Faulkner was a fisherman
but before he could go fishing he tied on a crokersack apron and tended two young pigs
leaving the farm in the marbly black and purple before dawn he looked back
over the wire fence strung with bits of yarn and coloured paper ribbon so not
to stupidly run into it if otherwise disposed he saw them hanging in the yard “their
spectral intact tallowcoloured empty carcasses immobilised by the heels in
attitudes of frantic running(he knew something about that) as though full tilt at the center of the earth” his alcoholic cousin describing it such
Faulkner preferred fishing the long ribbon of
river before its last deep bend where inland freshwater making the mouth mixed
and played with ocean saltwater
he liked the smell in the
air there
the warming grasses their crystal exhale dappling them tilled
fields old woods
ruined leaves mushrooms livestock mudbanks riverstone sand and
matter seaweed clots and driftwood
the smell of that which was
eternal embracing that which was eternal
he played a big fish that struck after sunrise
the long shadows of trees on the opposite bank floated on the flatwater etching it like prison bars
slowly he was gaining line on it
though as they fought the fish three times
had moved the anchor
the third place held
he figured the anchor bought
stone
he knew if he could if he could put
the rod and reel down for a moment he wouldnt be able to budge it not tug or pluck
its rope free
the rope came over the bulwark
the bow tilted the down under its
tension
he had tied it off to an iron cleat
bolted into a rib
when he realised he had a really big
fish on he carefully worked his way to the skiffs stern to counterweight its
tilting
the fish seemed recognised Faulkners
predicament
after its SHOCKrealising the
steel hook through its jaw it peeled line off his reel running hound dog downstream seeking escape then rallying coming to its senses it reversed itself and picked to fight
him from upstream and upstream Faulkner had to keep his line up high above the
skiff had to take the strain of
the fight on his arms and back
as morning struggled forth the
sun while at first curious became gloriously intent on the drama
sweating profusely Faulkner wondered who had who on line
the fish remained sounded
it never once jumped to see its tormentor
Faulkner figured his barbed
trebled hook was probably sufficient to inform the fish he was an ugly soandso and steadfast inch-by-inch hollow click-by-click
of his reel he gained line on it
the fish kept to the center of
the channel deep down where there was a current separate of the river like an uncontained
artery overlaid by smaller vessels and capillaries
it waged its battle sliding side
to side like a bull bred in the deep soul and competition of the ring eyeing a matador with one eye cutting across
the arena then eyeing him again with the other to determine a rush or strategy or
snorting throw caution to the wayside and let chips fall where they may
thats what Faulkner thought
he thought it watched from under
the bright undulating surface
because fish could see underwater
it saw the hemp anchorrope angled
to one side down into the bottom and the silk fishing line like a long slender
bolt of electricity running taut down to its wounded jaw
he thought that because the villagers and locals were getting into his head they talked about him talked about his solitary way talked that he was the best fisherman in those parts because he could think like a fish
he thought this fish thought
as he did
Who was the puppet the
puppeteer
their thinking must have been
in sync or aligned forSUDDENLY the line went slack its dorsal slit the water revealing a brilliant
blue hardscaled back the river water before it bulging at its onslaught its bullrush
towards the skiff
he couldnt reel in line it laid behind the fishs agile quick tail like white seams or webs of fractured glass
the water relented the fish pushed
and stretched it like plastic side to side
the fish slammed into the boat a tremendous concussion pitchinghim forward onto his face only his arm raised up extended overhead initially to signal the fish Halt (whatwashethinking)
got hung up on the bulwark and kept him from going overboard
the shudder was accompanied by a great
gout of red water that shot up and was aerated pink
blood and river water showered
the boat
and in the pause it took him to catch
his breath gulping like a beached fish there wasSUDDENLY another tremendous blow
under the skiff lifting it out of the water breaking his nose against its sparse planked
deck it bled freely his blood mixing with the river water and fish blood and
in the next moment through his tearing eyes he saw a white bluster a wind coming
onto him a god blowing its hawkish nose into a fine silk handkerchief(no god needed monograms to sort His from others) the singular wind streaked his
tears and blood across his sunburned face into his hairline and ears livered
his throat and neck then under a
pronounced shiver and quake a great spout a whaleblow erupted port side and inside
the waterspout the huge fish rose its body shapely rising up and up and up its
belly marbled yellow ochre and red like flame it flung layedout its
pectoral fins and still ascending it appeared a stylised crucifixion against the sky then its
body transformed at the apex of its leap and altitude and it turned slightly and looked
sidelong down into his broken piteous face each was transformed indecently
glacier faces in ruin collapsing and the crucified fish became a cubistformed woman
looking down at him and he saw she could be his figurehead impossible to carve arrest
or affix to his skiff and looking again he saw her face looming above him and in
the water under him he saw her looking up and frantically he pushed hard off from the bulwark
to escape her
he didnt want to be crushed and die between her falling and rising bodies
he didnt want to be crushed and die between her falling and rising bodies
the anchor line snapped sounding like a gunshot
with the mooring broken the sun became disinterested and went off looking elsewhere for fun
the skiff turned lazily downstream
like in a dream
leaning overboard resting on his chest he cupped water up in both hands and gently held them to his face chilling and teasing out the swelling washing away his blood and tears
he tried very hard to keep his eyes
shut as he tended himself
fries rose in the shallow from among watercress to bite at his bloodclots
he tried very hard to avoid the
sunlight shimmering in the water it trying to seduce him with looks of the sky and
clouds and birds or insects their reflections shuffling scintillating prisms fiery
sunrays bits of broken hemp looselooped white Japanese silk her pierced jaw
hued throat violet flanks crossing up inside his weakened consciousness twisting memories of
Medusa Why he wondered dully Why
was it only his loins that seemed to harden
1639, Saturday,
7 5. 16
1244, Thursday, 12 5.
16
