The fish was nearly as big as the man who caught it, and rode like a dead body in the car trunk.
The pole was only a little over four feet long, and after so much stress, the ancient reel had given off a pale blue smoke, or maybe it was only dust.
He was frugal and even reused tinfoil for cooking fish on a grill. He also was clever at finding practical uses for discarded objects. Old spark plugs served as fishing weights. Cottage cheese cartons held night crawlers in the refrigerator and served as start pots for tomato seedlings. His car was small and old but neatly maintained. It didn’t bother him that some of his clothing had holes, as long as it still served its purpose and was clean.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
At first, his grasp was pure reflex, an attempt to keep hold of the rod he’d purchased only two weeks earlier, $5 at a yard sale.
Can’t horse it, line’ll snap. He spoke under his breath, to steady himself. Others heard the mumbling. Still, he maintained a steady pull, long after his hands had begun to tremble, and that’s what finally took the fish.
The man at the counter wore a Polish name tag. His booming voice startled Elijah. Jesus Christ, I thought this was a mob hit, thought you were dragging a body out of the trunk. They told me the car raised up in back when you pulled the thing out. The man noticed Elijah wasn’t listening. Sir, were you aware of that?
