Into the River Read Free Page B

metres of branchless stick. From the bank he could reach the point where the end of the eel line flicked playfully in the current. He could touch it, but not quite lift it clear. With Wiremu holding his left hand, he leaned out over the stream and carefully lifted the line on the stick. When it came to the surface its weight and the current tugged it back down again. After a few more feeble attempts it was clear that this was not going to work. Someone was going to have to wade in. And that was not going to be Wiremu.
    Te Arepa rolled up his shorts. Slowly and carefully he stepped down onto the creek bed. It was different here from the smooth, stony bed farther up. His feet sank into the soft floor, creating a little cloud of muddy slipstream. Below the soft surface there were sharp things, leaves or sticks. There was no chance of a quick exit from this place; each footstep took a new level of commitment. The water above his feet was still marvellously clear and much deeper than it looked from the bank. Soon it was lapping at his rolled up shorts. For a moment he thought he would get out and try again, bare arsed. It was no good. Once back on the bank he knew he wouldn’t get back in, especially if it meant exposing his poor cock to the ferocious jaws of an angry eel.
    With another step the water was about his waist and he wasable to grab the dangling line and wrap it around his hand. He gave a pull and immediately felt the dead weight of a snag.
    What a relief, no eel to contend with.
    He had had enough of eels and rivers; in fact he had had enough of the day altogether, and wanted only to go home. He gave another yank, harder and from a different angle. This time his yank was answered. A surge came down the line as the eel broke cover. A sick feeling flooded Te Arepa’s gut as he struggled to get free, and struggled to stay up, but it was no good. The line was tightly wound three times around his hand. The boy, line and eel had become one unit. He plunged forward, dragged into the churned-up water.
    The realisation came to him as he gasped for air. They came to catch an eel, but here he was, caught by an eel himself. At the same moment, Wiremu screamed from the bank. “It’s the eel, he’s coming for you. He’s even bigger than I thought.”
    Once Te Arepa lost his footing, it was difficult to get up again. The shock of being dragged under was added to by the knowledge that the eel was heading for deeper water. He took a mouthful and came up coughing. Wiremu was yelling something. The eel stopped again and went under the grassy bank on the deep side of the river. While every instinct made him want to escape, to swim towards Wiremu and safety, something inside told him he couldn’t. His only chance was to think it through. He remembered Ra saying that once a big eel made the reeds, the only way to get them out was with a spear. Eels wrapped themselves around the reeds and couldn’t be moved.
     
    Te Arepa floated across the current until he was hard against the soft reedy bank. It was high above him and offered nothing solid to pull himself out with. He grabbed a handful of toitoi with his left hand. His right hand was stuck out in front of him, taut and puffy in the tangle of string. He tried to pull himself forward into the current: anything to take the tension off. It was no good; everyinch he yielded was taken up by the eel. The eel was playing him like a fish!
    Wiremu was nowhere to be seen.
    He had run off, the bastard! Now what?
    The hand holding the toitoi was dribbling blood: he had forgotten that it was cutty grass. But if he let go, and put the bleeding hand in the water all the other eels would smell him. He would be eaten for sure. He had no choice but to hold on.
    The current pinned him hard against the bank and somewhere in its mushy side he felt something solid … well, almost solid. His feet clawed at it and finally found purchase under water. He tried to climb up but found he couldn’t. The tug of