mythical beasts.
Trey and Greg crossed the barrier from the haven of the green weed and shallower water, to the black mysteriousness of the deep water. Still, they breathed a sigh of relief to be safe from Billy Prescott’s fate. Greg turned in his seat and began preparing his rod, attaching a number six hook and opening a can of corn. As they moved to the hole, they found themselves in the shadow of an immense dock where the barges were loaded. They stared up at the pilings, easily three times larger than any telephone pole and covered with a black coating of tar that kept water from rotting the timber. The dock itself was at least a hundred feet above them, with a thousand stray wisps of fishing line from the large tires bolted to the side evidenced by bad casts and impossible snags.
Trey cut the motor, they drifted momentarily and then stilled. The dock was protected from the wind by a small peninsula of trees, creating calm water where even the brown bubbles of pollution remained immovable. As Greg, dropped his line in the water, Trey turned and tightened the clamps on the motor. It would be his death if it fell over the side. Like the battery between his feet, the motor was off limits. As long as it didn’t break or sink, however, he felt sure that his father would never find out.
It was mere moments before the smaller boy jumped up, screaming in delight as he reeled in a rather pathetic bluegill.
“Sit down, Greg. Are you stupid or something? You’re gonna dump the boat,” said Trey gripping both sides, attempting to steady the rocking.
“But I got one. I got one,” said the younger boy, smiling happily.
“Shit, man. You got bait. After a few more of those, then we’ll really start fishing.”
Greg sat down and frowned a little as he removed the hook from the flapping fish. Like all kids with scars on their hands, he was careful to avoid the sharp spines along the small fish’s back. He tossed the fish into the middle of the boat where it wiggled wretchedly.
“You know what Old Man Hassle said, don’t you?” asked Greg, casting a line again.
“That old coot says a lot of things. I wouldn’t believe too much of what he says. My daddy says he’s an old drunk, anyway,” replied Trey, also tossing in a line. It was Old Man Hassle that gave Trey the idea to try the old Army Dock for catfish, but he wouldn’t let his younger friend know exactly how much he really liked the old coot.
“Yeah, my mom says the same thing, but still, he’s been around forever.” Greg cursed as he missed the strike of a fish. He brought the empty hook back onto the boat, slid on a kernel of corn and tossed it back over the side.
“So what does he say?” asked Trey, pretty sure he knew the answer already.
“He said the biggest of all the catfish live down there,” said Greg, pointing into the brackish water. “He said this is the place where they lay their eggs… where they grow new ones.”
Trey had heard about the big ones, but the egg story was a new one.
“Old Man Hassle says it’s the catfish that make the weeds grow,” continued the smaller boy. “Like a fence to keep other fish out… and people.”
Trey scoffed loudly. “That’s plain stupid. How could fish make the weeds grow?” It was science, biology rather that made it occur. His biology teacher called it photosynthesis. It was the sun, reaching down to the lake floor, making long forgotten seeds blossom and bloom. “I think the old coot was drunk when he told you that. Anyway, it’s the TVA men killing the mosquitoes. As far as the fish eggs go, they can grow anywhere. This isn’t the only place.”
“No. Really, Trey. Think about it? It makes sense. Old Man Hassle says they are Gods… Catfish Gods. He says they have the power to stop people from catching them if they want. It’s the bad ones that we catch,” said Greg, persisting in his stupidity.
“That makes no sense at all. It’s plain stupid, Greg. How can a fish be a God?” Trey shook his head. “Why would you want to catch them, then? Catch a God?”
Greg frowned and turned in his seat, glancing slowly from at Trey to the fishing gear. He was a pretty strict Catholic and was going through catechism. Finally he smiled.
“Yeah, it