Nathan Coulter (13 page)

The sun was getting hot when we finished putting the lines out. Uncle Burley said it would save a lot of rowing if we stayed there for the rest of the morning; we'd run the lines at noon and maybe get a mess of fish,
and then go in. He pulled the boat into the shade along the bank and we tied up to a snag.

We made ourselves comfortable and watched the river, talking about how many fish we might catch and what kind and how big. Uncle Burley remembered all the good ones he'd ever caught and what he'd caught them on and what time of year it had been. Finally we ran out of talk, and he lay down in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep.

I watched the sun climb up toward the top of the sky. A few birds were singing, and I could see a mud turtle sunning himself on a log. King-fishers flew over the willows, calling, tilting down to the water after minnows. After a while it got hotter and the river quieted down. The only things moving then were the clouds and the water.

The surface of the river was still. You could see every leaf of the trees reflected in it. The white glare of the sun glanced so brightly it hurt your eyes; and in the shade where we rested the water darkened, rippling a little as it passed the boat. The whole calm of the river moved down and past us and on, as if it slept and remembered its direction in its sleep. And somewhere below the thin reflections of the trees was Chicken Little, hidden in that dark so quietly nobody would ever find him.

After a while I propped my back against the side of the boat and went to sleep too.

It was nearly noon when Uncle Burley woke me. We ran the lines and took off four or five little catfish, and then rowed back to the house to cook them for dinner.

That afternoon we caught another bucketful of perch, and ran the lines again after it began to cool off. We took six nice channel cats on that run and baited the lines up fresh. Three of the fish made enough for our supper, and we put the other three in the fish box to keep them alive.

It began to rain at supper time, a slow drizzle at first, then hard and steady against the roof and windowpanes. It sounded as if it had set in for the night. When supper was over we sat in the bedroom and talked and listened to the rain fall.

I'd about made up my mind to go to bed when Uncle Burley picked up the lantern and put his hat on. “I feel my luck working,” he said. “Let's go see what we've caught.”

“At this time of night?” I said.

We waited until the rain slacked up a little, and went down to the boat. It was dark. The rain fell out of the black sky and splattered our clothes and sizzled on the lantern globe. Uncle Burley set the lantern in the front of the boat and we shoved off. We stayed in close under the trees. The lower branches caught in our light and we guided by them.

We ran the first line and took off two white cats and three channel cats, all of a good size. I rowed to the other line and Uncle Burley began raising it. We went about fifteen feet from the bank and I saw the line jerk in his hands. It pulled him off balance and he turned the line loose and caught himself on the other side of the boat.

He wiped his hands on his pants and looked at me. “We got a fish, boy.”

“Can you tell how big?”

“Pretty near too big.”

I rowed to the bank. He caught the line again, and I held the lantern up so he could see. The line tightened in his hands, cutting back and forth through the water. It was still raining, and pitch-dark beyond the light of the lantern. Uncle Burley knelt in the front of the boat, working us slowly toward the fish. He had his underlip in his teeth, being careful.

We heard the fish roll up on top of the water, his big tail splashing out in the dark toward the middle of the river. He went down then, and Uncle Burley had to turn the line loose. We played the fish for what seemed an hour, running out, losing the line, and rowing back to the bank to start all over again.

Finally we wore him out. He came to the top of the water, and Uncle Burley held him there and pulled the boat out to him. He was a white cat, the biggest I'd ever seen. Uncle Burley hooked his thumb into the fish's mouth and ran the fingers of his other hand into the gills. I caught the tail and we hauled him over the side of the boat. He flopped down at our feet and lay there with his big red gills heaving open and shut. Uncle Burley was breathing hard, and the thumb he'd hooked in the fish's mouth was bleeding. He sat down and looked at the fish while he got his breath, then he grinned at me. “He's a horse, ain't he?”

We were drenched with rain, and by the time we got back to the house our teeth were chattering. We stripped off our clothes and hung them on the chairs to dry. Uncle Burley lit the stove and we stood in front of it
until we were warm. When we went to bed the rain was still coming down, rustling through the trees and rapping the tin roof. We lay snug and awake for a long time, remembering everything that had happened.

After breakfast the next morning we went down to the river. We'd tied the fish to the back of the boat with a piece of strong line, doubled and looped through one of his gills. Uncle Burley lifted him out of the water. We were surprised again to see how big he was.

“What're we going to do with him?” I asked.

“We'll get Beriah to put him on ice for us so he'll keep,” Uncle Burley said. “You can cut slabs of meat off of him as big as steaks, and just as white as snow.”

When we'd finished looking at the fish Uncle Burley let him back into the water so he could breathe. He jerked his head against the line like a horse jerking against a hitch rein.

“There'll be a lot of fine eating on that fish,” Uncle Burley said. “We ought to have a fish fry. We'll get Big Ellis and Jig and Gander to come down tonight and have a feast. We'll have to let Beriah in on it too, so he'll be willing to furnish some ice.”

As soon as we'd baited the lines we took the fish out of the water again. We tied him to one of the oars and started up the road, carrying him between us, holding him high to keep his tail from dragging.

“We'll cook plenty of corn bread,” Uncle Burley said, “and maybe get hold of a watermelon. It'll be a supper they won't forget for a while.”

Beriah was sitting in front of the store again, and when he saw us he came out to meet us. “Lord amercy,” he said. “Look what a fish.”

“We're going to use him for bait,” Uncle Burley said. “We're going to try to catch one big enough to eat.”

Beriah held the door open for us and we carried the fish inside and stretched him out on the floor in front of the counter.

“Lord amercy,” Beriah said. “You've caught the granddaddy of them all.” He knelt down beside the fish and patted its head as if it were a dog. “You don't see a fish like this more than once in a lifetime, Burley.”

When I saw how Beriah admired our fish I was prouder than ever and so was Uncle Burley.

“Don't it make your mouth water just to look at him?” Uncle Burley said.

“There's some fine eating on him, all right,” Beriah said.

“I'll tell you what,” Uncle Burley said. “We'll clean him and you can put him on ice for us, and then we'll all get together tonight and have a big fish fry.”

“Nothing could suit me any better,” Beriah said. “But, Burley, you all don't want to dress that fish yet. Keep him a while so people can see him.”

They looked at the fish. Uncle Burley leaned over and picked up the line again and held it, as if he were going to lead the fish out of the store.

“He'll spoil.”

“No, he won't. We'll keep him alive. Hell, Burley, you don't want to treat him like an ordinary fish. People don't get a chance to see a fish like that every day.”

Beriah went to the back of the store and opened the cooler. “Bring a couple of those crates,” he said.

He began to take the bottles out of the cooler and we brought the crates and helped him.

“Now, what's the matter with that, Burley? He'll stay alive a long time in that cold water.”

“I reckon he will,” Uncle Burley said.

Beriah picked up the fish. “Lord amercy,” he said.

We helped him lift the fish into the cooler, and then we stood there looking in.

“Why, that's a regular aquarium,” Beriah said. “I just wish it had glass sides on it.”

Uncle Burley laughed. “Well, we could caulk up the candy counter and put him in that.”

Beriah and I laughed too, and we looked at the fish again.

“Well, he looks comfortable enough,” Uncle Burley said. He shut the lid and turned around. “We'll be seeing you, Beriah.”

Beriah sat down on the bench beside the cooler. “Aw, stick around a while, Burley.”

Uncle Burley didn't say whether he'd stay or not, but I could see that he was relieved when Beriah asked him to. He opened the screen door and started out.

“When did you all catch him, Burley?”

Uncle Burley stopped and turned around. “Last night.” He stepped back inside and let the door close behind him.

“Last night?” Beriah said. “You all caught a fish like that in the dark?”

“Well,” Uncle Burley said, “it wasn't a lot of trouble.”

Beriah kept asking questions; and while Uncle Burley answered them he moved back into the store. He walked to the counter, and to the cooler again, and finally sat down on the bench with Beriah and propped up his feet. He'd tell only as much as Beriah asked for, and then he'd wait for another question.

“And what did you do then?” Beriah would ask. And when Uncle Burley told him, he'd let his hands drop onto his knees and say, “Well, I'll swear.”

When Uncle Burley began to tell how we'd fought the fish out in the dark and the rain his voice got tight and excited in spite of all he could do. He sounded like somebody was tickling his feet.

Before he got it all told Gander Loyd came in.

“Gander, go look there in the cooler,” Beriah said.

“What for?”

“Just go look in it.”

Uncle Burley straightened up and Beriah rubbed his hands together and patted his feet while Gander opened the lid and looked in.

“Nice fish,” Gander said. “Who caught him?”

“Burley and Nathan here.”

I was glad Beriah included me, but he was about to turn the fish and Uncle Burley and me into some sort of freak show. He'd got to be as proud of the fish as we were and I was sorry we'd let it get out of our hands.

“How'd you catch him, Burley?” Gander asked.

“Caught him last night in the dark,” Beriah said. “Ain't that right, Burley?”

Uncle Burley nodded, and Beriah began asking him the same questions he'd asked before, making him tell the story again from the beginning.

He got it all told that time, and after he finished everybody was quiet for a while. Beriah and Uncle Burley had used up all of their talk, and Gander wouldn't help them any. Now and then Beriah slapped his knees and said, “Uhhhhhhh-uh!”

After a while Big Ellis's car pulled up in front of the store and stopped.

Beriah yawned and stretched. “Customers,” he said. He went behind the counter and set his elbow on the top of the cash register.

Annie May came in and began ordering groceries. Big Ellis and two other men followed her through the door and walked on back where we were.

“This is J.D.,” Big Ellis told us, pointing to one of the men. “He's my brother-in-law. And this other one is William.”

J.D. and William stepped up and shook hands with Uncle Burley and Gander and me.

“They work at the same place in Louisville,” Big Ellis said. “This is their vacation.”

“Well, I'll declare,” Uncle Burley said.

Big Ellis sat down on the bench between Uncle Burley and Gander; J.D. and William stood in front of them, shifting their feet and looking around the store.

Finally Big Ellis said, “J.D. hasn't been here for thirty years.”

“I grew up around here,” J.D. said.

Everybody kept quiet. Uncle Burley was studying J.D.'s face, but I saw that he couldn't recognize him. Gander had turned his blind side to them and was looking at the toe of his shoe.

“Yep, this is where I was raised,” J.D. said. He looked at Gander and then at Uncle Burley. “I expect you all remember me.”

Uncle Burley got embarrassed then and looked away, and so did Big Ellis. I began to feel sorry for J.D. He stood there waiting for somebody to remember him and be glad to see him now that he'd come back home after thirty years. But he was a stranger to us. I knew Big Ellis had relatives who'd moved away, but he never talked about them.

J.D. looked at Uncle Burley. “You're Burley Coulter, aren't you?”