Page 61 - WTP Vol.IX #3

nods and keeps his eyes on the hole. As Beard walks away, he turns and yells, “If it’s pike, he’ll bite, so be careful if you get him up.”
“I know,” says the boy, but Beard can tell he scared him a little bit.
Beard turns to the next tip-up and sees headlights from the shore. Soon after, a figure steps out on the ice. Beard stops and watches. He waves, and the fig- ure waves back.
As the stranger draws closer, Beard glances over his shoulder to the hole where they’d found the body. He has the passing thought that he should’ve set some- thing over top of it, but he shakes it off. Probably iced over by now, anyhow.
“Nice night,” Beard says. The stranger, still fifty feet away, moves slow, but the sound carries well. Every- one knows everyone around here, but the closer the figure gets, the more convinced Beard is that it’s a man about his age and he’s never seen him before.
And then he thinks maybe he has, but only once or twice, and in passing. There’s a vague familiarity.
The man zips up the puffy vest he’s wearing over his flannel. “Little late for fishin’, eh?” says the man.
“Got a city kid wit’ me,” says Beard. “Couldn’t let’m go home if’n he don’t catch somethin’.”
“City kid, eh?” The man turns, hands in his pockets and stares at the boy who’s still pulling at the line and cursing at the fish under his breath. “Seems to know what he’s doin’.”
“Ya, he’s pickin’ it up real good.”
The boy’s foot slips and so does the line. “Shit!” he says. “No, no! Come on! Come on!” He stands back up and starts pulling again until the slack on the line disappears. “There you are,” says the boy. “I gotcha.”
“Good fire you got,” says the man. “Surprised you hooked somethin’ wit a fire goin’ like that.”
“Kid didn’t believe you could do it,” says Beard.
The man smirks. “Oh, ya, those city folk don’t know so much’s they think they do.”
“No, not so much.”
Beard notices the man looking around. Looking over to the shack. Then to the shore. Then to the fire and the shack again, like he’s counting something out in his head.
“Don’t suppose we’s keepin’ you up,” says Beard.
The man squints towards the fire and then over Beard’s shoulder. “Nope, just saw the light,” he says. “Live up there on the hill. Ain’t sleepin’ so good and figured, ya know, nice night and all.”
“Ya, it ain’t too bad.” Beard starts to scope out the area as well. He looks at the boy. Then at the shack. Out of the corner of his eye he looks for the hole and tries
to decide whether or not he’d be able to see it if he didn’t already know it was there.
The man turns toward the shack. “Well, I’ll tell ya, there’s not usually much out here. Not too much for fishin’ on this side-a-da lake. Saw the fire, figured I’d come check on you’s.”
“Boy’s headin’ out in da mornin’. Might just let’m pull this one in and call it a night.”
“Holy shit!” yells the boy. “He’s huge! Look at this thing! Look!”
The man smiles at Beard. “Well, I s’pose that boy’ll need a hand there, eh?”
“I s’pose,” says Beard, but the stranger is looking around again. To the shack. Then the fire. Then the shore. Still counting things out.
“Have a good night,” says Beard.
The man smiles and raises his eyebrows to a peak. “Ya, okay, g’night.” He turns back to the shore.
Beard walks towards the boy, but keeps his eye on the stranger, who turns to face the shack after only a few steps. He looks behind him, not at the boy or Beard, but the shack, the tree line, the space in between.
The boy pulls the fish out of the water. It’s a walleye,
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