after all the swimming lessons. Thank God Mom and Dad think I’m fucking Diana, or I’d have no excuse for why I’m gone so much.
We swim. I let him lead, and I grab on to his tail when I get a little shaky in the deep water. He lets me, but not for too long, since it makes him a lot slower.
He doesn’t swim like I do; he taught me how to flutter kick, but he hits the water with huge strokes of his tail, like an oar on a rowboat. He can hold his breath for almost three minutes. I timed him once. He says that with practice, I can stay underwater for that long too. I want to learn.
We’re heading toward the marina again. Shit. I hope this isn’t a suicide mission. He should have disclosed that before he dragged me along. I still might have come.
He stops us against a cluster of algae-coated rocks. They’re slippery, and I can’t get a good grip, so I latch on to his arm. He doesn’t shake me off.
“What are you looking at?” I say.
“Fishermen.”
My fingers tighten on his arm. “Teeth, come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ve seen the fish. Hi, fish.” I see them now, swirling around his tail. He’s leaning in to them when he can.
“Seen these?” He pulls me around the corner and shows me an enormous net filled with fish, hauled halfway outof the water. The fish struggle all together, like one huge animal.
There must be a thousand of them. I can’t believe we eat that much fish, as an island. But even my tiny brother can go through four or five a day, I guess. And I can think of ten people off the top of my head who don’t eat a thing but fish.
The fishboy grits his teeth. “Look at that. Look at what they’re doing. And they don’t even have the common decency to kill them quickly. They’re going to let them flop around in the sun until they drown.”
“‘Drown’ means water.”
“Whatever.”
“If the fishermen catch you, I don’t think they’ll have the decency to kill you quickly, either.”
“Well, that’s the truth.”
I pull his wrist. “Why are you being stupid?”
He glares at me. “I’m stronger than the fucking fishermen. Plus they’re at lunch.”
“They’re twice your size.”
“Then why do I always get away?” He looks at me like my brother does when he gives me his stupid five-year-old comebacks. I know you are, but what am I? “How come they can’t capture me for more than an hour?”
I don’t have an answer for that, so he crosses his arms, triumphant, which throws my hand off his arm and leaves me treading water on my own.
He says, “I can’t gnaw through that rope. If I could, the fish could too, and the fishermen aren’t that stupid. The rope is too strong. My teeth just bend against it.”
“Ow.”
“Yeah.”
“So how are we doing this?”
“Well, see, I can , however, slit through the individual whatevers of each rope if I turn my head the right way. The fishermen are that stupid.”
“The fibers?”
“Fiber’s that thing you eat, Rudy. I’m talking biting through.”
I shake my head. “You’ve done this before?”
“Once.” He licks his lips. “A year ago.”
“It worked?”
“They caught me before I could make much of a hole in the net.” His eyes get a funny glaze. Remembering. One of his hands travels to the back of his tail, right over where his tailbone is, or would be, I don’t know.
I swallow. “This is a bad idea.”
“Anyway, that time I didn’t have a lookout. Now I have a lookout.” He plants his hand on my shoulder and looks at me seriously. “This is a very, very easy job, Rudy. You hold on to the dock and you keep out of sight, but you do some kind of whatever if you see a fisherman coming.”
“Okay, some kind of what?”
“God, I have to tell you everything.” He whistles. “Like that.”
“Got it. That one was hard to figure out from context, sorry.”
“What the fuck is context?”
I laugh. “Never mind.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Are we doing this?”
At home it was
We swim. I let him lead, and I grab on to his tail when I get a little shaky in the deep water. He lets me, but not for too long, since it makes him a lot slower.
He doesn’t swim like I do; he taught me how to flutter kick, but he hits the water with huge strokes of his tail, like an oar on a rowboat. He can hold his breath for almost three minutes. I timed him once. He says that with practice, I can stay underwater for that long too. I want to learn.
We’re heading toward the marina again. Shit. I hope this isn’t a suicide mission. He should have disclosed that before he dragged me along. I still might have come.
He stops us against a cluster of algae-coated rocks. They’re slippery, and I can’t get a good grip, so I latch on to his arm. He doesn’t shake me off.
“What are you looking at?” I say.
“Fishermen.”
My fingers tighten on his arm. “Teeth, come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ve seen the fish. Hi, fish.” I see them now, swirling around his tail. He’s leaning in to them when he can.
“Seen these?” He pulls me around the corner and shows me an enormous net filled with fish, hauled halfway outof the water. The fish struggle all together, like one huge animal.
There must be a thousand of them. I can’t believe we eat that much fish, as an island. But even my tiny brother can go through four or five a day, I guess. And I can think of ten people off the top of my head who don’t eat a thing but fish.
The fishboy grits his teeth. “Look at that. Look at what they’re doing. And they don’t even have the common decency to kill them quickly. They’re going to let them flop around in the sun until they drown.”
“‘Drown’ means water.”
“Whatever.”
“If the fishermen catch you, I don’t think they’ll have the decency to kill you quickly, either.”
“Well, that’s the truth.”
I pull his wrist. “Why are you being stupid?”
He glares at me. “I’m stronger than the fucking fishermen. Plus they’re at lunch.”
“They’re twice your size.”
“Then why do I always get away?” He looks at me like my brother does when he gives me his stupid five-year-old comebacks. I know you are, but what am I? “How come they can’t capture me for more than an hour?”
I don’t have an answer for that, so he crosses his arms, triumphant, which throws my hand off his arm and leaves me treading water on my own.
He says, “I can’t gnaw through that rope. If I could, the fish could too, and the fishermen aren’t that stupid. The rope is too strong. My teeth just bend against it.”
“Ow.”
“Yeah.”
“So how are we doing this?”
“Well, see, I can , however, slit through the individual whatevers of each rope if I turn my head the right way. The fishermen are that stupid.”
“The fibers?”
“Fiber’s that thing you eat, Rudy. I’m talking biting through.”
I shake my head. “You’ve done this before?”
“Once.” He licks his lips. “A year ago.”
“It worked?”
“They caught me before I could make much of a hole in the net.” His eyes get a funny glaze. Remembering. One of his hands travels to the back of his tail, right over where his tailbone is, or would be, I don’t know.
I swallow. “This is a bad idea.”
“Anyway, that time I didn’t have a lookout. Now I have a lookout.” He plants his hand on my shoulder and looks at me seriously. “This is a very, very easy job, Rudy. You hold on to the dock and you keep out of sight, but you do some kind of whatever if you see a fisherman coming.”
“Okay, some kind of what?”
“God, I have to tell you everything.” He whistles. “Like that.”
“Got it. That one was hard to figure out from context, sorry.”
“What the fuck is context?”
I laugh. “Never mind.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Are we doing this?”
At home it was
Similar Books
