Makes life good living’, as his grandfather had said. He realized, without panic and as if it was utterly sane, that the fish was speaking to him.
‘Am I dead?’ he asked.
Perhaps, came the same reply.
‘How am I breathing?’
You are not.
‘Then I am dead.’ Although he said it, the thought held no terror for him.
Perhaps.
‘Why do you keep saying that? Why do you keep saying perhaps?’
The choice is yours.
The answer confused Trey. Maybe the fish was mad for his attempts to catch him. Even with the love pervading his body, he laughed at the insanity of the concept. How could a fish be mad? How could it have feelings? Still…
‘Are you angry?’
No. It is the way of the world.
‘To hunt you, to kill you?’
It is the way.
‘Then what is the choice you speak of?’
Would you die for me?
‘For you?’
Trey was sure he didn’t understand the question. Die for a fish? For a catfish? Why should he give his life up for a… but it wasn’t just a fish. Could a fish do this? Trey remembered what Greg had said about the Catfish Gods. It was stupid, but he was alive and not breathing. Only a God could make that happen. He didn’t know what to say. Trey thought of Billy Prescott. Had he been asked the question? Had he answered wrong?
‘I don’t understand.’
Would you die for me?
Trey stared hard at the fish hovering in the water before him, tender whiskers caressing his cheeks. It was easily more than a hundred pounds. Maybe ten times that. Its eyes were bottomless black pools, but held strange warmth. Trey could not deny its majesty. It was magnificent. It would be perfect above the mantle of any fireplace, eclipsing the largest swordfish. It would make a bass of any size appear to be a pathetic minnow.
Trey knew his answer was important, but he knew, as well, that the fish understood his every thought.
‘Why should I die for you? I don’t understand.’ He steeled himself for death, but pleaded desperately for an answer.
Because I would die for you.
The answer surprised him. A fish like this, powerful, magical… a Catfish God… would die for him? Truly, he was nothing special. Sure, he felt himself important, but in the greater world picture, he was nothing. What would make this catfish die for him? He knew his mother would die for him. He knew his father would as well. And his grandfather, the old man wouldn’t hesitate. Till this day, as he was kneeling before the casket, Trey had never told anyone that he had begged God to take him instead; to let his grandfather live again. If he died now… if he was to perish down in the depths of Chickamauga Reservoir… maybe then he could see his grandfather again. Maybe he could make him some more martinis as the old man lorded over the world. Maybe he would see him smile.
Trey stared deep into the eyes of the fish, alien, but mysteriously human, searching for the answer. There, among the blackness, he saw the same look that Guinn, his mother, his father, his grandfather, even Greg on occasion, had given him. It was the feeling that pervaded his being. Instead of drowning, instead of feeling the quick burning warmth of a lungful of watery death, he felt the warmth of love. Unconditional and pure, it was there for him, just for being alive. Would grandfather want him to die for him? He pictured the old man’s tall John Wayne features and knew the answer.
‘Yes. I would die for you.’
Then you understand. Go in peace and live long.
The firm grip of the weeds suddenly released him and Trey felt himself floating towards the surface. He watched the imperious figure of the Catfish God until it had became one with the shadowy depths. It wasn’t until his head bobbed to the surface that his body contracted and jackknifed. He automatically relented and allowed his body to breathe in the sweetness of the putrid, yet life-giving air of the dock.
“Trey. Trey. Trey,” came the jubilant shouts.
He glanced up and saw Greg, cheeks puffy and hair matted as if the storm had come and gone. His eyes were as red as his hair and his voice held the hoarseness of a widow.
“Trey. I thought you were dead,” said the boy, tears renewing their slalom through his freckles. “It’s been hours.”
“Hours?” asked Trey absently as he levered himself into the boat. He examined the sky and noticed the sun setting.
“I… I couldn’t