Abel was a fisherman. He'd learned from his father. He never told me where he was from, but I surmised Eastern Europe from his accent. He told me of the lakes in lost valleys between mountains no man had seen for a generation. He described in loving detail the fat and oily fish he would wrench from those lakes and they way they sizzled when his mother cooked them. Bitterly he complained of the minnows he caught here. That did not stop Abel from fishing every weekend.
I don’t know if he would accept a negative, but I was honored when he asked me to join him. I hadn’t been fishing since I was a child, and that was mostly sunfish in the swimming hole. They were barely a few inches long, and once the heads and fins were removed, there was little left to cook. "We’re on the lake by first light," Abel told me.
There were still stars above when he picked me up in his truck. We drove farther than I imagined to dirt road through the trees that opened on a lake that slithered out of sight beyond the hills. Birds were waking when I helped maneuver his little boat in the water. Abel rowed and I watched until the shore was so far in the distance I could not have swum to safety should we capsize. Abel showed no fear. He baited my hook and then his and we dropped our lines on either side of the dingy.
I tried to converse, but he told me I'd scare the fish. His smile was assurance that quiet was best now. "People think of fishing only as the fight." Abel told me after an hour. "Those shows you've been watching, they ignore the wait." At times, the closest Abel came to conversation was to open another beer.
After a few hours we took a break for sandwiches, but still we kept our voices low and our motions minimum. Our bucket was nearly full, but most of the catch belonged to Abel. Even when I landed the smallest fish, he would commend my efforts. Despite the heat, I was having a good time. While we ate, Abel told me more stories from catches past until he noticed I'd seen the numbers tattooed on his forearm that he'd always kept covered with a long sleeve shirt.
"I was a young boy," he said. "I don't know which memories were mine and which were adopted from the movies and TV shows made by people that were not there." He pointed to his tattoo. "This always reminds me."
He was silent a moment, but he was ready to keep going without me. "I understand where I'd been by the time I left that place." He took a deep breath with his nose. "My father found me quite quickly when it was over, like he had my scent. This gave me great hope, but I did not see my mother and sisters again." He grinned. "Know what I always take great pride in? I never dwell on the horrors visited on me. I think instead of the great step forward mankind took. What happened to my people was not unique. Finally a massacre happened that was so atrocious that a world of people took a step back to say, 'This is too much.' We should not mire ourselves in the tragedy of those we lost, but that as a result, such a horror may not happen again for decades, or even a century."
I stammered my sympathies, but Abel did not want to hear them. We returned to fishing in silence and I could not tell if I heard Abel sniffle. He dropped me off at dark and asked me to accompany him the following weekend. I felt obligated and accepted. He was at my home once more at dawn. During the week he'd left wrapped packages of fish fillets at my door, but I had not been home to receive them.
Part 2
I don’t know if he would accept a negative, but I was honored when he asked me to join him. I hadn’t been fishing since I was a child, and that was mostly sunfish in the swimming hole. They were barely a few inches long, and once the heads and fins were removed, there was little left to cook. "We’re on the lake by first light," Abel told me.
There were still stars above when he picked me up in his truck. We drove farther than I imagined to dirt road through the trees that opened on a lake that slithered out of sight beyond the hills. Birds were waking when I helped maneuver his little boat in the water. Abel rowed and I watched until the shore was so far in the distance I could not have swum to safety should we capsize. Abel showed no fear. He baited my hook and then his and we dropped our lines on either side of the dingy.
I tried to converse, but he told me I'd scare the fish. His smile was assurance that quiet was best now. "People think of fishing only as the fight." Abel told me after an hour. "Those shows you've been watching, they ignore the wait." At times, the closest Abel came to conversation was to open another beer.
After a few hours we took a break for sandwiches, but still we kept our voices low and our motions minimum. Our bucket was nearly full, but most of the catch belonged to Abel. Even when I landed the smallest fish, he would commend my efforts. Despite the heat, I was having a good time. While we ate, Abel told me more stories from catches past until he noticed I'd seen the numbers tattooed on his forearm that he'd always kept covered with a long sleeve shirt.
"I was a young boy," he said. "I don't know which memories were mine and which were adopted from the movies and TV shows made by people that were not there." He pointed to his tattoo. "This always reminds me."
He was silent a moment, but he was ready to keep going without me. "I understand where I'd been by the time I left that place." He took a deep breath with his nose. "My father found me quite quickly when it was over, like he had my scent. This gave me great hope, but I did not see my mother and sisters again." He grinned. "Know what I always take great pride in? I never dwell on the horrors visited on me. I think instead of the great step forward mankind took. What happened to my people was not unique. Finally a massacre happened that was so atrocious that a world of people took a step back to say, 'This is too much.' We should not mire ourselves in the tragedy of those we lost, but that as a result, such a horror may not happen again for decades, or even a century."
I stammered my sympathies, but Abel did not want to hear them. We returned to fishing in silence and I could not tell if I heard Abel sniffle. He dropped me off at dark and asked me to accompany him the following weekend. I felt obligated and accepted. He was at my home once more at dawn. During the week he'd left wrapped packages of fish fillets at my door, but I had not been home to receive them.
Part 2
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