The Sky Fisherman Read Free

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