Armed with his newly formed fishing pole in hand, Gabriel stepped back out through the reeds and stood where the water was about knee deep. Holding the line and hook gathered up in his hand, he threw it out away from the reeds. It plunked into the water, and he stood silently, waiting for his line to move.
The pond was just as Gabriel had imagined. The hot sun sinking in the sky seemed to signal the fish to begin their feeding frenzy on all sorts of bugs that flitted over the pond. He saw fish after fish jump and splash, but not one seemed to be interested in his line. “Patience . . . patience,” he muttered to himself. The sun was sinking fast, and he knew he was running out of time. He slowly pulled his line out of the water to cast it once again to his farthest reach.
No sooner had he thrown his line back than something strong grabbed his hook and gave a mighty tug. The reed began to slip out of Gabriel’s hand. He quickly grabbed it with his other hand and gave a jerk to set the hook. His catch remained on the line and began struggling even more. He wrapped the line around the end of his pole to reel in a large fish. He struggled with his prey but, finally, a large green and silver fish lay flopping at his feet.
He stuck the end of his pole down into the soft mud below the water and, with both hands, reached down to pick up the fish. Its cold and slimy scales tried to wriggle free. As he picked it up, he tried to guess its weight. It had to be close to ten pounds and looked to be some type of bass.
He wished he could show off his catch to someone, but he was alone. Nevertheless, he held his fish up high as if to show the world what fine work his fishing line and hook had accomplished. It seemed to Gabriel that the chorus of chirping and croaking frogs grew a bit louder, as if to say, “Well done, ribbit . . . croak, congratulations.”
He looked around the pond as the last sliver of sun sank below the sky and said with a loud and official voice, “Thank you, thank you all.”
He lowered the fish back down between his knees and pulled the hook from its mouth. Wrapping his line and hook around his pole, he waded back through the reeds to the bank of the pond. He found a flat rock not far from shore, set his catch down, and went to collected some firewood.
He gathered some paper-thin bark from a nearby birch tree and nestled it down into a bundle of twigs. Pulling the flint rock from his bag, he laid it next to the birch-bark and struck the flat edge of his knife on the flint. Immediately, a gush of red sparks sprung from the flint onto the bark. They smoldered, but the wood did not catch fire. He struck his knife again, and this time, as soon as the sparks landed on the bark, he leaned down and gave a gentle blow. The sparks began to glow and smoke, and then the bark burst into flames. Gabriel continued blowing slowly and evenly, carefully applying the twigs onto the growing flames. After he had a good flame going with the twigs, he started adding larger pieces of wood he had gathered. Soon he had a blazing fire.
He sat there for a moment and marveled at his fire. He had seen his father start a fire in the hearth in his old home in New York a hundred times. He himself had even started many, but this fire was different. It was all his own, and its warmth would cook the fish he had caught. A sense of pride like he’d never felt before welled up inside him. He gave a whoop of excitement and sprang up to prepare his fish for the fire.
He cut off the fish’s head and tail and gutted it. Then he took a sturdy stick and whittled down the end to make a point. He stuck the point of the stick in where the head had been and out through the tail end. Taking the stick over to the fire, he carefully held the fish over the flames. The fish sizzled over the open flames and soon succulent juice began dripping over the fire. The smell of the cooking meat made Gabriel’s mouth water. This was going to be a feast.
He did not leave the fish on the flames too long, partly because he did not want to overcook it and partly because he was so hungry. The scales had begun to crinkle and turn black from the heat, so he removed the fish from the fire and carefully rested it on the flat rock. He took out his knife and cut open the fish. The flaky, juicy meat fell off the bones. He grabbed the pieces and began stuffing them into his mouth. The fish tasted so good, he decided to try to slow down so he could enjoy it longer. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to enjoy such a delicacy again. He spoke a silent thank-you to Mr. Fleming for giving him the fishing line and hook.
The night had completely overtaken the pond now, and Gabriel sat by the fire, finishing off the last morsels of fish. Hot coals glowed red and white in the fire. The flames danced, sending sparks drifting up into the clear night sky. He lay on his back and watched the sparks, trying to see how high they would go before disappearing
