The River

by Arthur Vibert

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

VII

The next day at work was uneventful, presenting him with the usual mindless issues that he handled with his brainstem while willing his higher brain functions into a state of temporary numbness.

He managed not to divulge his secret. When quitting time came he was the first person out the door, showing enthusiasm for the first time in what seemed like years. He got home as quickly as he could, honking his horn uselessly at the rush hour traffic. Running into the house he called for Mary.

“Down here, Fred,” she said from the basement.

He went down the steps, two at a time, to discover Mary, her friend Gladys and Barney, who appeared to be teaching the two women to fish. Not a difficult proposition, given how well stocked the river was.

“Fred, this is a real river,” said Mary, casting her line far out into the water. She got a hit almost immediately. Gladys and Barney beamed proudly.

“Wow. No kidding. And here I thought it was a leaky pipe or something.” The dog stood on the bank and barked incessantly at the river. Fred was annoyed. It was as if the river had become slightly soiled — polluted, somehow. Having Gladys there didn’t help much either.

“Oh Fred, don’t be so negative,” said Mary. “Look how many we got.”

There was a barrel on the ground seething with fish.

“Thought it might be a good idea to get a decent sized container, given how many we caught yesterday.” Barney had clearly been busy, worrying about his river for him.

“What are you planning on doing, opening up a fish ’n chips shop or something?” Fred had to be honest here. He was really pissed off.

The others eyed him suspiciously. They were just having fun and here he was messing it up for them.

Gladys made a big show of looking at her watch. “I’m sorry, it’s getting late. Jim’ll be worried. I’d better go.” Barney walked over to the barrel and dunked a bucket into it, pulling out a couple of fish.

“For you to take home. Show Jim what you can do with a rod in your hands.” Barney snukked at his own joke.

“Well, thanks for everything. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.” Gladys made her way up the stairs.

Mary glared at him. Barney shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and then followed Gladys up the stairs.

“Well, gotta push off. Sorry I can’t hang around. See you tomorrow.”

Mary stood for a moment still looking at him. Or through him, he thought. She was that furious.

“I hope you’re happy,” and she was gone, up the stairs.

Alone, he turned over a bucket and sat on it. The river continued, though it seemed to him the water level was not quite as high as it had been the day before. In time the roar calmed him, but in the back of his mind he felt as though he should apologize to the river somehow. He didn’t really know how to do that, though, so he just sat, listening to the crickets and the rush of the water.

Getting up he emptied the barrel of fish back into the water. As he walked up the stairs the whippoorwill sang.

VIII

He awoke the next morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing and the dog barking. Rolling over he saw that Mary was already up. The noise went on. Throwing on a bathrobe he went downstairs to see what the commotion was. At the front door was a man with a camera, a newswoman he vaguely recognized and Gladys.

As he opened the door the newswoman pushed past him into the house, the cameraman following. Fred glared at Gladys, who looked back innocently at him and moved to join the others.

“My name is Emerald Kwon,” said the newswoman, “and I understand you have a river in your basement. Would you care to confirm or deny that?” The camera swung round to point directly at him. In the lens Fred could see himself reflected, unshaved, hair sticking out all over the place.

“I, uh...” Fred was at a loss for words.

“I think I can answer that question,” said Mary, coming down the stairs. She was fully dressed and made up, obviously had been for some time.

Both Emerald and the cameraman turned to Mary. Gladys stepped in and stood by her side, smiling happily.

“I think the best thing would simply be to show you what we have,” said Mary. “Then you can decide for yourself.” With that she turned on her heel and led them down into the basement.

Fred followed, not really believing this was happening. When he got downstairs he saw that Barney was already standing on the bank fishing. The camera was pointed at him as he reeled in an enormous steelhead.

“Gotta get up early if you want to get the big ones,” Barney said, winking at the camera.

“What the hell is going on here,” said Fred, finally shaking his drowsiness. “I don’t think this is anyone’s business but our own.”

Mary pulled him over to the side. “This is a huge opportunity for us. We could charge an arm and a leg to come in here and fish. Barney said he doesn’t think there’s fishing like this anywhere else in the world. Don’t mess with this now of all times. Why don’t you run upstairs and make yourself presentable.”

He knew there was no arguing with her when she was like this and turned to go.

When he got home that night he was stopped at the door by a man he didn’t recognize.

“It’ll cost you 50 bucks to come in here, pal. ’N you’re supposed to bring your own gear, so’s it’ll be an additional 200 if you want to buy some.” The man glared at him.

“Look, pal,” said Fred, “this is my house and I’ll come and go as I please.”

“Hang on a sec,” said the man as he turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Barn, got another guy here says this is his place.”

Barney walked up to the door and looked him over.

“Sure, that’s Fred. He gets in free.”

“Thanks,” he said as he shouldered past them. Going downstairs he found Mary supervising ten men who stood on the bank fishing. They were all having tremendous success, each one standing next to a large bucket of fish.

“Okay,” Mary was saying to one of the men, “you’ve caught 20, that’s your limit. If you want to keep on it’ll be another 50 bucks.”

The man thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow instead. I’m not really sure what I’ll do with all these fish anyway.” Picking up his gear and his bucket of fish he trudged up the stairs, a smile of contentment on his face.

Seeing Fred at last, Mary came over to him.

“Honey, we’re really doing well here. Why just today we’ve already made over two thousand dollars. In cash. It’s just incredible.”

“What time do we close?” he asked.

“Soon,” she said, a look of warning in her eyes as she turned back to her customers.

He looked at the fish they were catching. They looked smaller than the ones he had caught the first day and the water level had definitely dropped. He didn’t know what that meant but it didn’t seem good. If this kept up it’d just be a basement again in a few weeks. Sighing, he walked back upstairs.

That night sleep would not come. After tossing and turning for hours he finally got up, pulled some clothes on and went downstairs to look at the river. The air was cool, and sweet. The crickets continued their song and somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

He looked under the stairs where the old canoe rested, unused for years. He pulled it out and inspected it closely. Aside from a few spider webs it still appeared serviceable.

As quietly as he could he went upstairs and loaded a large cooler with food and beer. It fit nicely into the canoe. Finally he went back up into the bedroom to get some more clothes. Mary slept on, apparently oblivious to all sounds.

When he had the canoe loaded he got in and pushed off from the side with his paddle. As he moved out into the middle of the river the current grabbed the little boat and moved it along briskly. He only needed to paddle occasionally to keep himself centered.

The sun was coming up now. He could see glints of light in the dew that dripped from the translucent leaves of the trees that hung lazily over the water. Looking over his shoulder he saw his basement disappear around a bend. He felt a twinge of regret that passed as soon as he turned again towards the front.

The river drew him forward. He paddled on.