Page 60 - WTP Vol.IX #3

Fire on Ice (continued from preceding page)
and sits. The boy’s jacket and scarf lay on the ice like it’s the floor of his own bedroom. Embers fall close by, so Beard throws the boy’s clothes towards the shack.
It’s nearly 2:00AM when the boy sits down on his bucket next to Beard and a roaring fire. The boy checks the ice to see if it looks thinner than before. He feels no skepticism, only awe. He trusts the lake. He trusts the man with the beard.
“Want some coffee?” the boy asks. “Oh, ya I s’pose I could use a sip.”
The boy marches to the shed and returns with the thermos. He hands a half-filled lid to Beard and takes a swig from the container for himself.
Beard rests his elbows on his knees as the boy re- moves his gloves and reaches out for the heat like he’s prepared to catch anything it might throw his way.
His wide eyes reflect the dancing flames. “Welp,” says Beard, “that’s a real nice fire you built. Real nice.”
“You think it’ll burn all night?” says the boy. “It better. It’s gettin’ cold out now.”
“I’m not that cold.”
“I guess you’re not.” Beard extends the bag of sun- flower seeds to the boy who tilts it up to his mouth, filling his cheek.
He turns his head and spits a few out on the ground.
The boy rolls up his sleeves and rests his elbows on his knees just like Beard. “Are there deer here?”
“Ya, quite a few.”
“You think we’ll see one?”
“Never know.” Beard dumps a few more seeds in his hand and pops them in his mouth.
“There any bears?” “Some. Black bear.” “Cool,” says the boy.
A light snow falls from the sky. Beard brushes a few flakes from his pant legs and stands. The boy stands too. “S’pose we gotta check on some-a-dem holes,” says Beard. He hands the boy the skimmer and walks back towards the shed for the extra. The boy skims the ice passionately, methodically. He’s delicate with it, like someone dusting a roped off masterpiece in a museum. When he’s done, he carefully arranges the tip-up and runs to the next hole.
Beard scoops some ice out of the hole that he felt would be the winner from the beginning. No reason for it, just felt it in his gut. So far it’s been just as use- less as the others, though he’d never phrase it that way to the boy.
When he’s cleared out the hole, he looks over. The boy has his skimmer heating in the fire. He’s gotten much more comfortable around the flames. After a few minutes, the boy takes the skimmer back to an open hole and dips it down into the water. Even over the sound of the crackling fire, Beard can hear a faint hiss when the hot metal touches the lake.
And then Beard sees a flag up on a tip-up. His first thought is that the boy tripped it by mistake, but he’s pretty sure the boy hasn’t touched this one yet. “Hey!” yells Beard, then points to the flag.
The boy drops the skimmer and runs.
Beard walks slowly until he sees the boy pulling on the line like it’s got weight to it. Then he starts to jog. “There ya go, give it a pull. You got somethin’.”
“What do I do? What do I do?” says the boy.
“Just settle down. Pull on ‘er. Not too hard. Just easy.” Beard stands next to the hole and reaches for the line, but the boy has it now. He pulls on the line, throws the slack behind him like he’s done it before. “Not too hard. Just take yer time.” But the boy’s got this.
“It feels like a big one!” says the boy.
“Probably walleye.” Beard stands up and puts his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Betchu glad you stayed out tonight, eh?”
The boy laughs and keeps pulling, gentle with the line, but eager.
“You keep tuggin’. I’ll check those others.” The boy
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