A Fish Story
Copyright 2008 by S. Thomas Kaza
Hank heard the rocket. He thought it was part of his dream, the same dream he always had. He was baking in the hot afternoon sun, sitting on the porch back home in Alabama. There was a lull in the warm breezes that were the only air conditioning he had, and the leaves on the trees out in the yard stopped moving. The dog across the street stopped barking. Even the cicadas stopped their shrill singing. He could feel a drop of water running down his palm, condensation from the can of cold beer he held in his hand. He could hear the catfish he had caught that morning frying in a pan on the stove. Someone was calling his name.
“What?” Hank asked drifting out of sleep.
Slowly he began to recognize his surroundings. He was sitting on a grassy bank of a pond with a fishing pole in his hands. In the clear, blue waters of the pond, he saw the reflection of the nearby mountains. The sky was overcast. As the dream faded, the warmth of the Earth’s faded with it. He felt chilled. His skin felt clammy like it had when he first cast his line into the water, like it did whenever he woke up, like it always did.
Under his breath Hank cursed the planet, which was known to astronomers as Planet GRD-17-35-2417 or more affectionately to school children as the Garden Planet. He remembered reading about the planet and its distant solar system as a child. He remembered wondering what it would be like to live in a place where Spring turned to Summer, then Summer changed back to Spring again, where there was no intervening Fall or Winter. He remembered dreaming of visiting the Garden Planet, but never did he ever imagine he would one day end up living there. And never did he imagine he would one day hate it so much.
There were no deserts on the Garden Planet, just one giant continent covered by millions of the clearest, bluest ponds and lakes, connected one to the other by countless babbling brooks and splashing waterfalls, all of it fed by icy-cold streams flowing down from snow-covered mountains. The land was inundated with water. And everywhere plants and trees grew. Everywhere you looked you could see green, the colors never changing. And always the people smiled and greeted him. It was a place of deep peace and tranquility. Some compared it to the Garden of Eden, but they usually never stayed long. To Hank it felt like prison, except for the fishing.
“Mr. Hank?” someone called right behind him.
Hank jumped. He turned his head. There was a boy standing not far behind him further up on the bank.
“Elvis,” Hank said, “you scared the…” but he caught himself and didn’t finish the sentence. It was easier not to curse than to face Mata’s wrath, “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on a guy when he’s fishing?”
“Sorry, Mr. Hank,” the boy said, coming down to the water’s edge.
Hank lifted his line out of the water. There was no bait on the hook.
“Now see what you done,” Hank said, “you’ve gone and scared the bait right off the hook.”
“Sorry, Mr. Hank.”
“Ol’ Whiskers, the biggest fish this side of the mountains, is somewhere out there right now laughing at me.” Hank said pointing out into the pond.
He looked at the kid, wanting to get angry. He couldn’t remember getting good and angry about anything for a long time. It was about time that he did. But he liked the boy too much. And his name was Elvis. How could you get angry with someone named Elvis? Instead, he threw his fishing pole down in the grass.
“Well, what do you want?” he growled, deciding to just be irritated instead.
“You hear rocket, Mr. Hank?” the boy asked.
“Yeah, I hear rocket,” Hank said, but he thought, “Son of ….. It wasn’t a dream.”
Hank got up. “How long ago did it land?”
The boy looked puzzled. Hank remembered that he had no concept of time when it came to anything less than day or night. None of the inhabitants of the planet did.
“For godsakes, Elvis, did you run right out here after the rocket landed? Or did you stop by and talk to Aunt Kichi… or whatever her name is?”
“No,” the boy said, “Me not talk to Aunti Kichi.”
“You didn’t talk to anyone?” Hank asked.
“Mata tell me find you,” the boy said, “then I come here.”
“Twenty minutes,” Hank thought. And he hurried off with the boy following.
By the time they reached the village, a crowd was gathering around the Old Honcho’s house. Mata came running out to meet them.
“Where were you? You didn’t hear rocket?” she asked scowling.
“Yeah,” Hank said scowling back, “but me and Elvis here were talking.”
“Talking?” the woman asked incredulously, “how can you talk to boy at a time like this? Hurry up! They are waiting!”
She took hold of his arm and yanked him through the crowd into the Old Honcho’s house, the biggest house in the whole village. Hank had been there before. He remembered to kick off his sandals before stepping onto the rug inside the door. He noticed a pair of black, leather business shoes.
But there was no time to ask questions. Mata dragged him into the room where the Old Honcho always met his guests. Hank mispronounced the customary greeting as he always did when he entered. The Head Honcho was already at his place. But seated on a cushion on the floor across from him was a middle-aged man in a business suit. Even though Hank had not seen him for almost 20 years, he immediately recognized him.
“Dave!” he shouted
“Hank!” the man shouted back.
They met midway, shaking hands and smacking each other on the back.
They met midway, shaking hands and smacking each other on the back.
“What happened to you?” Dave asked, “you look like Robinson Caruso. When was the last time you shaved?”
Hank didn’t know what to say. He laughed. The Old Honcho clapped his hands and ordered the servants to bring tea. Then he insisted that everyone sit down. Hank and Dave sat down on cushions opposite the Old Honcho. Mata took a position next to the old man to translate.
“What brings you out to the edge of the galaxy?” Hank asked
“Woke up one day and wanted to see you,” Dave said.
“Right,” Hank said, “so you just hopped on the next rocket out here. What are you now, a trillionaire?”
“Hardly,” Dave said, “but I’ve done alright for myself.”
There was a moment of silence between them.
The Old Honcho interrupted with several questions. He wanted to know how Dave and Hank knew each other. He wanted to know where Dave came from and how many wives he had. Mata translated everything almost simultaneously.
“He gets right to the point, doesn’t he?” Dave asked.
“Smartest guy around here,” Hank said.
Soon Dave was talking about how he and Hank met in the marines on their first tour of duty. He talked about their adventures, mostly time spent on leave- the fights they had gotten into, the things that they had gotten drunk on. Hank grinned, not so much at the memories, but because he guessed what the Old Honcho was doing. He was checking up on stories that Hank himself had told over the years.
“Old coot,” Hank thought, “Mr. Hank doesn’t lie. He might stretch the story a little, but Mr. Hank doesn’t lie.”
After about an hour of this, the Old Honcho suddenly declared that there would be a feast in honor of Dave that evening. He announced that everyone in the village should start preparing food and drink for it. Then he left the room without saying another word.
“Can he do that?” Dave asked.
“They all come running whenever he shouts,” Hank said, “come on, let’s get you out of that straight jacket.”
Within hours Hank, Dave, Mata, the Old Honcho, several other important people from around the village and neighboring villages, and their families and children were seated around a large table in the village hall toasting each other’s health. There were hundreds of dishes prepared by the villagers on the table in front of them. These would find their way back to the villagers who sat at rows of other tables set up around the main table, but only after the honored guest sampled them.
“I have to try everything?” Dave asked.
“They’ll stay here for two days until you do,” Hank said.
They drank and ate. They ate and drank. As the evening wore on into night, solemn toasts gave way to singing and laughter. Singing and laughter gave way to dancing and shouting and all forms of merriment. Dave found himself first being pulled in one direction, then other, but always somebody handed him a bottle or a wineskin. The next thing he remembered, he was outside. Then at some point, he couldn’t remember anything.
Dave woke up. He was outside. The sun was shining, and he had to squint. He felt something warm and furry behind him. It was moving.
“What the?” he rolled away and scrambled to his feet.
He was in a field. He had been sleeping with his back against a large animal, using it like a pillow. The animal was at least nine feet long. It was lying on the ground sleeping.
“Hank!” Dave called softly at first, taking several steps back as he did, “Hank!”
On the other side of the animal, Hank sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“What? What is it?”
“What is that thing?” Dave asked.
Hank looked through his sleepy eyes.
“This? I call ‘em Shag-a-longs. They’re completely harmless. They live up in the hills. When it gets a little cool at night, they like to sleep next to something warm. If they can’t find another Shag-a-long, they come down into the valleys and curl up against any warm body they can find.”
Hank leaned back into the great, big furry animal.
“Kind of comfortable, don’t you think?” he asked.
Dave shuddered a little. His head and neck were itchy. He wondered what kind of bugs lived in the fur of the sleeping beast. There was a nasty taste in his mouth. He was thirsty and hungry.
“I need a shower,” Dave said, “Where can I get a shower and some breakfast around here?”
Fifteen minutes later they were standing on the bank of a stream. Hank handed Dave what looked like a bar of soap.
“You wash right here in the river?” Dave asked.
“Yeah,” Hank said, “but I’m not gonna wash right now. I’ll go see about getting us some breakfast.” And he left.
Hank smiled when he heard Dave’s shouts. The water was cold. It flowed right down out of the snow-capped mountains to the north. When Dave showed up in the village ten minutes later, Hank figured it was probably the fastest bath he had ever taken.
While they were eating breakfast, Dave asked if Hank ever thought about going back to Earth.
“Sometimes,” Hank said. He was glad that Dave had brought up the topic. He had been considering how he could breach the topic with Dave. He wanted to figure out some way he could borrow the money for rocket fare.
“Well, I got this idea,” Dave said, “How long have you been living here?”
Hank thought about it for a moment. “Maybe thirteen….. fourteen years,” he said, “ever since I mustered out of the marines.”
“Fifteen years,” Dave said, “I checked before I came out. Do you know that a marine who has served as long as you did has a right to a claim of land on whatever planet in the federation they settle down on?”
Hank remembered the recruiter telling him something about that when he joined. But he didn’t pay attention to the details. It didn’t interest him then, and it didn’t interest him now.
“What do I need land for?” Hank asked, “Have you seen a fence since you got here? I can go where I like, fish where I like…..”
“But listen to this,” Dave said, “You can file your claim, then turn around and sell it to a company.”
“What kind of company?” Hank asked.
“Well, look at this place,” Dave said, “Rich people would pay hundreds of thousands to visit this place. They’d have to put up a hotel or a resort or something with hot showers. But I’m sure they would pay you more than enough to go back to Earth and live out the rest of your days a rich man.”
Hank stopped chewing. He had never thought about that. He pictured himself back on Earth on a beach somewhere soaking up the wonderful warm sun. Or maybe he would just go out to a desert where it was bone dry.
“Damn,” he said. Then he looked at Dave and rubbed his chin. “You didn’t come out all this way to the edge of the galaxy just to meet me, did you? Who do you work for?”
Dave smiled “Come on, Hank,” he said, “Give me a break. It’s in your best interest, isn’t it?”
“Why don’t you just go to the Head Honcho?” Hank asked.
Dave leaned forward. “They’ve been trying for years,” he said in a hushed voice, “The natives of this planet won’t give up an inch of their land on their own. But they would have to give it up for you because of a clause under the intergalactic treaty this planet signed. You’re the key.”
Hank leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Where do I sign?”
It took several days for the legal work to start flying across the galaxy. First, there was a form for the marines where Hank gave sworn testimony to the fact that he had lived on the Garden Planet for at least seven years, and he wanted to stake his claim. Then there were other forms to be filled out to make the transfer of title from Hank to the resort company. While they were waiting for the last paperwork for Hank to sign to arrive, Hank took Dave fishing.
Hank picked a lake not far from the village, because he hadn’t fished there for awhile. He knew they were guaranteed to get some hits. Hank remembered that Dave didn’t have any patience for fishing. He was after all a city boy. But it was Dave who caught the first fish. Hank took it off the hook for him and tossed it further up on the bank, where it would flop around for awhile. Then he took a swig from a jar filled with a yellowish liquid he called “rocket fuel”.
“So what do you think?” Hank asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You do this all the time?” Dave asked.
“If I do this,” Hank said, “I don’t need a psychologist.”
“You remember the first time you took me fishing?” Dave asked, “We were on that planet where they had those big snakes. You didn’t tell me about them.”
Hank laughed. “Well, I really wanted to go fishing.”
“Yeah, but do you remember what you did when I fell asleep?” Dave asked.
Hank shook his head. He had forgotten.
“You left me there with those snakes swimming around,” Dave said, “I woke up and felt something on my leg. I ran three miles all the way back to camp.”
They both started laughing.
“Yeah,” Hank said, “I remember now. You were so scared you couldn’t talk.
“I haven’t been fishing since that day,” Dave said, “and you know what? I still don’t get it.”
“What?” Hank asked.
“Fishing,” Dave said, “I mean, what’s the point? If you want to eat fish, you can go to the store and buy one. They call it a sport, but it’s not really a sport. You’re just sitting down all the time.”
“First of all,” Hank said, “there aren’t any stores here where I can go and buy fish. The people here don’t eat ‘em. Second, it might not be a sport like football or baseball, but it is a sport.”
“Where’s the sport in it?” Dave asked. “I mean a minute ago I stuck my line in, and then I pull out a fish.”
Hank laughed. “That’s because we’re fishing for the dumb ones here. Some of the fish in this lake will even bite a hook. But if you go after the smart fish, it’s a contest. It’s man versus beast.”
“So there are dumb fish and smart fish?” Dave asked.
“Yep,” Hank said, “and one of the smartest fish I ever came across lives in these lakes and streams. I call him Ol’ Whiskers. He’s big. I imagine he’s been around for awhile. And he’s mean. Some people are even afraid to go swimming in these waters, because they’re afraid of him.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Not up close, but I’ve seen his shadow moving out there.”
“Sounds like one of your fish stories,” Dave said.
“No, he’s real,” Hank said. “All kinds of people have been seeing him up and down these lakes and ponds for years. He’s as smart as hell too. Once I think I’ve got him placed, somebody reports seeing him at another spot. It’s the damndest thing. It’s like he knows I’m after him.”
“Maybe you can get some help catching him when all the tourists start arriving,” Dave said, “You can be like a fishing guide and organize fishing trips until you head back to Earth.”
Hank thought about that. He thought about it all day and into the evening. He thought about it so much that he couldn’t sleep that night.
The next day the sky finally cleared, but the sun did little to chase away the dampness that crawled in under Hank’s clothes and clung to his skin. He sat on the grassy bank of a pond with Elvis sitting nearby. They heard the rocket taking off. Elvis looked at Hank. Hank stared at his line.
“Mr. Hank,” Elvis said, “someday we go to Alabammy? I want to see my Grand Mammy.”
Hank hockered up and spit off to the side.
“There’ll be other rockets, Elvis,” he said, but when he thought about it he realized that his mother was probably gone by now. The letters stopped coming six years ago. He pictured the old house the way he remembered it. By now they had probably torn it down to make way for a strip mall.
After the sound of the rocket faded, they sat for a long while without saying anything. Finally, the boy got up.
“I go back to village,” he said.
“Got your lessons?” Hank asked.
The boy nodded. But before he could run off, Hank called to him.
“Yes, Mr. Hank.”
“Don’t worry, Elvis,” he said, “You’ll get your chance to go. I’ll take you. I promise. Just wait until you’re a little older.”
After the boy left Hank wondered if he could keep him until he was 25 years old. The marine recruiters would be looking to sign him until then. And from what he heard there were still plenty of wars going on in other parts of the galaxy.
He turned his attention to his line in the water. He knew Ol’ Whiskers was sitting out there somewhere. One of Mata’s friends said she saw him last week. Or was it the week before? What did it matter? He had time. As long as it was up to him, nobody would build any hotels or resorts and bring in any tourists to liven up the place until he had Ol’ Whiskers mounted on his wall.
When Elvis got back to the village, Mata was waiting for him at the Head Honcho’s place. She asked him what Hank was doing, and Elvis told her that Hank was fishing for Ol’ Whiskers.
“Thank you,” Mata said. Then she asked Elvis to wait in the next room for his lessons.
Once Elvis was gone the Head Honcho crossed his arms and leaned back.
“Who is next?” Mata asked.
“Get that farmer who lives out by the twin springs to come in and see me,” the Head Honcho said, “Mr. Hank will believe him.”
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