On one occasion the old man asked if Ben’s mother ever took trips into town, and if so, may he come along. Ben returned with a reply from his mother that she ran her errands on Saturday afternoon when her resort patrons were in transit. Saturday soon arrived, and like clockwork the old man was standing outside just after noon and dressed in his best set of clothes. Allie smiled as she descended the porch steps and greeted the old man.
“You are looking well Mister Regola.”
“Thanks to your fine culinary talents Mrs. Fisher, I am a man on the mend. I want you to know how appreciative I am for your hospitality.”
“The good Lord blesses those who freely give Mr. Regola.
You may direct your thanks to him if you wish, but thank you all the same.”
“You are a pious woman Mrs. Fisher, a rare thing in this day and age. You are raising a fine boy, and I want you to know that I fully intend to pay my way.”
“You may pay us when you are once again flush Mr.. Regola.”
“Mrs. Fisher, please call me Sam. May I ask, is there a monument-maker in town?
“Do you mean a person who makes grave stones?”
“Yes, Mrs. Fisher, that is precisely what I mean.”
Allie’s expression changed to one of real concern at this peculiar request. “Mr. Regola— Sam, is there something you should be telling me?”
Sam gave her a big smile which oddly, resembled a grave-yard with his many missing teeth.
“Oh Mrs. Fisher, it is nothing like that! I have no plans of going to my long home any time soon! No Mrs. Fisher no ma’am! I am not afraid of dying, mind you, but I am hoping to delay the process as long as I can! What I need from the stone carver is nothing more than marble dust.”
“Marble dust? What on earth do you do with marble dust?”
“Well ma’am I would tell you all about it right here and now if you ask, but it might spoil a small surprise.”
Ben had heard the entire conversation through his open bedroom window. He wondered what the old man was up to. He really wanted to know what the surprise was, but each time he brought the subject up, Sam would just wink at him and say, “It’s a surprise my boy. You don’t want to go and spoil a surprise do you?” or something to that effect.
He decided that he would ride along into town and see if he could glean any new information from the enigmatic Mister Regola. He called out his window: “Wait for me Mom! I want to go to Nerroth’s. I have my own money!”
Before long the three of them were rolling along the gravel road which led to town in the family Nomad station wagon. Allie dropped Sam and Ben at a business which displayed grave stones on the front lawn. She was shaking her head as she pulled away. The man and the boy could hear her through the open window muttering: “Marble dust. Now I have heard it all.”
The proprietor of the monument shop must have been the carver also. He was covered in dust from head to toe. Sam asked if he could purchase marble dust and the stone carver offered, “You can have all you want for free mister. As you can see I am up to my eyeballs in it. Do you have something to carry it in?”
Sam produced a treated canvas bag and Ben helped him scoop up the white dust and fill it. Ben thought it odd that the stone-carver didn’t ask what it was for. He had hoped the subject would be brought up so Sam would have to explain why he needed it, but the monument man went right back to his current project, clink clinking with his mallet and chisel as if they had already left.
“Where are we going next?” Asked the boy.
“Hardware store.”
“What are you going to get there?”
“Rabbit-skin glue.”
“Rabbit-skin glue?”
“Yep”
“Let me guess, glue made from rabbit skin.”
“Yep.”
“What on earth for?”
“I plan on making gesso.”
“What on earth is gesso?”
“Well my boy, let’s just say it is a type of ground.”
The two walked along the sidewalk. Sam pulled out his harmonica and played the familiar riff from the Beatles’ Love Me Do. Ben was even more confused than he was before. After stewing on the previous conversation he asked: “What in the world is a ground?!”
“Ben, if I tell you it might spoil my surprise. Let’s just say that a ground prepares a surface so that certain paints stick to it, and it lasts a long, long time. Is that enough for you, or do you need further explanation?”
“Do you mean like it is a primer?”
“Yes, and no. A primer coats a surface so that the paint above it covers better. Gesso does much more than that. It is like a primer that stands the test of time, that never wears out.”
Ben left his questioning at that. He was no more clued in than he was before. He decided to part ways with Sam and head for Nerroth’s store.
“I’m going to Nerroth’s store Sam. Do you need anything?”
“No thank you son, I will meet you at the car.”
Over the next couple of days, when Sam was brought his meals, he made no unusual requests. Ben noticed that the old man was not finishing the meals his mother was preparing. On one occasion, when Ben walked over with breakfast, he found Sam down at the dock.
“Sam, I have your breakfast. My Mom wants you to eat it all this time.”
“Come down here son. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What about your breakfast?”
“Bring it here my boy.”
“What is the favor you need Sam?” Ben asked as they walked down the path from the cabin to the dock.
“Would you be interested in taking an old man fishing this evening after dinner? I would go myself, but I have never been one to fish alone. Also, just thinking about rowing a boat makes my old back ache. What do you say?”
“I guess it would be okay Sam.”
“Thanks Ben, we will use minners. About a dozen will do. Also, you will have to supply me with fishing gear.”
“No problem-o Sam. We have extra gear for our renters. I will take care of it.”
Later that evening, the two made their way out onto the lake. Ben took his place on the middle bench seat at the oars, and Sam sat in the back. The old man sat quietly as Ben rowed. The monkey could be seen running along the shoreline, trying in vain to follow their progress, and occasionally could be heard shrieking in protest. Ben began to row towards one of his favorite spots, but soon realized Sam had his own ideas on where to go.
“Row out that way young man. You see that tall white pine? Steer directly for it.”
They were headed for the west end of the lake. The afternoon was still very warm. There was a gentle breeze which riffled the surface of the water. Sam took off his cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Ben was thinking to himself that Sam had no idea where to catch fish, but rather was just out sight-seeing. As Ben rowed westward past the southern point, the Rule mansion slowly came into view. Sam had fixed his attention on the mansion.
“Well, look at that.” The old man said almost in a whisper and as if to himself.
“What?” Ben asked.
“Oh, I was just looking at that large house Ben. Mighty big place to be sitting up here all by itself in the north woods. A fine place like that is usually crowded all around with places of similar value. You see them in every big city. One man builds one, and another man can’t be outdone so he builds one across the street and so on and so forth until Victorian mansions have sprung up here there and everywhere. You almost never see one all by itself.”
“That’s the Rule mansion. You see that guy out there with the shovel by the flower bed? That’s Digger McCann. He’s the meanest man in the north woods. He yells at everyone who comes near the property. My Mom says he is a boorish old cretin.”
“Well then we had better not get any nearer Ben. I wouldn’t want to rile up the local cretin. Steer a little to the northwest now. Just a little further, okay now son, drop the anchor.”
Ben had no confidence in the spot Sam had picked for them to fish. If Matt would have chosen such a spot Ben would have humored him, but not for long. Most of the time Matt and he would fish the shorelines or the outside weed beds, but the old man had placed the boat smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. The old man seemed contented enough with just sitting and gazing absent-mindedly at the lake. He made no real effort at dropping his own line, but rather chose to offer his sage advice to Ben.
“Back in the day we used to tie on a weight to the end like so— use a heavier weight Ben— now attach a three-way swivel about a foot up— we used a plain hook, not one of those fancy painted jigs— now drop her down till you feel the bottom”
There was still a gentle breeze which swung the boat around first this way and then that, forcing Ben to lift his line occasionally to keep it from getting snagged in the anchor rope. As afternoon made it’s way towards evening, the air became still and the surface of the lake became smooth as glass. Ben had no hopes of catching anything, and soon forgot about his line and pole. “Sam, do you have any family?”
“No Ben, my mother died bringing me into the world, and my father passed when I was eighteen. I had an older brother, but him and I never did see eye to eye, and when my dad died I left home and never looked back.”
“Weren’t you ever married or had any kids?”
“Oh sure Ben, I was married once. After leaving home I roamed around a bit, and eventually made my way to Paris. I was what people called a bohemian in those days. I met my Josephine at an atelier where she was modeling for an easel painter friend of mine, and from that day forward we were never apart. Three months after the day we met I married her. I had twenty good years with the prettiest gal in the world.”
“What happened to her?”
“When Hitler and his Huns invaded France, Jo and I had just enough time to high-tail it to England. We thought about continuing on to the states, but the German U-boats were attacking and sinking civilian steam liners, so we thought it would be safer to remain in England. My Josephine was killed during an air-raid on London, on her way to a shelter.”
“I am sorry to hear that Sam.”
“Thanks Ben. No need to feel bad. Time has a way of healing all wounds, and that was a very long time ago.”
As they were talking, a swarm of silver-gray and pale green dragon-flies descended on the boat. Thousands of the winged creatures landed on every surface. There were twenty of them on the brim of Sam’s hat. Fifty or more sat on Ben’s fishing rod. Hundreds sat on every vertical edge of the boat. Ben went to shoo them away but Sam, smiling, put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and stopped him.
“My boy, these are mosquito hawks. They are a gift! If you go and shoo them off now, you will be fighting the mosquitoes instead. Besides, right about now you should be getting a strike if I am not mistaken in my judgement.”
And just as the old man finished his sentence, Ben’s line began moving steadily out. Ben gave Sam an incredulous glance, as if somehow the old man had willed the bite to happen. Sam’s hand was still on the boy’s shoulder, and when Ben was about to set the hook, Sam shook his head left and right slowly, and whispered: “Hold on there son. Let the fish run a bit before you set the hook. A little more— steady now— a little more— Now! Set it Ben!”
Ben pulled the fishing rod sharply upward and set the hook on the fish. Dragon-flies flew in every direction at the sudden movement. Ben soon realized that he had no ordinary fish on his line. The unseen monster began stripping line off his bait-casting reel as if there was no resistance. The drag sang loudly as the fish kept moving quickly away from the boat. Sam was excitedly shouting out instructions for the young angler.
“Okay boy, keep that rod tip up! Tighten the drag just a bit! Let her run Ben, you still have plenty of line!”
The fish took a turn and headed towards the boat. Ben reeled furiously to keep the line from going slack. The pole doubled over as the fish swam under the boat, heading for the other side. The boy stood up and lost his footing tripping over the bench seat and landing towards the front of the boat. Ben was on his back, feet up in the air and struggling to hold the rod up with his right arm, and trying to regain his footing by lifting himself with his free arm. He swung the pole around to the opposite side of the boat at the stern as the huge fish made another run. Ben was visibly shaking from the adrenaline that was pulsing through his veins. Sam was still calling out instructions to the boy. “Okay Ben, she’s tiring out. See how that last run is slower and more steady? She doesn’t have the energy of the first two runs. Keep that rod tip up! Just another quarter turn on the drag Ben, not too much. Let her take line if she needs it!”
As the fish was coaxed to the surface for the first time, the two of them gasped at the first sight of the huge pike. Ben’s knees turned to rubber and began wobbling uncontrollably. They judged the immense size of the fish to be no less than four and a half feet long. The pike which was now along-side of the boat, was obviously tired out as it slowly moved it’s huge tail from side to side. Ben looked at the small landing net he had brought along and knew it would be of no use. Sam was smiling ear to ear and his expression revealed his opinion of the net was the same as Ben’s.
“What can I do to land her Sam?”
“You can try and grab her by the gills.”
“Look at the size of her Sam! Her head is the size of a German Shepherd! I am not putting my hand anywhere near that water!”
“Well son, if you want to land her, grabbing her by the gills will have to do. If you do it right, and are quick about it, it will paralyze her once your hand is in her gills. You will have to hand me the rod though.”
Ben thought about it for a second, and decided he would give it a try. As he was handing the rod over to Sam, the fish’s huge eyes followed the movement, and with one immense burst of energy and a splash of its tail, it dived. Sam had the rod in hand, and during the exchange the line was grasped also. The fish burst outward and downward and the line screamed through the old man’s fingers cutting them as it went. With the added drag of the closed hand, the line snapped and the fish was gone.
“Did you see that Sam? It watched us! It seen us handing off the pole and it knew when to dive! What a fish! It’s eyes were the size of golf balls!”