Bob, or Man on Boat

In Bob’s dream, Bob dreamed that the river was his bed.

Bob dreamed that when he woke up from his dreaming, the fish was sleeping next to him in this bed.

Bob reached over across this bed and put his hand on this fish’s fin.

Bob shook this fish’s fin to try and wake this fish up from its sleeping.

But this fish did not wake up from this sleeping.

This fish was not sleeping.

This fish, it was dead.

It’s true.

Fish in this river die.

It happens all the time.

Sometimes, fish stop breathing.

Sometimes, fish stop swimming.

Sometimes, these fish float up to the river’s top.

Sometimes, these fish float on past Bob and Bob’s boat.

Sometimes, Bob will fish these floating by fish up out of the river, and Bob will fish these fish up into his boat.

Bob does not fish these dead fish up out of the river and fish these fish up into his boat so that he can sell them.

Bob does not fish these dead fish up out of the river and fish these fish up into his boat so that he can eat them.

What Bob does do to these dead fish that he fishes up out of the river is, Bob guts the guts out of these fish.

The guts of these dead fish, Bob throws the guts back into the river.

Bob throws the guts of these dead fish back into the river so that the guts of these dead fish can turn back into fish.

This is true too.

There are some fish in the river that never leave these waters where they are born.

There are other fish, too, who do leave the river waters where they are born, though these fish, when it comes time for them to die, they come back to the river where they were born to do their dying.

Bob’s father was a man born and raised right here in this dirty river town.

Bob, like Bob’s father, was born and raised right here in this dirty river town too.

Like Bob and like Bob’s father, I was born and raised right here in this dirty river town too.

Only Bob’s father’s father was the only one of us fathers who was not born and raised right here in this dirty river town too.

Bob’s father’s father was a man who came to this country from a country other than ours.

Bob’s father’s father came to this country on a boat.

This boat, it was the kind of a boat that can tip a boat like Bob’s boat over in its wake.

When, by boat, Bob’s father’s father came over to this country, this is when this Bob was given his new country’s name.

Bob.

It’s true that when Bob’s father’s father came to this country, Bob’s father’s father did not speak any English.

Some other man who did speak English gave him his name.

Bob.

When Bob’s father’s father married Bob’s father’s mother, they had a baby boy and they named this newborn boy Bob.

When Bob’s father grew up to be a man, he married a woman who would become Bob’s mother. When it came time for them to have a boy of their own, they called this boy Bob too.

This Bob is the Bob who is my father.

This Bob is the Bob who lives on a boat, on the river, and is the Bob at the center of this story.

When I was born, even though Bob did not know a thing about it, I too was named, by my mother, Bob.

Bob.

As my mother once told me, Your name’s the one thing you got from your father.

When my son was born, even before he was born, even before I knew if he was going to be a girl or a boy, I took to calling him Bob.

Hey, Bob, how we doing today? I’d say, with my lips pressed against my wife’s fish-white belly.

My wife didn’t like it one bit, the name, Bob, or the fact that I took to calling our not-yet born child Bob.

What if it’s a girl? she said.

We’ll call her Bobara, I said. Or Bobbie.

But it’s not a girl, I said.

It’s a boy.

Because I knew that it was.

It’s a Bob, I said.

I said, It’s just the way it was meant to be.

Bob.

After a while, my wife gave in.

When our son was born, my wife took one look at him and then she nodded her head.

Robert, she said.

My little Bobby, she said.

We can always call him Junior, she said.

But it’s Bob, I said, for short.

Night.

It is night.

At night, on the river, it feels to Bob like he is on a boat floating across the sky.

Sometimes at night, floating on the river like this, Bob feels like he’s a bird flying across the sky.

There are birds out here on the river who live along the river’s bank.

We call these birds river birds.

River gulls.

River ducks.

River gooses.

River swans.

These are the birds, and these are the names of the birds, who live with Bob on and along the river.

Like Bob, these river birds fish the river for fish.

Hunters who hunt these river birds, when they eat these river birds, these hunters sometimes say that these river birds taste like fish.

We are what we eat.

Bob, if Bob were a thing to be eaten, Bob too would taste like fish.

Fish in the river fish for other fish in the river.

After Bob fishes the fish out of the river, Bob eats the fish that he fishes out of the river.

Sometimes, Bob eats the fish without even first cooking up the fish.

These fish that Bob sometimes eats without first cooking these fish up, these fish that are so small that they fit in the palm of Bob’s hand, Bob eats these fish in one quick swallow.