"But why not?" Huge brown eyes stared into her own.
Katherine felt terrible. "I told you, Billy - I have to
work."
"On a Saturday?" he persisted, kneeling on his chair and
bringing his face level with hers.
"I'm sorry," she said, touching his cheek. "I'll make it up
to you some other time, okay?"
He wouldn't look at her.
"Okay?" she tried again, tilting his chin up. He mumbled
something, then pulled back and sank into his chair, pouting.
Just then, a horn sounded from outside. "That's Mrs
Harrison. You'd better get going if you don't want to be late for
school."
Billy slid off his chair wordlessly, still not looking at
her, and shrugged on his jacket and backpack. The door closed
loudly behind him, just short of a slam.
Katherine sighed. She picked up his half-empty cereal bowl
and her own mug, carrying them to the sink and rinsing them out.
Then she headed upstairs to get ready for work.
Where had she put her silk scarf? She rifled through the
boxes at the back of her closet, cursing inwardly as the entire
pile clattered to the floor. She knelt down and started gathering
the scattered contents. As she lifted up an old bandbox, a
shapeless bundle of tweed fell out. It tinkled in her hands as
she turned it over, and she smiled. Her grandfather's old fishing
hat. The lures in it were a bit dull, but they still tinkled
cheerily like they had on that day down by the old mill creek.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the weeping willow
overhanging the stream, dappling the water. The only sounds to be
heard were the distant songs of faraway birds and the quiet
tinkling of the running water. Below, two cork floats bobbed
lazily up and down in the water in front of an old man and a
little girl lounging at the base of the willow.
A quick movement caught the child's eye, and she sat up.
"Look, grampa!" she whispered, "there he is!" and pointed at the
clump of blue and yellow irises across the stream. William Porter
started, pushing his glasses up his nose and blinking.
"Why, so he is," he said, adjusting his glasses. They both
watched in silence as the kingfisher preened his brilliant blue
feathers. Then he swooped down and plucked a fish out of the
water. Returning to his perch, he gulped down the fish and
scrutinized the water again.
The little girl inched forward to have a closer look, trying
not to disturb the lures in the oversized hat on her head too
much. She loved wearing her grandfather's floppy old fishing hat,
but it did tend to be noisy at the wrong time.
The kingfisher started, turning his head. A glint of
sunlight off one of the fishing lures had caught his eye,
spooking him. He dived at the water again and scooped out another
fish.
"Hey, leave some for us!" called William, pretending to
shake his fist as the bird flew off. Kathy Porter laughed at her
grandfather's antics.
"Well, it's time we were going anyway," said William,
reeling in his fishing line. "Your mom and dad should be home
anytime now."
"But we haven't caught anything!" Kathy protested. William
smiled patiently at her indignation.
"It's not the catching that counts, Kathy. It's the
fishing."
Kathy's face scrunched up as she digested this new idea.
"What do you mean, Grampa?" she asked.
William paused in packing the tackle box. "You go to school,
right, Kathy?" he began.
Kathy nodded, making a face. School was not her favorite
place to be.
"Well, school's all noisy and busy, isn't it?"
Kathy nodded even more vigorously.
"Fishing's sort of like a rest from school. Getting away
from all that noise and busyness. Sitting under a tree and
watching the river go by, and just soaking up the peace and
quiet. So it's easier to go back to the noise and the bustle the
next day. You know what I mean?" Kathy considered it, and nodded
slowly.
Still, she was seven years old, and persistant that way.
"Can't we stay just a little longer?" she tried again as her
grandfather shut the tackle box.
"Sorry, honey," he said apologetically. "We promised."
Reluctantly she scrambled up and pulled in her line as well,
the way he had taught her.
"That's my good girl," beamed William, getting slowly to his
feet. "Come on, now."
As they walked back to William Porter's old Ford, he told
her again about his childhood fishing hole.
"Wonderful place, that old fishing hole," he said, "not like
this little stream. That pond was gorgeous. Every time my
brothers and I had an hour to spare we'd go down there and drop
in a line. One time we managed to catch so many big ones that we
thought we'd cook them up and have ourselves a feast. Full of
bones and with the scales still on, but we didn't care. It tasted
like a banquet to us. Your great-grandma yelled at us for
spoiling our appetites that day. She'd spent all day making our
favorite fried chicken, but when we got back we were too stuffed
to eat another bite."
With that, he guffawed. Kathy laughed along with him.
Listening to him talk about his childhood in Canada was like
being there when it happened.
William Porter looked at his granddaughter fondly. "Remind
me to take you down to that old fishing hole one day," he said,
patting her head. "I bet you'll love it, same as I did."
Kathy was thrilled. Grampa had told her many stories about
his old fishing hole, but he'd never offered to take her there
before.
"Can we go next Saturday, Grampa? Can we?" she asked with
shining eyes.
William turned around from stashing his tackle box in the
trunk. "Sorry, pumpkin," he said. "It's too far for us to get
there in one weekend. Tell you what. When summer comes, we'll
take a trip there. You and me and your daddy. He loves fishing
too, you know," he added, smiling.
Kathy frowned. "He does?"
"Ohh yeah. I never saw anyone who liked fishing as much as
your father, except maybe you," William told her. "Every Saturday
he'd grab his fishing pole and a sack of crackers and hightail it
to the old fishing hole, and your grandma and I'd never see him
again till sunset." He chuckled. Kathy only looked puzzled. Every
time she asked her father to go fishing with her, he'd say he was
too busy. Besides, she couldn't imagine him with a fishing pole.
"He never told you, hmm?" asked her grandfather, noting her
doubtful face. She shook her head. "Well now, I guess I'd better
start telling you some more stories about your father." The old
engine turned over and rumbled to life. "There was that one
time..."
The grey BMW was pulling into the driveway as William
Porter's little Ford came putting down the street.
"Looks like we're just in time," William said, pulling over
to the kerb.
Kathy leaped out of the car, calling, "Daddy! Mommy!"
"Hi, honey!" said John Porter, kneeling for Kathy's
welcoming hug. "Did you have a good time with Grampa?" Kathy
nodded vigorously.
Robin Porter smiled warmly at Bill. "Thanks for watching
her, Bill. I hope she didn't tire you out," she said, pressing
his hand.
"Not a bit, Robin," Bill beamed at her.
Kathy was telling her father all about the kingfisher. "Did
you catch anything?" he asked when she finally stopped for
breath.
Kathy shook her head, saying "Nope," Her eyes gleamed
mischievously. "Not even an old tyre."
"Now how did you know about - Dad!" said John, turning to
his father with a how-could-you-do-this-to-me look, but he was
grinning widely.
Bill laughed. "She had to find out sometime."
"Will you stay for dinner, Bill?" asked Robin Porter.
"I'd love to, Robin," replied William, "but Mrs Geoffrey's
fixed her famous Cajun fish stew, and I'm not missing that. Maybe
some other time."
"Sure, Bill," said Robin. "Remember, you've got a standing
invitation."
"I will. Bye, Kathy," said William, tweaking her pigtail.
She reached out and planted a kiss on her grandfather's
wrinkled cheek. "Bye, Grampa," she said. "Thanks for taking me
fishing."
"It was my pleasure, Kathy," he answered. Turning to his son
and daughter-in-law, he said, "Call me again if you need a
babysitter."
William walked down the drive to his little Ford. As he
opened the door, he heard a breathless "Grampa! Wait!" and
running footsteps.
Turning around, he saw Kathy with his old fishing hat in her
hands. "You forgot your hat." She held it out.
William beamed. "Thank you, Kathy," he said, taking the hat.
With great pomp and ceremony he placed it on his head. "This baby
and I've seen some good times together." He touched the brim
fondly. "The stories I could tell..." He looked down to see Kathy
waiting expectantly. "But they can keep for another day. You'd
better get along inside now." Kathy's face fell, but she obeyed.
Tossing a quick "Bye, Grampa!" over her shoulder, she dashed back
to the house.
Kathy rolled over sleepily. She had been having such a
lovely dream about fishing off the edge of a cloud with
kingfishers all around her, telling her about eating fried fish
in a farmhouse kitchen in Canada, but the strident ringing of her
schoolbell had jarred her out of her dream. It took her a while
to figure out that it was the telephone.
Sitting up, she heard her father's voice. Then she heard him
give a sharp exclamation that woke her up properly. She slipped
out from under the covers and padded to the door, hearing her
mother's low voice.
She opened the door. Her father was leaning against the
telephone table, clutching it as if for support, her mother
holding his shoulder. "I'll be right there," Kathy heard him say,
and he put the receiver down.
"John, what is it?" Robin Porter asked. Kathy had never seen
her father so pale.
"That was Mrs Geoffrey," he said slowly. "She says...she
says Dad's dead."
Kathy saw her mother's hand shoot up to cover her mouth.
Then they both turned and saw her standing there, pale and small
in her pyjamas.
Her father said "I have to go over there now." and
disappeared into the bedroom.
Robin Porter moved quickly to her daughter. "You heard?" she
asked.
Kathy could only nod dumbly.
Robin knelt down and put her arms around her daughter. John
came out of the bedroom, threw a brief, sad glance at Kathy, and
dashed down the stairs. They heard the front door slam and the
car start up, and pull away.
"You should go back to bed," said Robin to her daughter.
Kathy was silent. Robin gently propelled her back to her own room
and tucked her back into her bed, dropping a kiss on her forehead
before going out and shutting the door. Kathy lay staring at the
dark ceiling.
John Porter was home by the time Kathy came downstairs the
next morning. He hadn't changed out of the clothes he'd put on
hastily the night before, and Kathy felt the scratchiness of his
face when he bent to give her a hug.
He lifted her onto a chair beside him and swiveled to face
her. "Kathy, you're going to have to be very brave," he began,
looking earnestly into her eyes.
"Yes, Daddy," said Kathy.
He looked at her for a long time before going on.
"Grampa...died in his sleep last night, Kathy. The doctor said he
couldn't have felt any pain." His face softened. "He had a smile
on his face when I saw him." Kathy nodded seriously.
"We'll be going to Canada for the funeral," John told her,
"to the old farmhouse where your grandfather grew up."
Kathy sat up. "THE old farmhouse?" she repeated.
"He's told you about it, then," said her father.
"Yes, Grampa told me so many stories about it. He said we'd
all go back there some day -" Kathy stopped abruptly, and lowered
her head. Her father patted her cheek gently.
Something tinkled as he took it out of his pocket and laid
it on the table. "Your grampa would have wanted you to have
this," he said, and left the room quickly. Kathy looked up.
It was the old fishing hat. The lures tinkled and glittered
as she turned it over in her hands. The last time she'd seen it
was on her grandfather's head. He'd never wear it again. Kathy
laid her head down on her arms and cried.
The day of the funeral was bright and sunny, one that
William Porter would have loved to go fishing on. He was laid to
rest in the Porter family plot, where eight generations of
Porters lay. Willow trees dotted the cemetery, delighting Kathy's
heart. At least there were willow trees. Her grandfather would
feel comfortable there, she was certain, although she was sure
he'd miss the blue and yellow irises.
There were not many people at the funeral. Kathy was the
only child present, a tiny figure in a plain black dress and
white knee socks. She felt very small among all the tall, silent
people there and wished that she could be somewhere else.
"Amen." The pastor finished his blessing and the people
began to move around, going their separate ways. After a while,
only Kathy and her parents remained.
She felt her father's hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Kathy.
It's time to go." She looked down one last time at the grave and
turned away slowly.
"Daddy," Kathy said, pulling on his sleeve, "could we go to
Grampa's old fishing hole?"
"Kathy, I'm kind of busy right now," her father replied,
glancing up briefly from his small laptop. "Maybe later." He went
back to his work.
Kathy sighed. Her mother was out with Aunt Rose and Aunt
Adele, and Kathy had declined their invitation to join them.
She'd also explored every room of the old farmhouse and wasn't
too pleased to see that it wasn't exactly the same as her
grandfather had described for her.
Kathy sighed again and went up to the room her grandfather
had had as a boy. Idly she began to leaf through the musty-
smelling books in the bookshelves there, when a piece of paper
slid out from between the pages of one of the books. She picked
it up and looked at it. "A Map To My Favorit Fishing Hole," she
read breathlessly. She glanced at the map, then jumped up and ran
to the window. Some of the landmarks in the map were still there!
Clutching the precious piece of paper she ran downstairs
quietly. Darting into the room she shared with her parents, she
scooped up the old hat and jammed it on her head. Then, moving
carefully so as not to jingle the fishing lures, she went out of
the door.
It was more beautiful than she had imagined. Ferns and
irises surrounded the deep pool, the surface of which was rippled
by the wind and the occasional fish. She could hear the tinkle of
the small stream that fed the fishing hole. And - best of all -
there was a willow tree, its branches overhanging the pool, and
its base was comfortably padded with moss.
Kathy seated herself on the ready-made cushion and leaned
her head back against the tree trunk. She could almost feel her
grandfather standing beside her, nodding proudly at the pool
where he, and his son, had spent so many happy hours. Now she
understood what William Porter had said about fishing. Sitting
here, she could believe it.
A large heavy something came crashing through the
underbrush, breaking the spell. Kathy jumped up and shot behind
the tree, trembling. Her grandfather had mentioned bears
somewhere along the line during his reminisces, and she wasn't in
the mood to meet one just then.
"Kathy!" she heard someone call. It was her father.
Kathy stepped out from behind the tree. John Porter caught
her up. "Where have you been? We were worried sick about you!"
Turning, he called, "I've found her!"
Soon afterward, her mother came running up and threw her
arms around her. "Kathy! Are you all right?"
"Yes," Kathy answered, blinking. She coudn't understand what
her parents were so excited about.
"You shouldn't scare us like that, Kathy," said her mother,
once she'd gotten her wind back. "We thought you were lost."
"I wouldn't do that," Kathy said gravely. "I had Grampa's
map." She showed it to them and led them to her mossy seat.
"So this is the old fishing hole I've heard so much about,"
said Robin Porter, looking about her. "It's very pretty."
"What have you been doing, Kathy?" asked John, walking over
to his daughter.
"Fishing," she replied seriously.
John looked around. She wasn't holding a fishing pole, and
as far as he could tell there wasn't one anywhere in sight. "But
you've got no pole," he said.
"I don't need one," she explained patiently. "Fishing's not
about catching, it's about getting away from all the noise and
busyness, and soaking up the peace and quiet."
John and Robin Porter looked at their seven-year-old
daughter as she gazed serenely over the clear water.
"You know," said Robin wistfully, "it is peaceful out
here."
Both adults sat down on either side of Kathy, leaning
against the willow tree.
"I guess we could stay another day - or two," said John
Porter. "And we could do some real fishing. How about it, Kathy?"
He nudged his daughter. She looked at him, her eyes shining.
The screen door slammed, and footsteps came running in.
Billy rounded the corner and came noisily into the kitchen,
stopping short when he saw her. "Mom! What are you doing home so
early?"
Katherine smiled at him and said, "Well...I had something
very important to tell you, and it just wouldn't have sounded the
same over the phone." Billy looked puzzled.
"I'm coming to your baseball game." It hadn't been easy
convincing her boss to give her that Saturday off in exchange for
heavy overtime the rest of the week. But this game was important
to Billy, and that made it important to her.
Billy's face broke into a huge grin. "Thanks, Mom!" he said,
beaming. "I'll hit a home run, you see if I don't!"
"I'm sure you will," she replied, ruffling his hair. "Oh,
and one more thing - how about the two of us go up to the lake
this Sunday and do a little fishing?"
© 1994 Winnie Guat-Sim Lim