54: The only decent fishing . . .
Little Follies, “Life on the Bolotomy,” Chapter 11 begins
11
The only decent fishing along the Bolotomy is found at a spot known as Andy Whitley’s Gall Bladder because of Whitley’s fame as an angler and the spot’s resemblance, on maps and aerial photographs, to a gall bladder.
Boating on the Bolotomy
A SHORT WAY UPSTREAM from the pond, the river bulged out oddly on our left, and there we saw a fellow sitting with his back against a tree, fishing with a bamboo pole. He wore a battered hat, a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled above the elbows, and dark trousers, with the cuffs rolled above his ankles. He had taken his shoes and socks off, and he had his legs stretched out along the ground so that his feet were in the water. When we came into sight he raised his hat to us.
“How d’you do, boys?” he greeted us.
“Very well, thank you,” I answered him, hoping that he’d ask us where we were headed.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“To the source!” I called out proudly.
He considered that for a moment, then asked, “Where exactly would you say that is?”
“We don’t know,” I sang out, full of glee, standing up again. I felt the boat rock under me and sat down again quickly. “But we’re going to find out!”
“A voyage of discovery, eh?” he said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a pipe, which he filled and lit while we talked.
“That’s right!” I said. I was grinning from ear to ear, so proud of Raskol and me for being on this voyage that I couldn’t contain it.
“And when you find the source of this mighty river, what exactly would you say that you will have found?”
This question made no sense to me. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, will you have found the place where the river begins?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, wondering to myself how he could have missed the point of everything I had said so far.
“And I suppose you think that you will have found something out about life too, when you find the place where you think the river begins.”
“Well—” I said. I had wanted to say, “Nah, I don’t expect to learn anything about life from this trip. I just want to find out where the river begins and eat a few of my favorite meals along the way and look at the scenery and become famous.” And I wanted to add, “Please don’t tell me that life is like a river, because I’m sick of hearing that life is like a river.” However, I had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to tell me that life is like a river, and I didn’t want to offend him, so I just let my “Well—” hang in the air and waited to see what he’d make of it.
“Well what?” he said.
“Well, I don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t know what?” he asked, and I thought that it was really rather annoying of him to ask such penetrating questions of a kid, a kid who had just happened to paddle by in a homemade boat, minding his own business.
“I don’t know if life is like a river,” I said. He burst out laughing, and Raskol began paddling away.
“No, wait. Wait!” the fellow called. Raskol stopped paddling. “Why don’t you boys stay and have some lunch with me? I’m sure I have more than enough for the three of us. I have ham sandwiches.” Raskol began paddling again, but toward shore. We beached the boat, and the fisherman pulled about six sandwiches from a knapsack.
“How come you have so much food?” Raskol asked.
“Because one takes what one can get when one can get it,” the fisherman answered. “Yesterday I did a little gardening for a woman, not far from here, and after I finished work a certain lightheadedness swept over me, and I fell at the good woman’s feet, in what looked a lot like a faint. After I came to myself again, she dragged from me the information that I hadn’t eaten in days, and she insisted not only that she pay me more than we had agreed upon, but that I take this stack of sandwiches with me.”
“You’re a bum, aren’t you?” asked Raskol.
“Yes,” the fellow said, smiling with what looked a lot like pride.
He tossed each of us a sandwich, and we began eating.
“So you’re not sure whether life is like a river,” he said to me. I didn’t know what answer to make, and my mouth was full, so I just shrugged.
“Well, it’s not,” he said. “Life is like the whole water cycle. Do you know what that is?”
“You bet,” I said. “We had that last year in science.”
“Ah,” said the fisherman, “but did you have it in metaphysics?”
“Not yet,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get that next year.”
“Well, let me give you a jump on the other boys and girls—”
This is great, I thought. Here I am out having adventures, and now a real bum is going to tell me something that the other kids don’t know yet. I’m having the time of my life.
[to be continued on Wednesday, July 28, 2021]
You can listen to this episode on the Personal History podcast.
Have you missed an episode or two or several?
You can catch up by visiting the archive.
At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” the first two novellas in Little Follies.
Hello there, Readers! It’s Candilee Manning, Kraft’s irrepressible publicist!
Become a subscriber! You’ll get exclusive access to Mark Dorset’s entertaining and enlightening annotations to the Personal History. His additions and anecdotes enrich the chapters and take you behind the scenes to the writing of the work.