Bob, or Man on Boat

How else can one fishing man catch so many fish? is what these people like to ask.

These people who ask this about Bob, they have never seen Bob fish.

These people who ask this about Bob only see Bob when Bob comes into town with his buckets of fish hanging heavy from his wrists.

These people have only heard the stories that some people in this town like to make up about Bob because these people do not know who Bob really is.

These stories about Bob, they are just stories.

These stories are all lies.

This story that I am right now telling you, about Bob, it is not a lie.

It is true.

This is the true story of Bob.

The story of Bob who lived in a boat on a river.

This man who loved and lived to fish.

When Bob sleeps, out on the river, out on his boat, Bob sleeps sitting up.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if Bob is sleeping, or if Bob is just sitting there in his boat not sleeping.

Bob sleeps when the sun is not sleeping.

Bob sleeps when the fish in the river like to sleep.

My son sleeps with the light on.

This is something new.

Ever since he had that dream where he and I were fish.

That dream where I, his own father, tried to eat him.

The light in his room burns all night long.

At night, when I am out on the river, I can see this light shining out.

It is like a lighthouse light.

This is the light that lets me know, when I’m coming in from the river, that I am almost, that I am coming, that I am going, home.

Going home, for Bob, is going out onto the river.

Home, for Bob, is Bob being out on the river, is Bob being out on his boat.

The moon shining its light down upon the river the moon, it is Bob’s lighthouse.

And the stars in the sky, the stars are the eyes of the fish that Bob has yet to eat.

The big fish eat the little fish.

This is the way of the river.

Once, when I was out on the river fishing, I reeled in a fish that was too small for me to keep.

It was too small to eat.

I was reeling in this little fish when this bigger fish, it came up and took the littler fish into its mouth.

I reeled in this bigger fish up and into my boat.

When I stuck my thumb into this bigger fish’s mouth, to unhook the fishing hook, this littler fish, I could see, it had not been swallowed all the way down into this bigger fish’s belly.

This littler fish, it was still alive inside this bigger fish’s mouth.

So I did with this littler fish what I would have done with this fish even if this bigger fish had not tried to eat it.

I threw this littler fish back.

Into the river.

This bigger fish, this fish that had tried to eat this littler fish, I threw it into my bucket.

I took this bigger fish home.

Where I cleaned this fish.

Where I cooked this fish.

Where I ate this fish.

This fish, I wanted to teach it a lesson.

There are some people in town who do not think we should eat the fish out of the river.

These people believe that the fish in the river, that if you eat these fish, you will get sick, that you could even die from eating these fish.

I do not believe this.

Look at Bob.

Bob eats fish every day.

Bob eats fish every day, twice a day.

Bob isn’t sick.

Bob isn’t dead.

Bob is more alive than any other man I know.

Bob does what he loves.

Bob fishes.

Look at Bob go.

There goes Bob now going back out onto the river.

Bob’s boat is like a metal fish that swims out over the top of the river looking for fish for Bob to fish.

Now, it is raining.

No, it is more than just raining.

The sky is a river that has spilled out over its banks.

In the rain, the river is just a river without any boats out on it.

Except for Bob’s.

Bob is out on the river.

Bob is standing up in his boat out on the river in the falling down rain.

Bob is lifting his head up to the falling rain so that the rain hits hard against his face.

And now, it is not only raining.

Now, it is thundering.

Yes, it is lightning now.

Bob is the tallest thing out on the flatness that is the river.

If it is possible for a man to be wetter than a fish, then this man is Bob.

This is that kind of a rain.

Bob is that kind of a man.

This rain, it is a river rivering down.

In this rain, Bob is not just a man, out on a river, out in the rain, fishing for fish.

Bob is a fish.

This is the story of a fish fishing for another fish.

When Bob fishes the river, fishing for fish, he is fishing for more than fish.

There are some fishermen and fisherwomen in town who fish so that they can talk about fishing for fish.

These fisherpeople fish so that one of these days they’ll be able to tell you a fish story about the big fish that got away.

Bob does not fish so that Bob can tell that kind of a story.

Sometimes, though, what I do think is this:

That Bob is fishing for the fish that, when Bob fishes this fish up and out of the river, this will be the one fish that will teach Bob something other than how to fish.

I do not know, for Bob, what that something other than how to fish could be.

I can’t imagine Bob doing anything besides fishing for his fish.

The river, without Bob out on it, in Bob’s boat, fishing for fish, the river, it wouldn’t be the same river.