"Did you enjoy the fish?" he asked through the window of the truck before I even had my front door locked. I had not eaten any but told them they were delicious. That day on the trip, he was eager to talk, telling of fishing and hunting as a boy and the time he killed a bear with an arrow. As soon as we hit water he was quiet once more, eyes cast down. That day and every day after, he talked only when he baited my hooks.
I listened patiently but could rarely contribute to the conversation. We fished every weekend that summer. I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun. At work we rarely interacted more than with a knowing look, and we didn’t share with anyone our extra-curricular activities. Come Saturday, or Sunday if the weather was bad, we were in the boat by dawn, out on the lake, fishing line in the water.
One after while Fall drew close Abel became quite grave, drawing in his line and cracking another beer. The bottom of the boat was littered. I thought I’d be driving home that night. "I told you my father found me," he said, his accent thick as I’d ever heard. He delicately took hold of the hook I’d been dangling and laid it across his palm. Abel whispered, "He had a scent.” Our worms lived in a red coffee can half full of a mix of soil and used coffee grounds. Abel took the can from beneath his seat and peeled off the plastic cover he’d aerated with a pocket knife. “I know that for sure.”
His genocide stories made me uncomfortable, but he seemed relieved like the draining of a wound. I didn’t know how to tacitly answer anything, so I mostly listened and did my best not to interrupt. “He could not find the rest of my family because they were not alive to be found,” Abel said. With his finger-tips, he dragged a worm from hiding. It stretched to escape him. He shook the can and the worm lost purchase, snapping back against Abel’s fingers like a rubber band. “He did find a guilty man.” Abel grinned and shoved the barb into the worm at the midway point. The tail flailed and coiled against the hand as Abel strung the body onto the shaft until the barb sliced to freedom near the head. “He did not tell me what he did, but my father made it clear this man had been punished for his crimes."
Abel tossed the morsel into the water. It hit with a ‘ploop’ and sank out of sight. Abel grinned and returned his attention to his own bobber. After some time, we stopped to eat a sandwich. I did not say anything while we ate. This seemed to please him. When Abel was finished eating, he continued. I put out my line again, without checking to see if there was even a worm. "My father only told me the story because he'd found another, and needed my help."
"How did he know?" I asked.
"Because this man lived next door to my family when I was a child, and his wife wore a ring my father had purchased for my mother. My father believed this was the man who turned us in."
"Did you kill him?" I asked.
"We took him fishing," Abel answered. "We became his friend, and were surprised he did not recognize us. I'd been a small boy, and my father did not look the same. We had to be sure this was the man who had done us wrong. I could not have handled the guilt if he was innocent."
Abel stared in the bottom of the boat. "He confessed, without knowing at first he told us every detail of his life in our town and the places he fished there. When he came to realize who we were, he was grateful we were not dead. He'd lived with the guilt every day for his crimes, and begged our forgiveness."
"I would have been swayed by myself," Abel said, shaking his head, unable to look at me. "I would have forgiven him and let him go, but my father was unmoved. We wrapped a net around the man and threw him overboard with our anchor. I will never forget the look in his eyes when the man realized he would not survive." I did not know if Abel meant his father or their victim
"I don't have the scent," Abel said, sounding sad. "The men who wronged my family are probably all dead by now, and if not I know their life will be more punishment than my revenge. I sleep well at night." Hew looked at me over the rim of his glasses and breathed hard through his nose. "I don't know what my father said to that man's wife, but she gave back the ring. He wore that ring until his death on his little finger, and when it passed to me, it became all I had of either parent. My wife wore that ring. Now I see her face in it as well. No doubt my face will soon shine there as well."
Abel dropped his line in the lake and turned his back on me. I watched him for some time before I did the same. He said no more that afternoon, or the long drive to my house. Abel did not say good bye. The next morning, I put the ring I'd stolen on his doorstep and never spoke to Abel again.
End.
I listened patiently but could rarely contribute to the conversation. We fished every weekend that summer. I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun. At work we rarely interacted more than with a knowing look, and we didn’t share with anyone our extra-curricular activities. Come Saturday, or Sunday if the weather was bad, we were in the boat by dawn, out on the lake, fishing line in the water.
One after while Fall drew close Abel became quite grave, drawing in his line and cracking another beer. The bottom of the boat was littered. I thought I’d be driving home that night. "I told you my father found me," he said, his accent thick as I’d ever heard. He delicately took hold of the hook I’d been dangling and laid it across his palm. Abel whispered, "He had a scent.” Our worms lived in a red coffee can half full of a mix of soil and used coffee grounds. Abel took the can from beneath his seat and peeled off the plastic cover he’d aerated with a pocket knife. “I know that for sure.”
His genocide stories made me uncomfortable, but he seemed relieved like the draining of a wound. I didn’t know how to tacitly answer anything, so I mostly listened and did my best not to interrupt. “He could not find the rest of my family because they were not alive to be found,” Abel said. With his finger-tips, he dragged a worm from hiding. It stretched to escape him. He shook the can and the worm lost purchase, snapping back against Abel’s fingers like a rubber band. “He did find a guilty man.” Abel grinned and shoved the barb into the worm at the midway point. The tail flailed and coiled against the hand as Abel strung the body onto the shaft until the barb sliced to freedom near the head. “He did not tell me what he did, but my father made it clear this man had been punished for his crimes."
Abel tossed the morsel into the water. It hit with a ‘ploop’ and sank out of sight. Abel grinned and returned his attention to his own bobber. After some time, we stopped to eat a sandwich. I did not say anything while we ate. This seemed to please him. When Abel was finished eating, he continued. I put out my line again, without checking to see if there was even a worm. "My father only told me the story because he'd found another, and needed my help."
"How did he know?" I asked.
"Because this man lived next door to my family when I was a child, and his wife wore a ring my father had purchased for my mother. My father believed this was the man who turned us in."
"Did you kill him?" I asked.
"We took him fishing," Abel answered. "We became his friend, and were surprised he did not recognize us. I'd been a small boy, and my father did not look the same. We had to be sure this was the man who had done us wrong. I could not have handled the guilt if he was innocent."
Abel stared in the bottom of the boat. "He confessed, without knowing at first he told us every detail of his life in our town and the places he fished there. When he came to realize who we were, he was grateful we were not dead. He'd lived with the guilt every day for his crimes, and begged our forgiveness."
"I would have been swayed by myself," Abel said, shaking his head, unable to look at me. "I would have forgiven him and let him go, but my father was unmoved. We wrapped a net around the man and threw him overboard with our anchor. I will never forget the look in his eyes when the man realized he would not survive." I did not know if Abel meant his father or their victim
"I don't have the scent," Abel said, sounding sad. "The men who wronged my family are probably all dead by now, and if not I know their life will be more punishment than my revenge. I sleep well at night." Hew looked at me over the rim of his glasses and breathed hard through his nose. "I don't know what my father said to that man's wife, but she gave back the ring. He wore that ring until his death on his little finger, and when it passed to me, it became all I had of either parent. My wife wore that ring. Now I see her face in it as well. No doubt my face will soon shine there as well."
Abel dropped his line in the lake and turned his back on me. I watched him for some time before I did the same. He said no more that afternoon, or the long drive to my house. Abel did not say good bye. The next morning, I put the ring I'd stolen on his doorstep and never spoke to Abel again.
End.
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