The Great Fishless RiverA Story by ProdigoThe drought was good for fishing. You could get close to the deep parts of the river where it had been carved out and there were channels where the fish were on the hot days to keep cool. If you threw a net into it, you could catch many at once. The bend of the river ran into our property. Our house was on a hundred acres and it was hilly country, except near the river where it was flat because it flooded often. The river was closest a half mile away but the current was much too quick. If you traveled upstream a bit, the current was only a little quick and you could survive if you were swept into it and you swam well. Tim
was my cousin and he lived across town. His house was in the rich suburbs. They had only four houses to a
street. Some of the houses were great white plantation homes with a forest
growing along the edge of their land. His family had two acres with a great
live oak on it. It was very old and white
with tears in the trunk where the brown flesh showed. The live oak shadowed a
stream that cut through a grove of trees. It ran along the base of the hill his
home was on until it ran off into a brook that led to the great river a few
miles away. He wanted to see the river and fish in it. I told him I would take
him if he stayed the weekend. It was still very early and the sun was baking the hills. Wild
wheat was along the shoulder of the hills because of the great sun and near the
base you could find bluebonnets. They went on through the hills and the long
dried cattle grass, stretching into low flat plains and stopping when the dirt
was too moist where the river could reach sometimes with a good rain. The trail
ran along the bluebonnets. We followed the blue bonnets instead.
The wheat on
the ridge bent into the sun coming up and it warmed our faces and we were
baking in it. You could follow the trail until you hit the fast part of the
river where it was dangerous, or you could follow the train tracks laid between
a line of trees and some thick forest that was guarded by a wall of thorns and
long patches of blackberry bush. We were close enough to the river now to run
across water moccasins and they liked mostly to lie on the wooden planks in the
tracks because it was smooth and warm and close to the water and the shade. The
trees shaded the tracks and Tim and I would pick the blackberries close enough
and forget the rest. The thick forest was well lit and it was nice and you
could not be afraid of it. The tracks turn off and it goes over another part of
the river by a bridge. The hills here were smoothed out and you could climb
down to the slow part of the river comfortably. We started for the river from
the tracks and rested on the smoothed pebbles that made up the bank. I set the
net onto the ground and kicked away some of the rotted branches left by the
rain that carried them there. Tim dropped
his net beside mine and was watching the river. He had one hand resting on his
knee and he said, “It’s hot.” “Walked in the shade too long.” I said. I kicked my shoes off. “Why you takin’ your shoes off?” “Cause of the mud. Mom would kill me if I got ‘em dirty.” I
looked them over, “These are my school shoes.” “Oh.” He kicked off his own shoes and I said, “You ain’t gotta do
that.” “Wouldn’t be fair if I had ‘em on.” He smiled and I
thought I was proud of him I felt badly for him because my father could fix most things,
but his father sold paint for a living and I knew that there was little to be
proud of in that sort of thing. I teased him sometimes and I don’t know why I
did that. He was a delicate boy and that rot could kill him. I decided that he
would catch a great fish today and it would take both of us to carry it home
and it would feed us until we were sick of fish and we couldn’t eat any more of
it without getting ill. The sun was behind the trees and the fish were near the surface
to warm up a little before heading into the big part of the river where the
current would carry them. The river, upstream, ran a short ways and got
shallower where it turned off into a manmade lake. Downstream, it was vicious
and went straight a ways divided by sand bars and finally bent to the left to
disappear behind more trees. Tim was dipping his feet into the water, watching the thin
branches floating toward him to see if they were snakes. He was growing bold
and he started into the river. His pants were soaked and his shirt was getting
wet and he was having a hard time moving gracefully. He stepped forward into
the river once more and turned to look upstream and a curved stick that looked
like a moccasin was floating towards him. He gasped and threw himself into the
current. I looked into the water but it was moving too quick and the sun was
coming through and blinding me a little. I grabbed my net and ran downstream to
find him. I waded out into the river and was praying please God, please God,
please, please, don’t let him drown. Please God, please God, please don’t let
him drown. When Tim came up, he had gotten lucky and caught onto one of the
rocks. The rocks broke the bullying current and the water ran strangely there
but he was further downstream and I ran to him. I threw the net out to him and
he grabbed hold of it. He threw the net over the closest rock and pulled
himself to it. He got across the river and I grabbed the net and pulled him in.
He lied there breathing heavily and trying to keep from shivering. I helped him
up and carried him into the sun to dry. He took his shirt off and lied there,
laughing and I hoped that he had baptized some of his fear in the river. He was
delirious so I waited to ask him if he wanted to do some fishing. He agreed to
it. I took the net out and he was shivering a little and he said, “I don’t see
no fish.”
“Ain’t supposed to.” “How you know if you gonna catch anything?” “That the fun of it, I guess.” When I
fished alone, I was more upstream. I would lie there until it was almost dark
and the mosquitoes were coming out and the water was black but you could see
the branches and the leaves. I held my machete close. The coyotes were bold,
sometimes. I would listen for my mother to hold the horn of
my father’s truck to signal me to come home. I showed him how to hold the net and throw it so it would cover
more area. We waited a few seconds after throwing it to let it settle before
pulling the ropes to turn it into a bag and drag in our fish.
When the net settled, it bubbled up and sank quickly. We were
soaked from preparing it to toss again, all the while watching the bank for
snakes. Tim said, “I never done this before.” “You did good gettin’ out of the river. Betchyou that river
could carry a whale.” “It ain’t deep enough” He said confidently “Maybe not.” Tim stayed quiet and he looked downstream to where he came out
of and he was grinning proudly. “I never swam like that before.” “I ain’t never seen nobody swim like that. Not even my Pa.” He smiled again and took some of the water from his bare chest
and wiped it away and he said, “Where are the fish?” “I dunno. You were just down there.” We laughed and then it was quiet again and he became different
almost instantly. He looked down at his bare feet all muddy and he said, “My
brother is coming home.” “From the military?” I asked He nodded and said, “From the war.” I pulled the net in and handed it to him. He loosened it and
threw it out. I watched him let it settle and he yanked on the ropes. Nothing
came up and I asked him if he was staying this time. “For a few days. Mom keeps cryin’. My dad brags a lot to your
dad.” “So.” “So, everybody will come home and never have to go back and my
dad won’t say nothin’ else.” “Your pa talks an awful lot.” “He sells stuff. He has to.” I looked out across the river and you could see past the thicket
to a clearing where a sycamore was struck by lightning. It was cut in half and
you could climb almost to the stump if you didn’t weigh much. It was wet and
starting to rot. Tim saw the tree and said, “James don’t have no friends here
no more.”
“What about Rodwaan?” I asked
“No.” he stood up, “He died, too.”
“He must be awful lonely.”
“He says he ain’t. He says he makes new friends all the time.”
“Where do they live?”
“All over. He says he got one friend from Kansas City.”
“Is that a big place?”
“Real big. Like Houston.”
“I wish I could see him.” I said
“Who?”
“James. Your brother.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow.” Tim said, “I got lots of stuff to show
him.”
“Like what?”
“Stuff I done at school. He used to draw. I still do. I like to
do it.”
“I can’t draw.” I said
“Maybe he’ll show you. If yer smart, he won’t get mad.”
“Why would he get mad?”
“I dunno. He can get real sore, though. Last time he was home,
he kicked through the door.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“The light bulb popped and he got scared. I dunno why he got so
scared. He got sore and he kicked through the door. I never seen nobody so mad.
Not even your dad.”
My father drank a lot then and it was hard getting along around
him. He would drink and then go out in the driveway to work on his car. I used
to help him, but he got angry once and he beat me while my leg was pressed
against the exhaust. He thought I was crying because of the beating. He held me
there for almost a minute. I had burns from my knees to my ankles and they were
tender for a long time. He went out and bought me shorts because the pants
rubbed against my skin. He would cry when he saw the scars. He would cry and
apologize a hundred times and I would tell him it was okay and it didn’t even
hurt. It was only bad luck, I said.
“I saw my brother cryin’ once. We was just eatin’ dinner and he
started cryin’. Then he got real mad and said we was stupid and we couldn’t
understand. He cried like nobody I’d ever seen.”
“Was it worse than when my brother got charged by that bull?”
“It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t hurt or nothin’.”
“Maybe he killed somebody.” I said
“Have you ever killed somebody?” He asked
“No, but I fed my dog chicken feed once. My pa says it got in
her lungs and she choked to death for two days. I ain’t never cried like that
before.”
“My brother didn’t kill nobody.” He said
“No, prolly not.”
“He could if he had to, though.” Tim added
“I know.” I said and I waited to see if he would say something
else, but he stayed quiet. He was quiet for awhile and he said finally, “I miss
him so bad. So terribly bad.”
I adjusted the net and handed it to him. I prayed he would catch
something but the net was dragged in empty.
The fish were below the surface and they were not jumping. I had
not seen one jump in some time. They would come out of the water and they were
gone again, carried downstream towards the big river. If you were close enough,
you could see they were spotted and almost gray and smooth. The big catfish had
long whiskers that curled when they were above water. I had seen really big
catfish, but only in the earliest part of the summer. Our white bucket to carry
the fish was beginning to sink in the mud from sitting still for too long.
For a spell, I sat by on the rock and watched him toss it and pull
it in again and toss it out and just like that he started crying. He buried his
face into his knees and hugged his legs and he cried hard. I tried not to watch
him do it. I stood there holding the net while it dripped against me and didn’t
move or say anything. He was crying without making any noise. He kept his face
buried and cried harder and the river was picking up and starting to drown him
out. I watched his body and knew he was sobbing. After a few minutes, the river
was dying down again and I could hear him praying. He finished praying and he
looked up and blew his nose into his sleeve and he said, “He’s going back.” I didn’t want to say anything. I took the net and threw it out.
I didn’t catch anything. He was sitting by and watching me. After a time, he stood up and
took the net and threw it out once more. He drew it back empty. He wasn’t
disappointed. He was not thinking about me nor the fish nor this river. “I like net fishing. You can catch an awful lot if you’re
lucky.” I said Tim stood there with the net and looked upstream and his eyes
followed the turn and then downstream to where he had come out of the water and
he said, “Can we take my brother here when he comes home?” “Can he keep a secret?” “He never told nobody nothin’.” “Okay then.” And I smiled at him and tossed the net out
and caught some branches. I was pulling them from the net when we heard the
horn coming through the trees. © 2012 Prodigo |
Stats
442 Views
Added on April 25, 2012 Last Updated on April 25, 2012 AuthorProdigoVictoria, TXAboutBad art is tragically more beautiful than good art because it documents human failure. more..Writing
|