Love and Carp

A tale from the shores of Lake Evans

I do a slow brake and synchronous dismount, swinging my right leg over the back wheel, my right foot meeting the pavement at exactly the same moment I roll to a stop. I have perfected this move over time and still accomplish it with some grace. I come to a halt on the walkway at the south end of the lake, near the spill way, where the brackish waters of Lake Evans empty into the Santa Ana. It is mid-morning and I am feeling good, with just a little pride in the fact that I can still execute this simple maneuver with some refinement.

 

I stop because there is a commotion at the edge of the water; something agitating the surface sufficiently to leave a lingering foam. I am too late in noticing to tell what it is, but assume it is one of the local water fowl, maybe a mud-hen, diving for its breakfast. I wait for it to resurface but no bird appears and conclude, therefore, that it must be a fish. As I continue to watch, I notice the rippling of something moving just beneath the surface �" a faint shadow lurking there �" but there is too much algae and silt in the water to make out any distinct shape. Suddenly, there is another disturbance directly in front of me and this time I catch sight of its causal agent; a large carp with scales the size of your thumbnail, its surface mottled a brownish-orange mosaic. The animal appears frenzied; violently spastic. It is "flipping-out"; whipping the surface of the water to a froth. The churning lasts nearly a full second and then, apparently spent from its lather, the fish convulses one last time, stops, and then disappears into the shadows behind shadows under the surface of the lake.

 

I notice a similar disruption a few feet down-shore and then another up near the spillway, in each case the flash of a large fish apparent at the center of the roil. The phenomena seems to be occurring at intervals all up and down this end of the lake, the white-water formed by the excited creatures, apparently possessed by something very urgent, leaving a remnant of creamy foam floating on the surface at the site of each disturbance. I stand there watching, considering the possible causes of this odd behavior. I wonder if there is some form of distemper specific to carp at play here; perhaps something toxic in the water.

 

Someone is approaching. A sixtyish woman dressed in a pastel blue running suit is out power-walking. Her clean, white Nikes have pink laces, matching the color of the cotton, wrap-around visor holding her gently tossed, frosted hair slightly aloft. She is smiling as she bobs toward me; seeing me watching the fish in the throes of something I do not quite understand and apparently noticing my fascination. She slows to a stop beside me and smiles. I return the smile as she takes a deep breath and places the backs of her hands on her hips. Her eyes go to the edge of the lake where there is suddenly another round of splashing.

 

"They're spawning," she says.

 

"Carp right?"

 

"Yeah. They do this every Spring."

 

"Funny," I say, "I have been coming here since I was a little boy and I have never noticed them behaving like this."

 

"They only do it for a couple of days each year. Lucky you caught em' at it this time."

 

"Ain't love grand?"

 

"Indeed," she says grinning widely.

 

The woman takes another deep breath and resumes her energetic stride. She power-walks away from me as I stand there waiting for the next round of activity on the water.

 

I now understand these waters to be permeated by clouds of colloidal fish sperm; populated by anonymous jellied egg masses deposited hastily in the shallows. They are charged with mysterious currents of electric orgone . These are dark waters, opaque with clouds of silt; fertile waters, thick with stuff and topped with the spume of ancient Piscean genesis.

 

I watch, a moment longer, the flashing, frenzied, fevered fishes.

Reviews

[RainQueen]

Ah, Keve -
You describe yourself as a storyteller, and indeed you are. However, you have the rare gift of not only transporting the reader to the place and time you snapshot, but also the even rarer gift of allowing us to see it through your eyes, to feel it through your skin.

This fertile moment, the glancing interaction - It means something. It's a pivot of sorts, but even though the humble reader gets to experience it wearing your skin, you graciously allow her to assign her own meaning and revelation.

Fantastic~