The Sky Fisherman (2 page)

I stopped unpacking one of my suitcases. He had piqued my interest. "How do you know that?" I asked.

"Railroad telegraph," he said. "Word gets around."

"He had clothes on today."

Riley shook his head. "He's not a nudist on railroad time. They'd dock him. But you'd better keep an eye on his daughter."

In his job as section foreman, Riley drove the speeder car twenty miles either side of Griggs, checking for loose or rotten ties. After he found them, he ordered a section crew out from Pratt to replace the ties while he supervised their work. At times they had to delay the trains a few hours to complete repairs. Riley always carried his shotgun with him in the speeder. The shotgun was a Remington Model 870 pump with a barrel cut down to exactly the legal eighteen inches. Over the years he'd brought home a lot of game with it, and I've got memories of Riley
hunching over the outside faucets cleaning birds because my mother didn't want blood and feathers in her kitchen sink, although she enjoyed eating the birds out of the pan, if they were fried crisp.

During the first two weeks we were in Griggs, Riley had me ride with him in the speeder as far as Barlow, a siding almost identical to Griggs but twenty miles east. On the return trip, we saw a covey of chukars eating gravel on the railroad bed, and Riley handed me the shotgun. "Sluice them, Culver," he said.

Usually I wait for birds to fly, but chukars prefer to run, and these started racing down the track. With the first shot I stopped two, and as the rest flew I got one bird but missed completely with my third shot. At home Riley bragged a little about my deadeye aim. He held up birds for my mother to inspect. "By God, they look like bandits don't they?" he said, referring to the markings around their eyes.

"You know it's not the season, Riley," she said.

As we were cleaning them out back, he spoke slowly. "Your mom's acting pretty quiet."

I had noticed but I said, "Maybe she's just tired."

"She's always adjusted before, but this place takes a little more getting used to."

I wanted to say something comforting but I couldn't think of anything.

"Well," he said, "it's only temporary. I'm building up seniority all the time." A BB fell out from underneath the skin of one of the chukars, plinking against the metal pan. "Watch your teeth, Culver. We can't afford any trips to the dentist."

Late that evening, when the fierce heat of the day slacked, a cool breeze came up from the river. In the twilight before dark, it seemed momentarily pleasant in Griggs. After returning from town, Dwight sat on his screened porch reading the paper. A match spurted, and after a while we could smell his cigar in the evening air. My mother, Riley, and I walked out to a little knoll overlooking the river. Ducks rose from the shallows and winged overhead with that soft whistling ducks make as the wind catches their feathers.

"That water looks good enough for a swim," Riley said. "Anybody want to join me?"

"I don't feel that adventuresome," my mother said. "Anyway, my swimsuit is still packed somewhere."

"No one's going to see much way out here," Riley said, stripping down to his undershorts and wading in. "Hey, this feels great."

He was trying to have a good time so I joined him, even though my
heart wasn't in it. The water did feel good and I liked the way the mud squished under my toes.

Just after ten, the Coastal Flyer came by, its cars shining silver under the summer moon. We saw the people inside—first the coach cars and then the lounge car and diner. White-jacketed waiters hovered over the people eating dinner, and by looking close I could glimpse the single red rose on each table. I envied the people on the train because they seemed to be going somewhere, and I could imagine how Griggs must have appeared to them in the moonlight—just a little no-'count railroad siding with the three of us looking like stick figures. And then Riley surprised me, surprised us all, by dropping his undershorts and grabbing his ankles, flashing those passing diners a full moon.

I heard my mother suck in her breath, then say, "Don't be so uncouth, Riley. Remember, you actually
work
for the railroad."

"I don't work for
them,
" he said, meaning the diners.

"Well, of course, you're setting a poor example for the boy," she said. "In any case, Culver and I have ridden on the train and we have enjoyed a wonderful dinner. And I'm certainly glad my appetite wasn't spoiled by seeing some man's hind end."

Riley didn't answer but managed to wink at me as he pulled up his shorts.

My mother sighed, and I knew she was thinking about the time we rode the train to see my uncle Jake in the beautiful, mountainous part of the state. I was nine. She intended to talk with him about my father's death—"To clear the air," as she put it.

My mother had saved some money so we could eat in the dining car. Before dinner I went into the men's lounge and slicked my hair back. She had brought along my Sunday school white shirt and an old tie that had belonged to my father. The tie was blue with a hand-painted leaping red fish. She had cut the tie and resewn it to fit, although it remained a little long.

The waiter provided us with menus and stubby pencils to mark our choices. The pencils had no erasers, so I was careful not to make a mistake. She ordered lamb chops with spearmint jelly, and when the chops came, each one had a little parsley ruffle around the blackened bone, and I didn't think I'd ever seen anything so elegant before. My mother had me taste the jelly, which came in a small white paper cup. "They make it from crushed mint leaves," she said. "It's nice when they go out of their way to make things special."

It was good, sweet and pungent at the same time, although I preferred my cheeseburger.

We sat at the window a long time, watching the countryside roll by. Once I saw a farmer changing hand line in his alfalfa field. Glancing up from his work, he took off his red cap and waved it at the train. I waved back, even though I doubted he saw anything but the train sliding by sleek as wind.

"I could get used to this," my mother said, pouring herself another cup of tea. Out the window, scenery rushed by and the setting sun lengthened the shadows of tall pines. Farmhouse lights were beginning to wink on.

Now, standing by that remote siding, my mother stared at the Coastal Flyer's brake lights dimming in the distance.

"Better times are coming," I said because I couldn't think of anything else.

After a moment, she said, "I expect they're just around the corner."

***

The third Friday after we'd moved in, my stepfather was away on the speeder, checking on the tie repairs the section crew was making near Barlow. Dwight watched me shooting baskets for a while from his front porch, then came off and challenged me to a game of one-on-one. I figured he'd be easy because he looked slow and clumsy in his usual coveralls and clodhoppers. But today he was wearing tennis shoes, and when he stripped down to a T-shirt and shorts, I saw he was no pushover. He was remarkably quick for a man his size, and I could seldom drive on him, so I had to rely on my outside shot, which was always streaky. If Dwight had the ball, he backed in, using his bulk to keep me away, then put up soft hooks or twisting jump shots. Luckily, he was rusty and soon became winded, or I might have lost.

My mother brought a chair from inside the house and placed it in the yard, first turning on the lawn sprinkler to get a little cool moisture. She'd made sun tea by leaving a pitcher of teabags and water in the sun, and she poured some of this over a tumbler of ice. She sat, sipping her tea and reading Hollywood gossip magazines.

After finishing the game, Dwight approached my mother's chair and tried to make conversation, but he was awkward at it. "This kid is a regular whiz," he said. "All he needs is to pack a few more pounds." He dribbled the ball a couple times and tried to palm it, but it slipped away. "I used to play college ball myself at a Mormon school in Utah. But I'm not Mormon."

"That explains the cigars then, doesn't it," my mother said. "We're not Mormon either."

"No, I didn't think you were," he said. "Not for a minute."

She offered him a glass of tea, but he declined and then unwrapped the cellophane from one of his cigars. "Cuban. I've got a friend who flies down there on business. He tells me these cigars are rolled on the damp thighs of young Cuban girls. Fidel sees to it they're all under sixteen. That's the rule."

I had never heard anyone make such a remark in front of my mother before, and I didn't know how she would react. She placed the glass of iced tea against her cheek and laughed softly. "I imagine that's why you enjoy them so much," she said. "You and your friend must have
extremely
active imaginations."

He seemed pleased that he had impressed her and turned to me. "What do you think, sport? You want to try one of these dusky beauties? Let's see, those girls would be just about your age."

"I don't believe he'd care for one," my mother said. She held the glass of tea against her forehead. "Culver's interests lie in an entirely different direction, don't they, Culver?" Before I could answer she added, "So perhaps you should hang on to the cigars you have."

"You got a point there all right," he said.

It seemed for a minute he was going back to his house, but then he spoke again. "When I see you sitting out in this heat just reading those magazines, it makes me wonder if there isn't something else you might do. Develop some interests."

She ran her finger around the sweaty beaded outside of the glass and touched it lightly to her lips. "I have interests," she said. "There's the boy." She tipped the glass slightly in my direction. "And I'm very interested in travel. Now you must excuse me. I've got to think about supper." With that she folded her magazine and headed into the house.

From Griggs, it was three miles to Griggs Junction, a combination restaurant and truck stop crested with a blue neon eagle whose flashing wings imitated flying. On paydays, Riley enjoyed taking us there for what he called a fling, and as we drove in he'd wave at all the truck drivers and call out, "How's it going, George?" He had greeted strangers the same way ever since I had known him, and when I was younger, I had marveled that he knew so many men named George.

This night my mother had put on a cool green dress that emphasized the green in her hazel eyes. As she looked out the window at the parking
lot filled with trucks, she seemed restless. When she put on a pair of new sunglasses she must have bought in town, I swear she could have been a movie star, sharp nose or not.

Grinning, Riley looked at me as if to say, "How'd you think I ever got so lucky?"

"Do you have any fresh fruit?" my mother asked the waitress when she came to take the orders. "It's so hot today, I'm feeling like a fruit salad would be just the thing."

The waitress scowled at the question. "We had some bananas but the flies got them." She tapped her pen against the pad to get the ink going. "Sure has been hot. Earlier, they couldn't get the kitchen fans working, and it's like a boiler room back there. Honey, let's see now, we've got some canned peaches and cottage cheese. Or some pears."

"Pears and cottage cheese would be just fine," my mother said and handed her the folded menu.

"I sure do like that dress," the waitress said. "It probably doesn't come in my size."

Riley and I had cheeseburgers as always, and I had a large chocolate shake. This was only late June, and I figured July and August were going to be unbearable. I'd written a letter to my uncle Jake about trying to fix me up with a job in the sporting goods store, and I was wondering if it was air conditioned. I hadn't told Riley or my mother, but if the job came through, I knew she'd approve.

A golden curtain above the counter opened and a little puppet band played music along with the juke box. My mother tapped her fingers to the tunes.

"We should go dancing sometime," Riley said. "We haven't been dancing since that night in Black Diamond. Geez, that seems years ago."

"It was," my mother said. "Black Diamond was Culver's first year in junior high school—five moves back."

Riley winced a little. "I'm getting old fast."

My mother glanced in his direction, but she didn't say anything.

When the food came, Riley and I started eating ours, but my mother asked for a salad plate and then separated the pears from the cottage cheese. The cottage cheese did appear affected by the heat, and when she held a forkful to her nose, she wrinkled it. She cut the pears into very small bites and ate slowly. When she had finished and laid down her fork, Riley asked, "How was your salad, Flora?"

"It's a sorry business, Riley," she said. "A very sorry business altogether. Excuse me, I'm going to need the ladies' room."

After she was gone, Riley put another quarter in the jukebox, so the puppet band played again. "She's in a mood," he said.

"It's been hot," I said, and sucked on my milk shake.

He tried singing along with the music but he gave it up shortly. After what seemed a long time, he took the railroad watch from his pocket. "She must be having a session in there." A few more minutes passed. "She had one of those after we ate Chinese food that time in Grass Valley. You remember? She was gone over half an hour that time."

"I remember all right," I said. I was only eleven then and didn't remember too clearly.

He put a couple quarters on the table. "You pick them. Play something that snaps along a little. I'm going back there to see if I can speed things up. I've got to head out to Barlow early tomorrow."

I asked for a glass of water at the counter because my throat was dry. Out on the river a small sailboat caught the last rays of the sun, and I couldn't imagine who might be out there sailing in this desolate place.

Riley returned, his mouth set in a thin line. "I can't figure where she's got herself off to."

"Maybe she walked home," I said. "Maybe she wanted to be on her own a while."

"Darned crazy thing to do, if she did."

Riley asked the waitress to check the women's bathroom and make certain Mom hadn't fainted from the heat, but she came back out shaking her head. We hung around another half hour and Riley tried not to look at the waitress. "She didn't say anything?" he asked me.