, and giggling as I protest, “Il fait du bruit! Il fait du bruit!!!” It’s true, the bag keeps rattling and I feel like I’m in some kind of grade B horror movie. Crab 2: La Vengeance!
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