Jimmy (41 page)

“Jimmy wants to ride his bike,” she said. “Do you think they can get to the pond before dark?”

“Oh, yeah, but don't try to ride home in the morning. You'll be too tired.”

“Yes, sir.”

Daddy placed his book on the stand beside his chair.

“This might be your year to catch Moby Dick,” he said.

“I don't think I could bring him in without help,” Jimmy replied.

Moby Dick, a forty-five-pound monster, was the undisputed king of the pond. He'd been caught several times but never during the big tournament. Identified by a large scar that stretched from the corner of his mouth across golden scales covering his back, and a damaged tail fin, he remained a wily adversary. Grandpa had hooked him once and brought him close enough to the bank to make a positive identification before the big fish shook the hook from his mouth and slithered back into the dark depths of the pond. Jimmy had never seen him. A horn sounded.

“There he is,” Mama said. “Don't make yourself stay awake if you get too sleepy. It's okay if you take a nap.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Jimmy gave Mama a hug and swung open the front door.

Sticking out the back of Grandpa's truck were several very long fishing poles. Jimmy rolled his bike to the truck and handed Grandpa the fifty-dollar bill. Grandpa was wearing his Ready Kilowatt hat too.

“You're official,” Grandpa said, slipping the bill into the front pocket of his shirt. “If you win first prize, what would you do with all that money?”

“How much money?”

“If enough people enter, there might be five hundred dollars for first prize, two hundred for second, and a hundred for third. The people who own the pond keep some of the money.”

Jimmy sat on his bike. “If it gets dark before we get to the pond, I have to put my bike in the back of the truck.”

“And walk the rest of the way?”

“No, sir. I'd ride with you.”

“That sounds like a good plan. Do you know the way to the pond?”

“I think so.”

Grandpa pointed out the window. “Get on the street in front of your house and ride that way until I tell you to turn.”

Jimmy took off on his bike. Grandpa followed close behind. Together they made up a miniature parade. A few cars passed them.

“Turn right at the next stop sign!” Grandpa yelled out the window.

Jimmy slowed to a stop and honked his horn. He turned right, and they left the city limits of Piney Grove. The road was covered with rough asphalt. A dog barked as they passed a farmhouse, but after a hot day in the sun, it didn't give chase. Pine woods began to line the side of the road.

Webb's Pond was located at the end of Webb's Pond Road. Dusk began to creep across the sky as they slowed down and turned left. Grandpa flipped on the headlights of the truck and shone them on a large, hand-painted wooden sign that announced the date and place of the carp tournament. Included on the sign was the name of the previous year's winner and the weight of the fish caught: Dusty Abernathy—28 lbs., 13 oz.

“Stop!” Grandpa called out.

Jimmy pulled to the side of the road and waited. Another truck turned onto the road and passed them.

“Can you ride fast?” Grandpa asked. “It's going to be dark in a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go!”

Jimmy took off on the bike. He never rode fast around town because of the stop signs and intersections, but on the flat, open road, he pedaled as furiously as he could. The bicycle tires made a whirring sound on the pavement as he picked up speed. The trees and underbrush beside the road flew by. He went in and out of shadows. With a final burst of speed, he reached the end of the road and a sign posted at the entrance to the pond. He put on his brakes and came to a halt. Breathing heavily, he looked back at Grandpa, who came up beside him.

“You almost outran the truck,” Grandpa said through the open window. “I wasn't sure that I could keep up with you.”

Jimmy took a few more deep breaths.

“It was like a wind sprint,” he said.

“Five wind sprints,” Grandpa replied. “Put your bike in the back of the truck. I'll drive you the rest of the way.”

After Jimmy loaded his bike, they traveled a short distance down a dirt road and stopped. A man with a flashlight in one hand and a clipboard in the other stood in the middle of the dirt track that led to the water. Grandpa rolled down the window.

“Good evening, Jim,” the man said, shining the flashlight into the cab of the truck. “Who's that with you? One of your power-company buddies?”

“He could be. Did you know Jimmy climbed all the way to the top of that pole in my backyard?”

The man stuck his head in the window and let out a low whistle. “That's amazing, Jimmy. Weren't you scared?”

“No, sir,” he answered. “I'm not afraid of being up high.”

“Well, you've done something I'd never think about trying. Should I put both of you on the list?”

“Yes, Gary,” Grandpa said, handing the man Jimmy's money and taking bills from his wallet for his own entry fee. “How many are here?”

“A bunch. Word is out, and I've taken money from folks who live in Carrollton, Griffin, Villa Rica, even Cartersville. If you have a favorite spot, you'd better go straight to it.”

“Any estimate on the prize pot?”

“I wouldn't be surprised if it pushes a thousand. We're going to limit the number of fishermen to fifty. It could get crowded at the popular spots.”

Grandpa rolled up the window and drove toward a parking area beside a grove of tall pine trees.

“Gary Webb's family owns the pond,” he said to Jimmy.

Grandpa stopped beside a shiny green SUV. There weren't any run-down fishing cars. Most of the pickups and SUVs scattered under the trees would have been equally comfortable at a fancy Atlanta shopping mall.

“Grab a couple of poles and the empty bucket,” Grandpa said.

The long, sturdy poles looked more suited to surf casting than bank fishing in a seven-acre lake; however, large carp put up such a ferocious fight that they could snap smaller poles. Grandpa compared reeling in a twenty-five-pound carp to lassoing an angry bull and pulling him through a gate not quite wide enough to allow him to pass.

Jimmy dropped his snack bag in a bucket and grabbed two poles. Grandpa filled his arms with two more poles, a small cooler, and a tackle box. On the other side of the pine grove, they entered the open area created by the small lake. In the deepening dusk, lights and lanterns brought by other fishermen wrapped around the pond like giant fireflies. Jimmy could see men crouched down or kneeling beside coolers that held secret bait mixes.

“It's the south end for us,” Grandpa said. “We'll find a spot, and then I'll go back to the truck for our lounge chairs. Fishing doesn't start for another half hour. You can guard our cooler.”

Jimmy followed Grandpa. Some men called out in greeting as they passed by.

“What are you using tonight, Big Jim?” one man asked.

“Apricot, and if that doesn't
work, chocoholic,” Grandpa answered as he kept walking.

“I thought you liked strawberry,” Jimmy said.

“He knows I'm kidding,” Grandpa replied. “In a contest everyone keeps their mix as secret as a witch's brew.”

“What's that?” Jimmy asked.

Grandpa grunted. “Don't tell your mama I said that. She wouldn't like it.”

As they walked, Grandpa kept shining the flashlight back and forth from the water to the woods.

“There it is,” he said. “Over on that tree.”

Jimmy followed the direction of the light and saw a short yellow ribbon tied to the end of a small branch.

“I marked this spot a few weeks ago because there is a steep drop-off directly across from that ribbon. It's the deepest place on this end of the pond. Everybody else will crowd around the north end.”

Sure enough, Jimmy could see a bunch of lights on the opposite side of the lake.

Grandpa continued, “Our plan is to put out a nice dinner for the big fish that want to avoid a crowded wait at the other end of the pond. There will be no delays at the Mitchell restaurant.”

“Yes, sir.”

They set up their gear on the bank with the tips of the poles facing the water.

“Sit on the cooler and don't get up until I come back,” Grandpa said.

“What did you really put in the cooler?” Jimmy asked. “Is it wild cherry?”

Grandpa put his finger to his lips. “I'll tell you, but only if we're partners.”

“What do you mean by partners?”

“We have to agree that if we win a prize, we'll split the money equally. If I catch the biggest fish, I'll give you half the money. If you catch the biggest fish, you'll give me half the money.”

“I'll give you all the money,” Jimmy answered immediately. “You need it more than I do. Daddy has lots of money and buys me everything I need.”

“True,” Grandpa said, chuckling, “but that's not the way it works with partners. It's share and share alike. Of course, you'll have to pay back the fifty dollars your daddy gave you.”

Jimmy thought a moment. “Okay, but if we win a prize, you keep most of the money and come to church with Grandma on Sunday.”

“Who put that idea in your head?”

“I did.”

Grandpa took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess it won't kill me to listen to Brother Fitzgerald more than once or twice a year. I'll even put some of the money in the offering plate if that will make you happy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grandpa turned to leave.

“Wait,” Jimmy said. “What's in the cooler?”

Grandpa lowered his voice. “Some of the best grits a carp ever tasted. And I seasoned them just right with freshwater mussel flavoring.”

“I've never heard of that one.”

“I ordered it from a place in Canada. I bet no one else is using it. When I was scouting out this end of the pond, I baited up a hook and landed a couple of nice ones in less than an hour. The fish will swim right over the ordinary banana and strawberry flavorings and scoop up our fancy stuff.”

Grandpa handed Jimmy the flashlight and left. Jimmy sat in the center of the cooler and shone the light across the water. Darker than the sky overhead, the surface of the water was covered with tiny ripples that made it seem to exhale in long breaths that ran beyond the reach of the light. Jimmy shuddered. He turned the light away from the water. It shone on a man's face covered in a thick gray beard.

Jimmy jumped.

“Sorry, son,” the man said, holding his hand before his eyes. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

Jimmy lowered the flashlight. The man had a long fishing pole in one hand and a cooler like Grandpa's in the other.

“I've never been to this pond and wondered where they're going to do the weigh-in.”

“You'll have to ask my grandpa. He went to get our chairs. He'll be back in a minute.”

The man placed his cooler on the ground and extended his hand. Jimmy shook it without standing up.

“I'm Alfred Walker. I drove over from Bartow County, but I fish for carp all over the state.”

“I'm Jimmy Mitchell. I live in Piney Grove.”

“A local. Do you fish here a lot?”

“Yes, sir. My grandpa has brought me here since I was a little boy. He's the best fisherman in the whole world.”

“Is that right? What's in your cooler?”

Jimmy looked down at the white top of the container before answering.

“Bait,” he replied.

“Are you willing to share your recipe with a fellow fisherman?”

Jimmy wanted to be respectful but wasn't sure how to respond.

“You'll have to ask Grandpa,” he said after a moment's pause. “He's the one who mixed it up. He usually brings plenty.”

Mr. Walker smiled. “And I guess you're guarding it until he gets back.”

“Yes, sir. We're partners. That means if I win, I give him half the prize money.”

“And if he wins, you get half the money?” Walker asked.

“Yes, sir. But I'd give him most of it, because I don't need money. Daddy and Mama buy me everything I need, and I already have a bike and a dog.”

“What's your dog's name?”

“Buster.”

Mr. Walker stroked his chin. “I'd like to be your partner, but that would be up to your grandpa. I'd hate to drive two hours over here and not even catch a small fish. Can you give me a hint about your bait?”

“What's a hint?”

“A clue, an idea about what it is. If you don't want to tell me it's okay, but we could make it a guessing game.”

Jimmy knew about guessing games. It was one of the ways he learned. Daddy let him ask questions, but instead of telling him the answer, he would ask another question that guided Jimmy to the solution. That way the information would stick in Jimmy's mind. He thought for a second then pointed to his arm. Mr. Walker looked puzzled.

“Arm bait?”

Jimmy flexed his bicep like he'd seen the football players do. The other fisherman stared for a second and then smiled.

“Mussel. He's using freshwater mussel.”

Jimmy grinned.

Walker picked up his cooler and moved into the shadows. “Thanks, Jimmy,” he called as he disappeared from sight.

Grandpa returned.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked.

“A nice man named Mr. Walker. He lives in Bartow County, but he fishes for carp all over the state.”

Grandpa opened up the chairs and positioned them firmly on the grass. Beside them he stuck two rod holders in the ground.

“What did he want?” he asked.

“To play a guessing game.”

“About what?”

“Our bait recipe.”

“Did you tell him?” Grandpa asked sharply.

“No, I made him guess.”