The Lake’s PrologueReflectionI am a lake, so let me be clear. The tale I’m about to tell you all is absolutely true. It is as true as the reflection of the clouds across my face. It is as true as every unseen thing hidden down below. You can search the internet to find your proof. About a lake in the Louisiana wetlands that disappeared one day. About a garden paradise gobbled up by the earth. About the dangers of drilling for oil in the middle of a lake that sits above a salt mine.
I am that lake. I have been given many names. The black bears who eat berries by my shore call me one name. The fish and the shrimp and the long-legged birds each call me something else. From the ancient Chitimacha to the exiled Acadians, they named me what they will. But by the summer of 1980, when this story takes place, the local people called me Lake Peigneur, pronounced approximately pain-YER. Almost like saying “your pain,” only in reverse.
The setting of my story is the Mississippi River delta. A place between solid land and liquid sea. A place between fresh water and salt water. A place in a permanent state of transition and becoming. And now, into this landscape, enters Junius Leak. He is nearly thirteen years old, and he is the latest in a long, long line of Junius Leaks.
Junius is all butterflies as he travels west along Interstate 10. In his own way, Junius is a shallow lake like me. To be clear, this worrisome child has no clue how closely he is connected to this land. Aside from a toddler’s gauzy memory or two, he has no recollections of lightning strikes or hurricanes. Boating accidents. Babies being born. Pirate curses and buried treasure. Deception and lies. Lively music and fais-dodos. Deadly crawdad étouffée. Or laissez le bons temps rouler!
But I am the lake. I will fill in all the gaps. I will always fill in the gaps.
Copyright © 2025 by Allan Wolf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
