Jimmy (42 page)

Grandpa relaxed. “I bet trying to guess freshwater mussel would be pretty hard.”

—
Twenty-eight
—

J
immy had watched Grandpa prepare the bait for carp fishing many times. The bait consisted of a large gooey ball of grits seasoned with several teaspoons from the small bottle of fresh mussel attractant. Grandpa wrapped the glob around a hefty sinker positioned behind a large hook, then he attached a second, more complicated bait pattern to a device called a hair rig—a short line that extended in front of the hook. He carefully slid several tasty dough balls on the line and then surrounded the balls with more seasoned grits. In the middle of the two meals rested a naked hook.

Grandpa had taught Jimmy a lot about carp. The slow-moving fish lived to eat, and as they swam along the bottom of a pond or river, they constantly inhaled and exhaled debris in an effort to find something edible. A sharp hook would be quickly discarded unless it rested in the middle of a delectable feast of grits, dough, or specially manufactured ground bait. After it was cast into the water, the grit-based bait disintegrated in a few minutes, creating a meal as beautiful to a carp as a plate of pecan waffles and syrup. With a meal set out in two directions, the carp could be caught coming to dinner or nibbling on dessert. As it scooped up the seasoned grits, the carp would also vacuum up the hook, which could be set with a stiff jerk.

Grandpa elected not to go with a bare hook and carefully positioned a piece of corn cereal on its tip. He then doused the cereal in Texas Pete hot sauce. Jimmy squatted and watched.

“When Moby Dick takes hold of this hook, the hot sauce will make him so mad that he'll put on a run guaranteed to lock the hook in his jaw.”

“That's how I want my hook fixed up too.”

“Only if you help me.”

They worked together and finished as the air horn sounded, signaling the beginning of the tournament. They didn't rush. Carp fishing was a marathon, not a wind sprint. Unlike bass fishing, which involved frequent casts to attract fish with moving targets, carp fishing was all about putting good bait in a good location, where it would stay for a long period of time. Grandpa walked to the edge of the water and carefully cast out to the area where the bottom of the pond sloped downward. He backed away and put his pole in one of the holders driven into the ground.

Jimmy picked up his pole. They walked toward the water together. Jimmy held the pole out in front of him but wouldn't go close to the edge.

“Let me cast from here,” he said.

“Did you see where mine landed?” Grandpa asked.

“I think so.”

“Cast to the right of it.”

They took a few steps to the right. Jimmy held back his pole and let the bait sail across the water. It wasn't a long cast—he didn't want the bait to come off before sinking to the bottom of the pond. It plopped into the water with a splash that seemed loud in the stillness of the night.

“Good job,” Grandpa said.

They placed Jimmy's pole in the other holder. Grandpa lit a small propane lantern and positioned it to shine on the tips of the rods. With everything in order, they sat down in the lounge chairs. Grandpa took off his Ready Kilowatt hat and rubbed his head. Jimmy did the same thing. At this point, carp fishing became more of a social event than a sporting contest.

“Fixing up that bait made me hungry,” Grandpa said. “Did I see a couple of bananas in your bag of snacks?”

“Yes, sir, but Mama also sent you a treat.”

Jimmy reached in the bag and found the beef jerky. He held it out. Grandpa peeled back the wrapper, took a bite, and sighed.

“If I were a fat old carp, I think this would be the bait I couldn't resist.”

Jimmy ate a banana and an oatmeal cream pie. He then opened a bottle of spring water. Grandpa poured coffee from a red thermos into a Styrofoam cup. They sat in silence as they ate the food. They caught shadowy glimpses of other fishermen who, like them, were settling into a night of waiting. Jimmy could see the glow of cigarettes and hear the clink of beer bottles being removed from coolers. He could smell Grandpa's coffee.

“Thanks for coming, Jimmy,” Grandpa said.

“You're welcome,” Jimmy replied.

Grandpa took a couple of sips of coffee. “I'd rather go fishing with you than anyone else in the whole world.”

“Why is that, Grandpa?”

“Because I like watching you grow up into a fine young man. I mean, I loved you when you were a little boy, but now you're a special young—” Grandpa stopped.

“That's okay,” Jimmy replied. “I know it can mean a good thing to be special when you're the one saying it to me.”

“That's right. You've grown up enough that when difficult things happen in your life, you don't let them keep you down. You have a lot of determination, which means you're not a quitter.”

“I climbed the pole. All the way to the top.”

“Right.”

“And I rode my bike from our house to the pond.”

“Yes. And you're going to high school and working as a manager for the football team. I believe you are going to surprise a lot of people with what you do in your life. Do you remember what I told you after you climbed the pole?”

“That I have the heart of a champion.”

Grandpa smiled. “That's right. What else did I say?”

“That I can do anything I want to do.”

“Correct.”

Grandpa ate the last bite of beef jerky. He placed his coffee cup on a bare spot on the ground.

“Jimmy, do you ever think about the future?”

“What do you mean?”

“About what you'll do after you graduate from high school.”

Jimmy took off his cap and pointed to the skinny figure on the front. “I want to be like you and work for the Georgia Power Company.”

“I know we've talked about it, but I can't promise you that it will happen.”

“I climbed the pole,” Jimmy said.

“Yes, but there are other things you have to do as a lineman. It's a hard job in a lot of ways.”

“You can teach me. I won't graduate from high school for”—Jimmy hesitated— “a while. I can learn a lot before that happens.”

Jimmy glanced at their fishing poles. The tips of the fiberglass rods were as still as the night air.

“Well, your mama asked me to talk to you about it,” Grandpa said. “She doesn't want you to get disappointed if becoming a lineman doesn't work out.”

“Don't worry. Mama loves me a lot. But she worries about everything. She'll be proud of me when I become a lineman.”

“She's a good wife to your daddy and a good mama to you.”

“Yes, sir. I thank God for her after she leaves my room at night. Not every night, because sometimes I go right to sleep, but whenever I'm not too tired, I tell him. He knows.”

Grandpa chuckled. “And he knows I tried to talk to you about
the future. I hope that satisfies your mama.”

They sat quietly. Jimmy stretched and yawned. Every so often, the quiet of the night was broken by the yell of a fisherman who hooked a fish. Jimmy's eyes grew heavy. Grandpa had wedged a lightweight blanket into the lounge chair. As the night cooled, Jimmy opened the blanket. Grandpa spread it over him and tucked it around his arms and under his chin.

“I'm not going to sleep,” Jimmy said. “I'm just a little bit cold.”

“I know. You don't want to miss the big strike.”

The crickets chirped as if it were their last chance for a summer romance. Jimmy, surrounded by the sounds of the night, let his eyes rest for a few minutes. He awoke to a loud grunt from Grandpa. He had one of the poles in his left hand and his thumb on the lever for the bait-runner reel. Jimmy sat up and rubbed his eyes. Grandpa glanced over at him.

“I've got one,” Grandpa said through clenched teeth. “And it's worth fighting.”

Grandpa braced the butt of the rod against his leg.

“He's still taking out line,” he said. “I dropped a little drag on him for a few seconds, but he would have snapped it like sewing thread if I'd tried to put on the brakes.”

Jimmy joined Grandpa. The tip of the rod inclined at a steady angle toward the water.

“Which pole is it?” Jimmy asked.

“It's mine,” Grandpa answered. “Would you like to hold it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Grandpa kept his hands on the pole as he passed it to Jimmy. As soon as it was in his grasp, Jimmy could feel the weight of the fish on the other end. Somewhere in the dark water, an angry carp was shaking its head from side to side as it bulled its way in the opposite direction. Grandpa released his grip. Jimmy held on tightly, but the power of the fish made him take two steps toward the water. He planted his feet more solidly on the ground.

“That's it,” Grandpa said. “As soon as he slacks off, push down on the drag.”

As if on cue, the line went slack. The fish had stopped its run.

“Reel it in!” Grandpa yelled. “It may be coming back this way.”

Jimmy furiously cranked the reel, amazed at how much line lay limp.

“He may be gone,” Grandpa said disappointedly, “but keep cranking to make sure.”

Jimmy made a few more turns on the reel and then almost lost the rod when the line went taut and the fish took off for another run. Grandpa let out a yell.

“That's it, boy! You are onto that fish!”

Jimmy lost his footing and staggered closer to the water.

“Take it, Grandpa!” he said. “I don't want to fall in!”

Grandpa stepped forward and put his hands on the rod above the reel.

“Hold on. Let's walk it back together.”

As the line spun out, they retreated up the bank. Only when they were back to the chairs did Grandpa take the rod.

“Good job,” Grandpa said. “That's what partners do for each another. If we land this fish and it's a winner, you earned your prize money when you handled that run.”

Jimmy didn't realize that he was breathing heavily until he let go of the rod. “Do you think it's Moby Dick?” he asked.

“If not, it's one of his nephews.”

Grandpa carefully pressed the lever for the drag. The second run proved much shorter than the first, and Grandpa was able to keep tension on the line even when the fish doubled back toward the bank.

“He's coming back to meet us,” Grandpa said. “Fill the bucket with water.”

They had brought a large plastic bucket to carry fish to the weighing station. Jimmy picked up the green pail, took a few steps toward the water, and stopped. He looked at the black water and inched forward until about two feet from the edge.

“I don't want to get any closer,” he said. “I might fall in.”

“Just stay on the bank and scoop up some water! I can't drop him in a dry bucket and carry him to the weighing station.”

Jimmy didn't move any closer to the water.

“Jimmy! Go!”

Jimmy pressed his lips tightly together and commanded his feet to march forward. Somewhere between his head and his toes the orders were short-circuited.

“I can't!” he wailed.

“Okay,” Grandpa spoke with frustration. “Hold the pole while I do it.”

Jimmy retreated. He didn't cry, but he felt embarrassed.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as he took the pole.

“Just hold it where it is.”

The tension on the line had greatly decreased. The fish was tired, halfheartedly moving from side to side. Grandpa hurried toward the water. In his haste, he lost his footing and fell, sliding a few feet forward. Jimmy winced. It was his fault that Grandpa had to fill the bucket with water. The old man heaved himself to his feet and dipped the bucket in the water. The pole suddenly jerked forward and flew from Jimmy's hands. It skidded down the bank.

“Grandpa!” Jimmy yelled.

In a move worthy of an eighteen-year-old football player diving for a fumble, Grandpa lunged for the pole as it headed toward the water. His chest landed on the reel with a thud. He grabbed the barrel of the pole. The line zipped through his fingers.

“Ouch!” he called out as he loosened his grip.

Jimmy forgot his fear and ran toward the water. He grabbed the end of the pole with both hands just as Grandpa let go.

“I've got it!” he yelled.

Grandpa rolled onto his back and put his hand to his chest. Jimmy saw him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Grandpa eased up to a sitting position. He continued to massage his chest. “I landed on the reel and bruised a rib or something.”

Jimmy felt the tension on the line slacken. He began reeling in the fish.

“That's good,” Grandpa observed. “After all this fighting, I don't want to lose that fish.”

Continuing to turn the reel, Jimmy stood up and walked backward. He saw something flash in the water.

“He's close!” Grandpa said. “Hold it there until I get in position.”

Jimmy had seen Grandpa get in the water to land a large fish.

“Are you jumping in?” Jimmy asked.

“Not tonight. Reel it in slow.”

Jimmy turned the handle of the reel. The fish now felt like a heavy stone being dragged toward the bank. As the fish entered the shallow water, it began to flop to the surface. In the lantern light, Jimmy could see the burnished gold color that marked a healthy carp. Grandpa grabbed the line and guided the fish into the bucket. He labored up the bank and set the bucket on the ground directly underneath the lantern. Jimmy peered into the water. Exhausted, the fish lay on its side with its gills moving back and forth. Grandpa reached into the bucket and took the hook from the left side of the fish's mouth.

“Did you see how easily the hook came out?” Grandpa asked. “It was at the edge of his mouth, and he'd just about wiggled it loose.”

Jimmy reached into the water and pressed his fingers against the close-linked scales that covered the fish's body. It was cold and hard.