CHAPTER 13

© GREG DUNAJ

13.

              DAH-DAH-DAH-DA-DA-DA… DAH-DAH-DAH-DAH-DA-DA-DA-DA… / …the word of Christ and you will finally find eternal salvation … / …oh…yes…the fair citizens of Lake Wobe … / … I’ve become….comfortably nu …/… birds are aflying like my heart to you… / …the unholy congress between men will lead to the destruction of all of God’s work / ... Has he lost his mind? Can he see or is he bl…/ … yes accept him into your heart and life will be … / … our community couldn’t quite put their finger on it, but they were worried… / … just a little pin-prick… /… but you shot me down and I fell like a sparrow … /… the evil that man inflicts upon this earth will be returned 10 fold…

              Harry awoke in the cramped back seat of the car with a start and a yelp. A spasm twisted his lower back and the pain shot clear down through his left leg. Desperately gripping the front seat, wide eyed and panting, Harry cried out as his back tightened and twitched. He gasped and trembled with the pain as the spasms coursed his body.

              Throughout all this, the car’s radio, set on scan, went through its snippet cycle. The engine was turned off, but still the cacophony of disjointed songs, religious vitriol and commentary crackled from the speakers, to which Harry added his own pained soundtrack of strangled, gurgling whimpers. At one point the searing pain caused him to see sparks and he nearly passed out. It left Harry panting and clawing at the car seats. He had a history of back trouble, but this was frighteningly more intense than any previous bout.

              Sweating profusely, eyes bulging with fear, Harry whimpered. Feebly he called out for Carlo. The radio switched from a heavy metal anthem to a slide guitar complete with a warbling cowboy and as Harry whimpered again for his absent friend the radio switched to gospel music and soon thereafter flipped over to a man screaming out the Lord’s name all the while mentioning fire and brimstone. Harry whimpered some more, though this time it was from being forced to listen to the radio while stuck in this position.

              Gone are my wife and kids…now it’s just me and Sue…

              Harry called out for Carlo in a louder voice.

              “Carlo,” cried Harry, “please turn this off!”

              It was hot in the car though the windows had been left open. Still not daring to move and growing increasingly annoyed with the scanning radio Harry gritted his teeth with every flickering shard of music; he trembled with every threatening utterance of religious dogma; he whimpered with every forced rhyme of country music, but still no salvation. Anchored by his stiff back Harry endured the discordant noise that crackled from the speakers until he could bear the torment no longer.

              Harry panted and huffed and worked up the nerve to move. Wide eyed and hearing of how you’d better love Jesus or else Harry slid one leg and then other onto the floor of the car. He had long stopped calling for Carlo. That damned nut isn’t around, thought Harry. Sweating and moving slowly, Harry dropped to his knees and gripped the front seat of the car. The car had a bench seat, not bucket seats, and as Harry slowly raised himself, trembling with tinges of pain, he hoped Carlo was asleep sprawled across the front. But, he was not there. Harry cursed and gripped the front seat. Breathing rapidly, Harry stared at the offending radio.

              Love….Love will keep us toge… / … you shall reap what you sow and burn in …

              Harry cried out and made a mighty adrenaline infused lunge for the radio. Teetering on his belly along the front seat, his legs dangling in the back, Harry slapped at the radio until he succeeded in turning it off. He had relief from the noise of the radio, but now his back twitched and throbbed and the pain felt like swords were being buried to the hilt into his spine. With every throb of pain Harry’s eyes crossed and everything became blurry. He passed out.

              When he awoke and came to his senses, he was still draped like a Dali watch across the back of the car’s bench seat. He was trembling and the sweat that came off his face and arms pooled on the front seat. Any attempt to extract himself from this precarious position caused him further pain. When Harry tried to move his arm to grab the steering wheel, thinking he could pull himself into the front, searing pain stopped him. When he moved a leg, to gain a footfall and some leverage, the agonizing pain was enough to cause him to cry out sharply.

              So, dangling now like an old man in a sauna, caught by his rash acts, afraid to move, Harry began to ponder his death options. Should he kill himself by flopping back onto the rear seat to crush his spine? Or, should he sever his spinal column completely by grabbing the steering wheel to suddenly jerk his upper torso into the front seat? Which death would be quicker? Which death would be less painful?  Harry cried and whimpered and grimaced and did not like these options at all.

              Harry began to curse as he quivered in pain, dangling like a wet towel over the car seat. Where he was right now in this vast world, did not matter for his back was the center of his universe. He cursed himself for his impatience and annoyance with the car radio that now had him teetering over the abyss of pain. He cursed country music and religion and classic rock. He cursed Carlo. He cursed this trip, this humidity, the bright sunlight flooding into the car. He cursed and cursed and cursed with no determinate point for a long while, just a long stream of invectives aimed at nothing, appeasing nothing. The curses rolled off his tongue like the growling of a wolverine snared in a trap, in pain and caught.

              Harry wanted to be home, far, far away from Carlo. At the first opportunity he was going to get back home and draw the curtains and lock the doors. Never again, he thought, Carlo was out of his life forever. But, right now Carlo was needed. Despite the cursing that now oozed from Harry like a rusted tap, Harry could not move without Carlo’s help. As Harry cursed up little tortures for this ex-friend, he silently prayed for Carlo to come to his rescue.

              Carlo did not saunter past this little torture chamber though. Harry hung over the car seat for a long time. He was there for so long that he began to find the angle helping his back. It was stretching out and relaxing and the pain began to subside. Harry was beginning to feel well enough that he had a mischievous thought about hauling himself into the driver’s seat and abandoning Carlo to this latest misadventure. But when he wiggled and made an enfeebled attempt to move, his back yelled at him like a scorned lover.

              Then, apart from this back pain and grief, Harry slowly became aware of another pressing matter, a filled bladder. Harry tried doing the math, how long had he been asleep in the car? Had it been for hours, or since yesterday afternoon? He was unsure of the day, but he was sure he had to relieve himself. It was as if Harry’s different body parts were attempting to outdo the other.

              *                                   *                                                    *

              Kidneys throbbed in annoyance, tired of Back’s monopoly on pain. Back pulsed in response, angry with this intrusion on its little world. Mouth tried to voice an opinion, but mouths don’t form opinions without a symbiotic relationship with Brain. Brain was ignoring the rest of the body. It was too occupied with math and conjuring up random images of a bloodied Carlo. Legs twitched while trying to get a better angle on the situation. Back told Legs to stop or there would be hell to pay. Eyes dripped on the car seat, upset that all the rest were so self-serving and petty. Hands made a break for it and grabbed for the steering wheel. Back emitted a fierce response to this that caused Hands to clench and twitch, preventing their escape. After all, Back was running the show here. Well, Kidneys tired of this game and throbbed and pushed for release like a drunken schoolboy. Back, anxious now because of the sexual innuendo, reacted in the only way it knew how. It bullied all the rest by sending out waves and waves of pain that caused Legs to dance a jig in midair and Eyes to glaze over.

              Mouth was rather proud of itself, for it worked hard despite all these outside distractions and formed a word without the help of Brain. Brain was actually in no position to help anyone else. It had shut down and was floating. Floating! Yes, Mouth’s word was appropriate for the situation, especially considering the word “float”. But Mouth was so satisfied with its ability to form a word it almost forgot to say it. The word only waffled out a bit, barely more than a whimper. It wasn’t until Lungs weighed in with some needed air. Lungs always had a knack of doing things on their own but their actions always proved to be benevolent for the rest of the Body. With Lungs’ help Mouth said the word over and over, stronger and stronger each time, until the entire Body got caught up with it.

              “Carlo,” Mouth screamed. “CARLO! CARLO! CAR-LO!!!”

              Hands grabbed at the steering wheel and started sounding the horn, trying to ignore the renewed onslaught of pain Back unleashed. Mouth continued screaming with Lungs’ help. Head, normally poised when directly connected to Brain, lolled about like a rag doll. Eyes rolled and bounced like Pachinko balls in a Japanese arcade. Something, someone had to help.

              “CARLO,” screamed Mouth.

              No one came to Harry’s aid.

              And, Kidneys saw what it had wrought, and laughed.

             

              *                                         *                                         *

              After a time and all had quieted, someone did saunter by Harry and the car. Beer can in tow, the bare-chested man walked slowly around the car, absently touching his forehead or chest with the cold can on this hot day. He was long and lean, his olive skin glistened with sweat and at one point his stopped to pull his t-shirt out of the waist band of his jeans to wipe his face.

              Harry would have been jealous of this man, for despite his disheveled, half-naked appearance, the fellow carried himself with a confidence that was borne in his gait, his erect posture and the way he chuckled lowly at the scene splayed before him. Harry would have immediately experienced pangs of inadequacy at the sight of this tall, slender man, his torso trim, thin and athletic. Harry would perhaps cast a worrisome glance at his own growing paunch; perhaps he would even try to hide it behind a strategically placed article of clothing or hand. So taken he would be with the man’s engaging smile, Harry would shrink before its warmth and the slash of white teeth. The man’s great shocks of curly, black hair, only now just beginning to exhibit a tinge of grey at the edges would have Harry reaching for his own receding hairline to confirm his pate was not completely bald. The eyes too, would have Harry looking at himself in the mirror at first chance, comparing his grey eyes with the memory of the fierce intensity of anthracite that had gazed upon him.

              Before Harry was a stranger. He had known him all his life. This man was a stranger in his own land, but at ease everywhere he trod. Here in the Deep South of America or on an island in the south Pacific, the man found a comfort in movement. Not willing to pause, nor hoping to anchor, the man possessed the confidence to go it alone, the willingness to be uncompromising of his ethos. Harry’s jealously for this man was rimmed with hatred, for Harry could not accomplish the same ease of movement in his own life. Like the image he tried to conjure up in the mirror that was forever off, similar attempts to move through this time in Eden endured self-sabotage and dead-ends.

              Had Harry awakened just then from his stupor, with his head and shoulders lolling outside the opened car door, an arm crooked in the steering wheel and the rest of his body contorted as though frozen in the throes of some immense, shocking pain, he would have found it in his heart to hate this person, to envy him, to love him.

             

              Carlo chuckled at the comatose Harry. Still slim and in good shape, the middle-aged Carlo seemed able to completely ignore the aging process. Harry would have said Carlo was simply unaware of it, typical of everything else in his life.

              Clucking lowly Carlo pulled at the can of beer, wiping some dregs from his chin with his t-shirt. He walked around the passenger side of the car and fetched the keys from the ignition. He was quiet; he did not want to wake Harry. Carlo then went around to the trunk, pulled out a pair of shorts, dropped his jeans right there and changed into his togs. He then finished his beer while looking down at Harry, sprawled and snoring. Bending down to touch Harry’s shoulder to awaken him, Carlo was immediately met with an acrid, pungent smell that reminded him of a bum.

              “Hey,” said Carlo, shrinking from Harry at first. “Hey, wake up. I think you have to get up now, although, maybe it’s too late.”

              Harry stirred and then winced with the pain still in his back.

              “Help me up, I can’t move.”

              “What is it your back still?”

              “Yeah, come on, help me up.”

              “Do I have to touch you?”

              “I can’t move, please.”

              “Can’t you just kind of flop out of the car? You’re almost there.”

              “I’ll fucking kill you,” he said, half laughing. “Will you just help me?”

              Carlo laughed and apologized and extracted Harry from the car. He had to move Harry slowly; any sudden movement caused him to twitch with pain. Carlo stood Harry up and leaned him against the car. Harry laid his head back and closed his eyes and bit his lip. The sun was full on his face.

              “I smell pretty ripe, huh?”

              “Well, pretty is too nice a word. I should give you a couple of bucks, like you’re a bum on the street.”

              Harry laughed feebly. “I gotta change. Are we there yet? Can I go home already?”

              “Well, I’ve got good news... We’re in Texas!”

              “I wanna be in Jersey.”

              “It’s Sunday, morning and we’re in Texas! Finally.”

              “Wasn’t the plan to be on the way home by now?”

              “Comeon, you know there’s no plan. We’re in Texas!”

              “You keep saying that like it’s a good thing. I gotta change, wash up. Are we anywhere I can do that?”

              “Well, that’s why I stopped. We’re at the Sulphur River! I was just down there and made my acquaintance and they all said to bring you down.”

              “Dedalus!” Harry’s eyes perked up. “I’m gonna meet Dedalus smelling like this?”

              “Naw, we’re hundreds of miles away from him,” Carlo said waving a hand and flashing a big smile. “We’re in east Texas!”

              Harry squinted at him and wagged his head. “Who, then” he said, nearly falling over in the process. Carlo caught him and propped him up against the car again.

              “Well, I didn’t catch all their names. There’s at least two Billy Bobs... you know. I would guess it is one big family; you know... one of them extended families.”

              Carlo looked back at the blank expression on Harry’s face, unsure of what he could make of it. Harry then began to slip off the side of the car again. Harry lunged after him and caught him before he could fall.

               “One big family, huh,” said Harry with a slight grimace now.

              “Yeah, it’s like a picnic, I guess. Down by the river.”

              “The Sulphur River. A picnic, with the Billy Bob clan down by the river.”

              “Well, it’s more than a picnic. Come on, you’ll see.”

              Carlo fetched a pair of shorts from Harry’s small backpack in the trunk and then draped one of his friend’s arms over his shoulder and walked him gingerly toward the Billy Bob extended family down by the Sulphur River somewhere in east Texas picnic gathering. It was a Sunday morning. Harry mumbled with each step and he wasn’t praying to God.

              It took a long time for them to walk down the embankment that sloped toward the river. The steep angle had Harry’s back hurting even more as he slipped in the loose dirt. As they neared the river they heard music.

              “I know this song,” said Harry, his mood brightening a bit. He stopped their progress to teeter on the slope and listen. “I can’t say you’ll hear it every day.”

              “I’ll bite,” said Carlo.

              “It’s Bobby Goldsboro...’The Straight Life.’ One of the best songs ever written...

              “Yeah,” Carlo said, listening himself and grinning. “‘Out of my mind’. That’s me, all right.”

              Harry giggled in the growing heat of the day and then urged Carlo to move them along.

              As the men approached the gathering, a group of kids, gap-toothed and squinting, ran up to them. One boy, with matted hair covering his eyes, gestured with his chin.

              “What’s the matter with you?”

              “I ran into a bear up by the car,” said Harry, grinning. “Had to wrassle him for my peanut butter.”

              The boy grimaced and recoiled as if a skunk just sprayed him.

              “Hell no, there ain’t bears here. Ma! He said there’s a bear up there by his car,” screamed the kid over his shoulder at the gathering of adults seated around a card table and sitting on portable chaises and milk crates.

              “Maybe there is...,” said another boy, his eyes wide with anticipation. Water, or sweat, had carved away some of the dirt on his bare chest and left behind stripes. His jeans were soaked.

              The first boy’s eyes lighted up with the possibility.

              “Yeah!”

              He ran off in the direction of the car, trailed by a motley gang of bedraggled kids of various sizes, shapes and speeds. One boy paused long enough to pick up a long stick. Harry and Carlo watched as the final toddler disappeared into the weeds and listened as the gang’s hooting and hollering died away. Turning back, everyone in the group of adults seated near the river and even the three wading in the river had stopped to look at them.

              Harry whispered out of the side of his mouth at Carlo. “You think they’ll be pissed I sent their kids running after a bear?”

              “Probably.”

              “Well, I didn’t mean to.”

              “It’ll be all right. There wasn’t a bear after all. The kids will just run around for a while and then jump back in the river.”

              “Yeah, it’ll be okay. Yeah.”

              By the time Harry and Carlo finally hobbled up to the gathering, everyone had forgotten about them. The three men in the river had gone back to their wading. They were walking slowly in the waist-deep water. One, an elderly, balding man with a copious amount of coarse grey covering his stout chest and hunched shoulders, paused in his wading and lowered his head beneath the surface. The other two men stopped their own wading and watched intently where the old man disappeared and did not continue until he resurfaced.

              Country music warbled from a portable radio set atop the cab of a sleek metallic cherry red pick-up. Three middle-aged women, all with their hair in curlers and covered by kerchiefs, were playing cards at the card table. They smoked cigarettes and looked down their noses at their card hands. Their beefy arms dimpled as they leaned against the table. When Harry and Carlo limped into their midst two of the women cast a quick eye at them while the third tried to sneak a peek at another’s hand.

              An extremely obese woman was spread out on a sagging chaise lounge and smoking a Churchill-sized cigar. She nodded at them and gestured with her cigar as the two Jersey adventurers made their way to the gathering.

              “Come on,” she drawled, her jack-o-lantern grin awash in a sea of flesh.

              Two lanky teenage boys seated on a fallen tree trunk, their long hair cascading down and covering their faces, idly tossed pen knives into the ground. They sipped beer between tosses. A heavy teenage girl, wearing long pants and a brown t-shirt sat astride the tree, her feet not quite reaching the ground, and watched the boys. Every time she tried to reach over to one of the boys to rub his shoulder, he would shrug and lean away from her. When Harry and Carlo reached the picnic, all three gave them a long look.

              “What’s the matter with you?” yelled one boy, gesturing with his knife and squinting in the late morning sun.

              “My back,” said Harry, with an appropriate grimace.

              The teenager said nothing else and all three returned to their little tasks.

              Two other women, looking to be in their twenties, were lying on a blanket apart from the rest of the group. They had their long, blonde hair corralled into pony tails. They were smoking cigarettes and laughing and giggling between themselves. One was on her back, her legs crossed and she nibbled at her pinky finger between puffs on her cigarette. The other woman had her bikini top off and was sunning her back. She rested a head on a rolled up pair of jeans and smiled out into the Texas countryside. One tattooed leg idly traced figures in the warm air.

              The smell of a charcoal grill filled the air and knotted Harry’s stomach. The grill was a halved oil drum. The top half was the cover with a hinge attached on the back. A man wearing a trucker’s hat that said, “Don’t Fuck With The Chef” and a woman who quite clearly was holding on to her youth with two greasy palms as she had poured her expansive posterior into tight fitting, way too short, cut-off jeans, were eyeing the burgers, chicken parts, hot dogs and a couple racks of beef ribs that were on the grill.

              The chef gestured his chin toward Harry. “Is this is your buddy? Looks like you’re not doing too good.”

              “Naw, I’m kinda sore. Had a run-in with a reverend, I guess, yesterday?”

              The lady rolled her eyes as he flipped a burger. “We’ve been dodging the reverends a lot ourselves. Never had one try to whack us though.”

              “Hmmm, yeah. That smells good,” said Harry.

              “Carl here tells us you’re an eating machine, that you’d put Granny to shame.”

              Harry glanced over at Granny and her cigar. He grinned and eyed the grill again.

              “Probably. She’d slim down if I moved in.”

              “Wheee Doggie,” said the man, his trucker cap’s visor nodding with approval.        Harry grinned even wider and rolled his eyes at the grill again. He was waiting for an offer for food, but none came. Carlo still had Harry’s shoulder and steered him away from the grill toward the river.

              “Come on sailor,” said Carlo, “time to head out to sea once again.”

              Harry craned his head backwards as the grill receded in the distance. “Food...,” he moaned.

              “There will be time for that stinky,” he whispered. “Cleanliness is close to Godliness. And, for God’s sake, you smell like a rabid, wet dog.”

              Granny yelled at them from her sagging perch. “Y’all grabblin’?”

              Carlo stopped and spun the two of them around.

              “It’s noodlin’, isn’t it?”

              “Not around here. My cousin Jethro calls it that. He’s in Arkansas. Suppose you

 can call it noodlin’ if you wanted to...hell, it don’t matter.”

“Hmmm,” said Carlo, his brow furrowed in thought. “Hmmm.”

              “Hmmm,” said Harry, stopping them. “Should I be worried here?  Should I be

 saying more than ‘Hmmm?’”

              “Naw, it’s just what they call fishing around here. You’ll be all right.”

              “Okay,” said Harry, as Carlo dropped off Harry’s extra clothes on some bushes

and he walked him into the river. “If you say so.”

              When Carlo finally got Harry in up to his waist in the brownish waters of the

 Sulphur River, Harry said he would be all right. He fumbled with his jeans and t-shirt

 and tossed them to Carlo. Carlo handed him a bar of soap and waded out of the river.

              “Whew,” said Harry, smiling. “The water’s colder than you’d expect. This feels

 good on my back.”

              “Yeah,” Carlo said as he stepped onto the bank, holding Harry’s clothes at arm’s

 length. “Do you think I should burn these or bury them?”

              “Very funny. I’ll get Kris to wash them when I get home.”

              Harry dunked his head and popped his head up, splashing a bit. He caught

 himself, having forgotten the three men who were ‘grabblin’.’ He whispered hoarsely

 and waved at Carlo who was watching him from the bank. “I forgot.” He then waded a

 bit, mimicking the men, smiling widely. As he waded through the river, Harry rubbed the

 cake of soap on his various body parts.

              “You know, the bottom’s really sandy,” said Harry still in a hoarse whisper. “I

 don’t feel any rocks, just something like a tree trunk.”

              “You’ll want to stay away from those,” said Carlo, watching Harry from the

 riverbank.

               “How come?” Harry was now floating on his back. The water was refreshing,

 the sun was bright and strong.

              “Well, that’s where the fish are.”

              “Yeah, you know,” said Harry, standing now. “I thought that was odd. I don’t see

 any fishing poles with those guys. What’re they doin’, catching them by hand?”

              “Yeah. They’re grabblin’.”

              “No shit! That’s what ‘grabbling’ means. What’re they trying to grabble anyway?”

              “Catfish. Flatheads probably.”

              “Really? Catfish? That’s good eating. They catch them by hand?”

              Harry tossed the soap back up to Carlo and waded toward the three grabbling

 men. Carlo protested, but Harry waved him off. He wanted a closer look at this odd

 technique. As he neared them, the old man went under the surface, his bald dome

 lingering near the surface like a sun-bleached bobbin before disappearing under the

 water.

              Again, the two other men paused in their wading to watch the stout, hairy

shouldered grabbler as he slipped under the surface of the water. He did not resurface

 for a long time. Though the other two men did not seem concerned with this, Harry was

 worried. He thought something was wrong and thought the man needed help. Harry

 had worked his 17th summer as a lifeguard at the local community pool and was adept

 at spying people in trouble while in the water. Harry began shuffling toward the

 “grabblers’ as quickly as he could. He could not swim and any quick movements still

 caused twitching pain. In his haste though Harry lost his footing and fell face first into

 the water. He cried out in pain and struggled in the gentle current to stand and when he

 finally regained his footing he was next to the grabblers. The old man still had not

 resurfaced and the other two still watched the water where the man had disappeared.

               They seemed intent, but not worried.

               “Is he all right? How come you’re not helping him?” Harry barked out at the men.

              Had he a whistle he would have tooted it.

              The two men were not happy with Harry’s sudden appearance. They stared at

 him derisively. They thought Harry was trying to steal their catfish and not concerned

 for the old man’s safety. One of the men held up his hands, palms out, and halted

Harry with a glare.

              “Git,” he said, “this one’s ours.”

              “But…,” began Harry, but just then the water between the three men suddenly

 rippled. The second man, sporting a wisp of a beard that looked as if he had rubbed

 his face in some road-kill, watched wide-eyed at the rippling water. He grinned wildly.

              “Get ready,” he said as he nodded at the other man, who had turned away from

 Harry to face the ripples. He nodded at the second man and smiled, displaying a

dazzling set of teeth that crammed his mouth.

              “Is he all right?” Harry yelled.

              “Yeah,” said the first man angrily. “This is our cat,” he snapped, “git outta here.”

              “I know, but he’s under there a long time!”

              “He’s just gotta get a good holder it.”

              The water rippled some more. The rippling quickly got more violent and suddenly

 the old man’s back breached the surface. He stuck his head out of the water long

 enough to gulp some air and say, “he’s a goodin’,” before being pulled down into the

 water again forcefully. The roiling water churned now, betraying a fierce struggle

 beneath the surface. Those on shore hooted and laughed. A couple of the kids who

 had returned from their bear hunting expedition waded in a few feet, but dared not get

 close. Without warning, a mighty fin of a flathead slapped the water and caught Harry

in the face. The thick limbed old man did not resurface.

              Horrified at the enormity of the fin that hit him, Harry leapt back in fear and lost

 his balance and he was quickly under the churning surface of the water. The current

 dragged him under the old man and the catfish. The slimy flesh of the flathead

 smeared against him. The water was white with the tumult. Harry tried to get to his feet

 again and again, but the hunter and his prey thrashed about, knocking him down each

 time.

              “Hey, that’s our cat! You go get him Richard,” said the first grabbler to the wild

-eyed one. “Hug him! Hug him!”

              Richard dived under the surface and he tried to get the catfish in a bear hug. The

 flathead was seemingly longer than Richard, and this grabbler with the road-kill beard

 could not get a good hold of it. The creature began to roll as it tried to escape. Richard

 held on as best as he could, his face flashing above the surface as the creature took

 him on this joy ride. He was smiling, his teeth flashing whiter than the froth churned up

by their passion.

              The old man had pulled himself from the fray and was standing off to the side.

 His job was done; he had gotten the catfish out of its lair. He looked down at the

churning water, winded. He wiped water away from his face with a meaty hand.

              “He was in there, hidin’ pretty good, Tommy. I had to drive my foot up to where

 he was to get him out...then he just swallered it,” he said to his younger partner, who

 nodded in approval. “He’s a biggin’,” he shouted to the clan on the banks of the river

 and pumped his fist, mimicking Granny. The Churchill danced a jig on the very rim of

 her abyss.

              Harry’s back was in searing pain, but that was the least of his worries. Harry was

 still stuck beneath Richard and the catfish and had not come up for air. He was being

 held under by Richard and the Flathead. Richard was having trouble with the fish and

 Tommy was sent in to help. Tommy dove onto them all and Harry was knocked down

 to the river bottom. A submerged log gouged Harry’s ribs. Instinctively Harry grabbed at

 the log, thinking he could claw himself to safety. Again, the grabblers pushed him to

 the bottom and the edge of the log caught him on the chin. He grasped at the log, his

 hands desperate to find purchase and escape. The white froth of the water was

 dimming to a dull, fetid brown. His air was giving out and he was losing consciousness.

               Frantically, his fingers crawled outside the log trying to find a knob or knot in the

 wood, but the log was too smooth from the water’s flow and was covered in algae. His

 other hand clawed into the hollowed log and when the trio above him knocked him

 down again, the hand was driven deep into its recesses. Finally! He felt something

 hard he could grab onto and pull himself out of harm’s way. He grabbed and with the

 last of his strength he yanked.

              It yanked back.

              Something that felt like rough sandpaper clasped onto his forearm. Harry had a

 hand in the mouth of a flathead. Here he was, about to drown, and his last act on this

 earth was to ‘grabble’ a cat. But, the catfish saved his life, for the shock of having

 something alive and dense and probably huge attached to his hand, apart from the

 pain of its rough, toothy jaw skinning his arm, jolted Harry from his watery grave. Still

 holding onto the cat, though he would later say he was unsure who had whom, Harry

 pushed and barreled his way past his oppressors and stood up. He screamed and

 gasped and coughed, looked at the creature devouring his arm midway to his elbow,

 screamed again and fell back into the water.

              “Hey look, he got his own cat,” said the old man approvingly.

              Richard and Tommy had been knocked down by Harry’s escape and were more

 concerned for their own Flathead. The huge creature still flailed and the men teetered

 with every twitch and throe. Richard had it around the head and Tommy had it near the

 tail. A good couple of feet separated the two men from their particular ends of the

 behemoth. Regaining their footing and spitting out Sulphur River water, they got the

 catfish in a tight embrace and slowly walked him to the riverbank. Only after they were

 near the riverbank did Tommy shout back over his shoulder, “He was trying to steal

 ours.”

              The thick-limbed, older man looked down at the frantic water beneath him. He

 reached into the water, briefly dunking his head in the process. The water matted what

 hair he had left on his head, exposing its pear shape. When he came up again, he had

 a hand under Harry’s armpit. He lifted both Harry and his catfish up. The old man had

Harry by a couple of inches in height and he lifted Harry to his eye level.

              “You were trying to steal our cat?”

              Harry coughed and gurgled.

              “Ah, hell,” said the old man. “There are enough catfish in this river. You don’t

 have to do that. You got your own anyway, can’t you see that?”

              Harry mumbled ‘help.’ The catfish twitched appropriately.

              “Help?” The old man shouted the word, leaning into Harry as he sagged back

 into the water. Sulphur River spittle splattered Harry’s face.  “Hey Tommy, he said he

 was only trying to help.”

              But they were now too occupied with their catfish to be concerned further with

 any perceived transgression. Tommy and Richard, breathing heavily, had gotten the

 flathead to the riverbank. They rolled the enormous catfish out of the water and onto

 the grass where they fell exhausted as the flathead flopped beside them. Its foundering

 made audible thuds in the grass. The creature was easily over 4 feet long and later

 they estimated it to weigh in around 100 pounds. A couple of the kids poked fingers at

 the defiled creature to feel its slimy skin, but most of the smaller children fearfully

 stayed far away from the flathead as it flopped. One of the boys was dared by another

 to touch a ‘whisker’ and suffer an electric sting, but the boy refused despite being

 jeered.

              The teenage boys dropped off their tree trunk and slowly slouched over to the

 catfish, trying to act as disinterested as possible. As the catfish finally began to quiet as

 it slowly died from lack of oxygen, one of the boys toed it with his boot. The other

 poked at the desperate movements of its gills with his pen knife. Tommy, finally

 catching his own breath yelled at the youth to stop it with the knife. The teen sullenly

 obeyed, but scuffed dirt on the fish with his boot as he stood. He thrust his hands in his

 pocket, with the now folded pen knife still in the grip of his right hand, and shrugged

 violently when the heavy girl that had bugged him all afternoon now sidled up and

 attempted to put an arm around his waist.

              Richard, still wheezing from his grabbling encounter, waded into the crowd that

 had encircled the catfish. His abruptness cut a swatch through the children who feared

 Richard more than the catfish. His scruffy beard and wild eyes frightened the kids.

               They would do anything to avoid being near him. Richard grinned wildly and

 played into their fears. He waggled a tongue at the smaller children. They shrank from

 his gaze. One small girl of four or five shrieked and covered her ice blue eyes with her

 muddy palms.

               Richard threaded a rope through the Flathead’s gills and jaw and attempted to

 hoist it onto his shoulder. He yelled for Tommy to help him; the creature was too heavy

 for him to carry alone. Granny yelled that she wanted to touch this one. Tommy and

 Richard hauled the Flathead over to Granny. Standing on either side of her queenly

 chaise, they struggled to hover the flatfish over the chair so she could pet it.

              “My, my, my,” she said, running her fingers over the slimy skin of the catfish. The

 cigar nodded approvingly. The middle part of the flathead sagged into her lap and she

 caressed it lovingly and smacked her lips. The cigar twirled and teetered like a

 drunkard. “Better get that cleaned,” said Granny, taking the cigar out of her mouth and

 wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m getting the hunger.”

              The old man still had Harry in his strong grip. Harry sputtered as he caught his

 breath and grimaced as he winced from the pain in his back. He shook the arm that still

 had a catfish attached to it. “Help,” he moaned weakly. The Flathead hung down, the

 fight all out of it now. Harry’s hand was still clutched in its jaws though it no longer

 gnawed at his forearm with its sandpaper coarse teeth.

               “Hell,” said the old man, loosening his grip on Harry and letting him slip back into

 the river, “you’re doing fine all by yourself. You don’t need help. But, I would throw him

 back. We got enough for one day.”

              The pear headed grabbler waded for the riverbank. Two of the smaller children,

the one with the dirty hands and ice blue eyes, and a boy who wore bandoliers crossed

 over his bare chest and twin holsters ran to meet the old man at the water’s edge. He

 scooped both children up easily in his meaty arms. The children yelled “whee” with the

 sensation of suddenly being lighter than air. He tucked the boy in the crook of his arm

 like a football and threw the girl over his shoulder and bounced her there. Her head

 hung down and her small, dirty hands patted his back as she chanted in a high, clear

 voice, “I’m a sack of potatoes, I’m a sack of potatoes.”

              Harry and his own personal Flathead slipped into the water when the old man

 released him and he began to float downstream with the river’s gentle current. He was

 too tired to fight it and he allowed the river to carry him along its length. Somewhere in

 a brain clouded and over-stimulated with all the commotion, this was a good thing.  He

 was escaping certain death by friendship with Carlo. Blissfully drifting along, the river’s

 gentle current allowed him to break away from this misadventure. As the sounds of the

 Billy Bobs et al faded away Harry blankly watched the sun filtering through the leaves

 of cottonwoods. He heard the call of a thrush, the bark of a prairie dog. Away he drifted

 on the river’s placid waters from all the grief that had overtaken him on this sorry trip.

               Away he drifted from the roving reverends and pear-headed fishermen; away

 from the waitresses with orange gums and lacquered hair; away from the dirty kids with

 sharp sticks and five minutes of idle time; away from the crazy Carlo with his insidious

 schemes. Away Harry drifted from the idol of his youth, the purpose of this trip,

Dedalus. Away he drifted, no longer caring about Carlo’s misguided scheme to

 recapture the past and ignite the future. Harry wanted to go home.

              Harry sighed and closed his eyes and began to dream the river took him home.

               Kris was there, the baby on her hip, a wide smile on her lips. He rose from the

 river and slipped into her arms. Her kiss was warm and soft and as they kissed

 Amanda gently patted Harry’s face. He took the child from Kris and held her in one arm

 as Kris clutched at the back of his head and nestled her nose in his neck. Her fingers

 caressed the back of his head as he trailed his fingers along her bared shoulders.

 Amanda fell asleep in his arm and rested her head on Harry’s other shoulder. How

 sweet. How sweet. There was a sense of calmness, a serenity that had been lacking in

their lives as a family for a long time. How sweet.

              “It’s good to be home,” Harry murmured. “I love you.”

              Kris sighed and caressed Harry’s chest, but said nothing.

              They stood in this way, near the bank of the river, for a long time. Harry’s back

 no longer hurt, but after awhile the weight of the child in one arm got to be too much

 and Harry wanted to shift her to his other side. He patted Kris on the shoulder and

 asked her to move, but she gripped Harry tighter. Her head was still resting against his

 neck, but now her nose suddenly got cold and runny and it felt awkward and

 uncomfortable for him.

              “Honey, please, you’re tickling me!”

              Kris gripped him tighter and pushed her face hard against his neck. He began to

 struggle against his wife’s embrace. The baby awoke with the struggling and began to

 squeal. Harry looked in horror at Amanda. She had turned into a catfish. He dropped

 the creature and it flopped onto the grass.

              Harry turned towards Kris, his mouth open wide with horror. He had to blink a

 couple of times to recognize the woman before him. Her face shifted between several

 looks before settling on Kris. Hair color changed from blonde to brunette to black. Eyes

 dappled like colors in a kaleidoscope. Their glinting shards of light flashed as her eyes

 darted around before settling on Harry’s chest. The woman that he wanted to believe

 was Kris smiled softly, sweetly at Harry. She put a hand up to his face and caressed it.

               Briefly she looked away again and licked her lips and now looked Harry in the

 eyes.

              She arched an eyebrow demurely and smiled at Harry.

              With the colors of her eyes still dazzling and dancing, she locked her gaze on

 Harry. In a soft, hushed voice she said, “I love you.”

              Suddenly Harry was back in the river.

              “Look it’s a floater,” someone with a Texas twang cried. Suddenly his arm was

 being tugged and he was flipped around onto his back. Harry stared up into the sun

dappled leaves of cottonwood trees and Carlo’s face loomed into view.

              “Dude,” he said.

              “Huh? Am I dead?”

              “I should be so lucky.”

              Harry winced at the pain on his arm. It was red and tender from the catfish. The

 creature had been flailing and tugging against Harry’s unwitting grip on its jaw. Carlo

got Harry to loosen his grip on the fish’s jaw and release it. The Flathead flitted away

immediately, disappearing into the murky Sulphur River.

              Harry looked up into Carlo’s face. His head was being held above the water by

 his boyhood friend.

              “I’m hungry,” said Harry weakly.

              Carlo flashed his big smile.

              “Of course,” he said as he caressed his friend’s head and then helped him stand

 in the water. “They’ve got food enough for us over there.”

              After eating a lot of everything and drinking beer and smoother than silk

moonshine pulled from a recycled Chivas Regal bottle, Harry slept a dreamless sleep

curled in a ball in the warm sun. He slept until the afternoon. Carlo talked with Grandma

and the Billy Bob clan throughout the day. When it was time to leave, Carlo got one

 of the kids to dangle a rib over Harry’s sleeping face. When Harry didn’t awaken, the

 young boy slapped him in the cheek with it. Harry awoke with a start to a cheering and

 clapping audience.