Bob, or Man on Boat

And as long as there was a river to fish, Bob believed that one of those fish would be the fish that he was fishing for.

That one of those fish would be the fish that called out to him his name.

Bob.

Bob also knew that it was possible, too, that the fish that he was fishing for, it was possible that somebody else who was fishing the river might one day catch this fish too.

This worried Bob more than anything else.

To think that his fish could end up in somebody else’s boat, or in somebody else’s hands, in some other fishing man’s bucket.

Bob did not want to think about this.

Bob could not think about this.

But, of course, Bob did.

It was all that Bob could think about.

It was this that kept Bob fishing.

It was this that kept Bob living, on a boat, on the river, fishing for this fish.

The river, when you see pictures of it that have been taken from a plane, it looks like an S, or a snake — no, it’s more like a worm, or nightcrawler, which is what a lot of the fisher folks who fish on the river like to bait their fishing hooks with.

Worms, Bob knows, will catch you some fish.

So will minnows.

Shiners.

So will leeches.

Slugs.

But Bob knows, too, that none of these baits work as good as what Bob baits his fishing hooks with.

Mud.

Nothing works as good as mud does.

Mud is the bait that Bob likes best.

Sometimes, though, Bob wonders if maybe that one fish that he is fishing for, that maybe this fish is looking for something else.

Something other than mud.

Something other than minnows and worms.

Something other than leeches and slugs.

Sometimes Bob wonders that maybe this fish that he is fishing for, maybe it’s a fish that’s looking for a bait that no fisherman has ever fished the river with.

Nights like those, Bob takes one of his fishing hooks and he sticks it into his finger.

Bob presses down on this hook into his finger until blood comes rivering out.

Maybe this fish that Bob is fishing for, maybe it wants more from Bob than just plain mud.

Maybe mud, to this fish, isn’t enough.

Maybe what this fish wants from Bob is the blood that flows, like a river, on the inside of Bob’s body.

The blood from Bob’s fingers hasn’t caught this fish yet.

But neither has mud.

Neither has worms and minnows, leeches and slugs.

Some nights Bob doesn’t know what to think about this.

He tries to think of something else to bait his hooks with.

Bob has even tried using fish eyes for bait.

Some of these fish eyes look like moons.

Some of these fish eyes have a light shining out from inside them that Bob hopes might catch the eye of the fish that he is fishing the river for.

So far none of the fish that Bob has fished from out of the river have been the fish that he is fishing for.

You’d think that Bob would get tired of this.

You’d think that maybe Bob would throw up his hands, or throw in the boat, and just give up his fishing for this fish.

Those who think that this is possible with Bob, they don’t really know Bob.

What I want to know is this:

What is Bob going to do that day when he fishes up from the river this fish?

That day is going to come.

This fish, it’ll one day be, out of the river, up from the river, fished up.

Bob is going to be the one to do it.

What we don’t know is when Bob is going to do it.

What we also don’t know is this:

What is Bob going to do once he fishes, up from the river, this fish?

I imagine Bob will keep on doing what Bob has always been doing.

I can’t imagine Bob anywhere else but where Bob is.

In a boat.

On a river.

Is a man.

Is a fish is a fish is a fish.

But what if this fish that Bob is fishing for, what if some other fisherman or some other fisherwoman fishes it out of the river first?

How would Bob even know that this fish was in somebody else’s boat, that this fish was in somebody else’s hands?

Bob would know it.

It would be like if, for the rest of us one morning, the sun did not up out of the river rise up.

There would be, for Bob, something missing from the river.

A light.

No.

A sound.

No.

A fish.

There are some fishermen in our town and some fisherwomen in our town who know that Bob is fishing for this fish.

Sometimes one or another of these fishermen and fisherwomen will come to Bob’s boat holding up in their hands a fish.

Is this the fish? some of them will say to Bob.

Others will say to Bob, Bob, I think this is your fish.

To these fisherpeople, Bob will look up.

Bob will lift his head.

Bob will give these fish that these fishermen and fisherwomen are holding up a listen, a look.

That’s all it takes is a quick lift of the head from Bob for Bob to see, for Bob to hear, that the fish that he is fishing for, it is still out there, somewhere in the river, waiting for Bob to fish this fish up, up out of the river and up into his boat.

I don’t know what Bob will do with this fish once he gets it.

I don’t think he’ll eat it.

You can eat any old fish.

But this fish.

This fish will be a keeper.