He put me down next to the river and started digging a shallow hole at the edge. I remember him explaining to me that he was going to build a fishpond for my fish. He dug a deep round hole next to the river and left a little sliver of dirt between the two. Then he removed the barrier wall and let the water flow into his hole. I remember kneeling there with my face inches from the water, waiting for a fish to swim into it.
Then, the current brought this little shiny yellow sliver of a fish into it. As soon as it did my father got a big rock and put it between my pond and the creek.
“There you go! Your own little fish,” he had said and I’m sure I jumped up and down with excitement. I remember after the excitement had worn off I got really sad because the fish was all by himself so I told my father we needed to get him some friends.
We spent the rest of the afternoon pushing fish into our little pond and I remember lying next to it on my belly, just poking my fingers in and out of the water, watching the fish swim around me. “We’re playing,” I remember telling my father. The memory starts to slip away and I’m back to staring at this creek that has calmed since my gift sent ripples through it. I miss him… but I hate him. I realize I hope he’s dead because it’s not fair he gets to live and my mother and brother don’t. If I ever find him he’s going to wish he were dead.
I kneel next to the creek and watch the fish swim around. I try to push my father from my mind as much as I can because I don’t have the energy to waste on thoughts of him right now. Then, I start digging a deep hole next to the river. If it worked for my father maybe it’ll work for me. After I’ve got a deep enough hole I tear down the barrier between it and the creek. I watch the water slosh into my hole filling it to the top. I grab a large rock to use as my barrier and wait for a fish to swim into my trap.
It doesn’t take long until a small baby fish swims right into the hole. I quickly push the rock down between the hole and the river and catch my first fish. I soon realize I now need to get this guy from here to the hot coals. I remember the bag Alexander was carrying yesterday. I return to the cave and find it lying inside the opening. I dig through it, not taking note of everything inside, until I find a smaller bag that is empty and a handheld knife. I take them and return to the creek. Carefully, I scoop the fish into the bag. The water drains through the cloth material leaving just the little fish flipping around.
For a second I feel like I should let the fish go, but food is so scarce right now, I don’t have much choice. I’ve been living on bread and a poor excuse for soup for seven years. This fish will be the first real food I’ve had in years.
I lift the rock barrier and wait for another fish to swim inside. While I’m waiting I take the knife and begin to prepare the fish to eat. I used to watch my mother do it all the time with the fish my father would bring home. We could hardly afford to buy anything so most of the food we ate came from the woods. I know I’m doing it wrong, but I think it’s close enough. I continue to catch, wait, and prepare until I have 8 good-sized fish. I return to the warm stones and carefully lay the prepared fish out to cook. Once the bag is emptied I rinse it in the creek and then lay it out next to the fire to dry. The smell of real food comes almost instantly, and I am not missing the one piece of bread I got back in the cell. I try and push all thoughts of that place out of my mind.
I hear Alexander stir and wake behind me. “So I see you’re making breakfast,” he says still half asleep.
“Well, I thought I’d try and not be completely useless to you,” I respond.
“Hey! You’re not useless. You make great company,” he says. I can tell he can’t come up with anything more to say. Yet, he continues to try and persuade me to believe him, “And apparently you’re great at fishing. You’re also good at collecting ray berries,” and I see him pull out the rest of our berries from yesterday. He had wrapped them in leaves and set them inside the cave with us last night.
“I hope you don’t mind I used this bag to catch the fish,” I admit, glancing at his extra bag. “And your knife,” I add and hand over the knife I had used.
“That bag’s for you, so I don’t mind,” he says, grinning. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline and he looks up toward the sun. “It’s going to be hot today,” he concludes.
“It’s July, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, but it’s hot enough it could be August,” he says. I can already feel the sweat beginning to bubble on my forehead.
“Can I see that knife again?” I ask him and extend my empty hand out to him.
“Yeah, sure,” he says and hands the knife back over to me.
I take the knife
