“What’s next, Grampa?” she whispered.
When I was leading her over here, yawning like there’s no tomorrow, I explained the sunrise is the best time to go fishing. We stumbled through several Whys which reminded me so much of Connie at that age, and Ruby never asked about the same thing twice. With a serious expression she accepted the fact that fishing is not just about knowledge and experience, but also patience and the ability to do everything in silence, so as not to disturb one’s catch. She was quiet and careful. Smart thing.
“Now we wait to see if the fish catches the bait. If nothing happens for a while, we cast the rod again,” I whispered back.
Fishing has been my hobby since childhood. I was a morning person and found watching the sun rise over the water to be the best way to relax. I used to go with my Dad, then on my own, and when I came to Australia thirty years ago, I was joined by Wyatt.
I met him one day by the Swan River; our folding chairs were set up close to each other, and we started talking. We got on so well that random mornings by the water became planned meetings, and later on we started catching up outside our fishing activities.
Before I’d met him, I kept introducing myself as František, although foreigners struggled to pronounce it. But Wyatt laughed at it straight away, said it sounded a bit like Frankenstein, and completely naturally started calling me Frank. I discovered that I didn’t mind so much from him, and I could bear it from others. But he couldn’t find any nickname for Fiala, and in the end he learned to pronounce my surname properly, albeit with an accent.
He was essentially the reason for my year-long stay in Perth “to get some experience” becoming “forever”. He introduced me to Penelope, a close friend of his wife, and I fell in love with her immediately. By some stroke of luck, the feelings were mutual. Although I missed my family and friends in Czechia, I’d never regretted my decision to stay down under. I still had great friends, a good job I enjoyed, and a wife I was crazy about. After we got married, she gave me a daughter and I couldn’t imagine that anything could burst this happy bubble of mine. But of course, life had other plans.
Like many times before, I thought to myself that I shouldn’t have sent Penny to that bank, I should have dealt with my account problems by myself. It seemed like her death was my fault… just like many other things.
If it wasn’t for Constance, I would have gone mad after the gunfight. But my daughter, staying true to her name, remained a constant in my life, someone that kept me grounded and present, and gave my life meaning. I tried to get all my grief and anger from losing Penny out at the sawmill, so that at home I could be the loving and attentive parent my wife used to be.
Whenever Wyatt’s wife agreed to babysit Connie, I would go out fishing, either accompanied by a friend or alone. Fishing, just like working with wood, had become my escape from reality… At least until two years ago, when Wyatt suffered a heart attack and, due to other complications, died shortly after. Combined with what’d happened at the sawmill, I started to feel like my life was slowly but steadily going to pieces. How much more can I lose before I go completely mad?
Lucky Wyatt didn’t get to see my breakdown, I’d die of shame. It was difficult enough to pull myself together in front of Connie.
My fishing rod had been gathering dust in the garage since my friend’s funeral. It was only today that I decided to take it out again, and I brought my granddaughter so that I wouldn’t have to stand alone on the shore.
I shook my head, ridding it of these memories. Ruby yawned again. She clearly didn’t consider this to be an interesting, child-friendly activity, so I started explaining when to use natural bait, when to use artificial. I opened my tackle box, full of various equipment I’d collected over the years. The girl immediately perked up and started browsing through colourful jigs, flies, spinnerbaits and plugs.
“Grampa,” she said seriously, “I think that all the fish are still asleep.”
I laughed. “Or they’re not hungry.”
Ruby looked wistfully across the water, as if she was wishing we’d chosen a more appropriate time to go fishing. I would have liked to keep standing there and cast the rod again and again, but I didn’t want her to be bored.
“How about we get ice cream and then go to the playground?”
She was as ecstatic as if I’d suggested we buy the whole ice cream shop. I smiled. At least someone in our family was completely content. I was still knee-deep in guilt at my own incompetence, and Constance was dealing with God knows what. She’d been quiet and distant this last week. She went to bed at dusk and in the morning her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying all night. I wondered if there was a man behind this. But my daughter wasn’t the type of girl who would lose their mind over an unsuccessful relationship and suffer more than necessary. Not even when Phil, her great love and Ruby’s father, left her under some very strange circumstances.
Another terrifying similarity occurred to me. Last time she looked like this was three years ago, when she was diagnosed with cancer. But that time she pulled herself together quickly, because the doctors assured her that she’d get healthy again. All other reasons seemed inadequate, so I decided to believe her explanation, which after all was very plausible, that it
