Fishing

Rose didn’t particularly want to go fishing. Her idea of bliss would have been to spend the weekend in bed, napping, reading her pile of novels, and crocheting with the learn-to-crochet kit she had bought at a discount store. She always liked the idea of fishing until she arrived at the fishing camp. Then she wanted to laze around. While Ben grabbed the fishing gear and took Binkie out to the lake, she drank a glass of water, stared into space, and made coffee. The sun was up and the woods on the shore glistened with dew, or perhaps it was rain. Had it rained in the night? Rose didn’t know. Rose hadn’t slept so deeply in years.

There were fishermen out in boats. Some of them were already drinking. An old man in a ragged jean jacket raised his Budweiser and said, Welcome to Lake Crappie. That’s what they should rename this place.

Rose vaguely remembered that a crappie was a kind of fish.

Is that all that’s biting? Ben asked.

Pretty much, the old man said.

Nah, don’t listen , another man called out. I caught a catfish yesterday. He’s full of it.

And full of crappie, the old man said, patting his gut.

Everybody sniggered.

The man who caught the catfish took a snapshot out of his pocket. Look at the size of this fish.

Ben couldn’t see the snapshot, but pretended to be impressed. Great catch.

Rose smiled and climbed into the rowboat. She unscrewed the thermos and poured coffee into two travel mugs. Ben rowed out near the middle of the lake, away from the beer-drinkers in motorboats. Rose’s fishing line got tangled up with Ben’s and it took them a while to unravel the knot.

Damn it, this always happens, Ben muttered.

They sat in the boat all morning, waiting for the fish to bite. It was chilly. Rose kept warm by wearing all the clothes in her suitcase: t-shirt, turtleneck, flannel shirt, sweater, sweatshirt, jeans, and old pea coat. As the day warmed up, she would peel off layers. Ben wore only a vest over a flannel shirt.

Can I borrow one of your layers? he teased. You’re like a stripper over there.

She handed him her oversized sweater, then her flannel shirt.

The sun rose higher. They caught some crappie, which were so small they threw them back.

Where are all the fish? Ben asked. Maybe over where the catfish guy has his boat?

We could try, Rose said. She didn’t really care if they caught any fish or not.

Ben rowed the boat over to the catfish guy and struck up a conversation. Where was the best place to fish in these parts?

It turned out the catfish guy thought this lake was pretty good. But the fish didn’t seem to be biting. It was a mystery. The catfish guy shrugged philosophically.

Finally Ben and Rose rowed back to shore. Still in the mood for fish, they drove into town for catfish at the diner.