Part 23 (2/2)
”Not that I know of. What you need to worry about are wild pigs.”
”Pigs?”
”Vicious b.a.s.t.a.r.ds too,” I said. ”If you ever see one, just steer clear. They'll take your frikkin' leg off and make no mistake.”
”Really?”
”That's what happened to my brother Jerry. He was out here fis.h.i.+ng and fell asleep. A herd of wild pigs came along and that was that.”
”Jesus, that's awful!”
”We found body parts all up and down the river. We found everything except his right hand.”
”That's... that's awful. How old was he?”
”He was twelve.”
”He was out here by himself and he was just twelve?”
”We heard him screaming. By the time me and my brother Billy got here, there was nothing but blood and body parts all over the place. It was a huge frikkin' mess.”
He fell silent, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
”Oh my G.o.d,” he whispered, horrified.
I let him stew in it for a bit.
”Do you believe everything you hear?” I asked. ”You won't last long in the South if you do.”
”Are you making this up?”
”That's what we do, Yankee boy. Poetic license and all that.”
”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”
”You should have seen your face! I don't even have a brother named Jerry.”
”I ought to kick your a.s.s.”
”Might have to get a permission slip from your mama.”
”You are so so going to pay for this.” going to pay for this.”
”Promises, promises.”
”Are you lying about the wild pigs, too?”
”There's not that many of them. You'd have to go really deep into the forest. I've never seen any around here. If you do see one, stay away. That's the best advice. They might not take your leg off, but they will take a bite out of you. My friend Bo had just finished skinny-dipping when one of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds came trotting out of the woods and bit his d.i.c.k clean off.”
”Just bit it off? Just like that?”
”Yeah,” I said. ”Then that b.a.s.t.a.r.d pig put it on a stick and heated it over the campfire while Bo ran home and tried to explain it to his mama.”
”So you're lying to me again?”
”It's a Southern tradition.”
”Are there any crocs in the water?”
”I done told you there ain't no crocodiles around here.”
”What's the difference?”
”Mostly the spelling,” I said.
35) Fis.h.i.+ng
WHEN THE THE sun began to go down, the air cooled off and shadows fell on the trees and the water. Sprayed liberally with mosquito repellent, Noah and I sat on the rocks at the far end of the river bend, holding fis.h.i.+ng poles, waiting for bites, our lines thrown into the deep part of the pool at the base of the small bluff. sun began to go down, the air cooled off and shadows fell on the trees and the water. Sprayed liberally with mosquito repellent, Noah and I sat on the rocks at the far end of the river bend, holding fis.h.i.+ng poles, waiting for bites, our lines thrown into the deep part of the pool at the base of the small bluff.
Jackson tended to the fire, wandered around the campsite collecting dried wood and fallen branches, making an orderly pile.
The radio was playing KUDZU. Jackson changed the channel and the Bee Gees floated our way, explaining that n.o.body gets ”Too Much Heaven.” I was just about to complain when Noah grunted and pulled on his pole.
”Hah!” he exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at me, beaming.
I hurried over to him, made the sign for ”nice and easy,” watching him; ready to grab the pole if he needed me to.
”Hah!” he exclaimed again, grinning with pleasure.
His line swam across the water from one side to the next as the fish tried to get away.
Nice and easy, I signed.
”Has he got one?” Jackson called as he came running.
”It's a biggun,” I said proudly.
”How can you tell?” Jackson asked.
”See how bent his pole is? d.a.m.n fish is going to pull it out of his hands if he keeps up.”
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