standing on the bank of a stream. Hank handed Dave what looked like a bar of soap.
“You wash right here in the river?” Dave asked.
“Yeah,” Hank said, “but I’m not gonna wash right now. I’ll go see about getting us some breakfast.” And he left.
Hank smiled when he heard Dave’s shouts. The water was cold. It flowed right down out of the snow-capped mountains to the north. When Dave showed up in the village ten minutes later, Hank figured it was probably the fastest bath he had ever taken.
While they were eating breakfast, Dave asked if Hank ever thought about going back to Earth.
“Sometimes,” Hank said. He was glad that Dave had brought up the topic. He had been considering how he could breach the topic with Dave. He wanted to figure out some way he could borrow the money for rocket fare.
“Well, I got this idea,” Dave said, “How long have you been living here?”
Hank thought about it for a moment. “Maybe thirteen….. fourteen years,” he said, “ever since I mustered out of the marines.”
“Fifteen years,” Dave said, “I checked before I came out. Do you know that a marine who has served as long as you did has a right to claim land on whatever planet in the federation they settle down on?”
Hank remembered the recruiter telling him something about that when he joined. But he didn’t pay attention to the details. It didn’t interest him then, and it didn’t interest him now.
“What do I need land for?” Hank asked, “Have you seen a fence since you got here? I can go where I like, fish where I like…..”
“But listen to this,” Dave said, “You can file your claim, then turn around and sell it to a company.”
“What kind of company?” Hank asked.
“Well, look at this place,” Dave said, “Rich people would pay hundreds of thousands to visit this place. They’d have to put up a hotel or a resort or something with hot showers. But I’m sure they would pay you more than enough to go back to Earth and live out the rest of your days a rich man.”
Hank stopped chewing. He had never thought about that. He pictured himself back on Earth on a beach somewhere soaking up the wonderful warm sun. Or maybe he would just go out to a desert where it was bone dry.
“Damn,” he said. Then he looked at Dave and rubbed his chin. “You didn’t come out all this way to the edge of the galaxy just to meet me, did you? Who do you work for?”
Dave smiled “Come on, Hank,” he said, “Give me a break. It’s in your best interest, isn’t it?”
“Why don’t you just go to the Head Honcho?” Hank asked.
Dave leaned forward. “They’ve been trying for years,” he said in a hushed voice, “The natives of this planet won’t give up an inch of their land on their own. But they would have to give it up for you because of a clause under the intergalactic treaty this planet signed. You’re the key.”
Hank leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Where do I sign?”
It took several days for the legal work to start flying across the galaxy. First, there was a form for the marines where Hank gave sworn testimony to the fact that he had lived on the Garden Planet for at least seven years, and he wanted to stake his claim. Then there were other forms to be filled out to make the transfer of title from Hank to the resort company. While they were waiting for the last paperwork for Hank to sign to arrive, Hank took Dave fishing.
Hank picked a lake not far from the village, because he hadn’t fished there for awhile. He knew they were guaranteed to get some hits. Hank remembered that Dave didn’t have any patience for fishing. He was after all a city boy. But it was Dave who caught the first fish. Hank took it off the hook for him and tossed it further up on the bank, where it would flop around for awhile. Then he took a swig from a jar filled with a yellowish liquid he called “rocket fuel”.
“So what do you think?” Hank asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You do this all the time?” Dave asked.
“If I do this,” Hank said, “I don’t need a psychologist.”
“You remember the first time you took me fishing?” Dave asked, “We were on that planet where they had those big snakes. You didn’t tell me about them.”
Hank laughed. “Well, I really wanted to go fishing.”
“Yeah, but do you remember what you did when I fell asleep?” Dave asked.
Hank shook his head. He had forgotten.
“You left me there with those snakes swimming around,” Dave said, “I woke up and felt something on my leg. I ran three miles all the way back to camp.”
They both started laughing.
“Yeah,” Hank said, “I remember now. You were so scared you couldn’t talk.
“I haven’t been fishing since that day,” Dave said, “and you know what? I still don’t get it.”
“What?” Hank asked.
“Fishing,” Dave said, “I mean, what’s the point? If you want to eat fish, you can go to the store and buy one. They call it a sport, but it’s not really a sport. You’re just sitting down all the time.”
“First of all,” Hank said, “there aren’t any stores here where I can go and buy fish. The people here don’t eat ‘em. Second, it might not be a sport like football or baseball, but it is a sport.”
“Where’s the sport in it?” Dave asked. “I mean a minute ago I stuck my line in, and then I pull out a fish.”
Hank laughed. “That’s because we’re fishing for the dumb ones here. Some of the fish in this lake will even bite a hook. But if you go after the smart fish, it’s a contest. It’s man versus beast.”
“So there are dumb fish and smart fish?” Dave asked.
“Yep,” Hank said, “and one of the smartest fish I ever came across lives in these lakes and streams. I call him Ol’ Whiskers. He’s big. I imagine he’s been around for awhile. And he’s mean. Some people are even afraid to go swimming in these waters, because they’re afraid of him.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Not up close, but I’ve seen his shadow moving out there.”
“Sounds like one of your fish stories,” Dave said.
“No, he’s real,” Hank said. “People have been seeing him up and down these lakes and ponds for years. He’s as smart as hell too. Once I think I’ve got him placed, somebody reports seeing him at another spot. It’s the damndest thing. It’s like he knows I’m after him.”
“Maybe you can get some help catching him when all the tourists start arriving,” Dave said, “You can be like a fishing guide and organize fishing trips until you head back to Earth.”
Hank thought about that. He thought about it all day and into the evening. He thought about it so much that he couldn’t sleep that night.
The next day the sky finally cleared, but the sun did little to chase away the dampness that crawled in under Hank’s clothes and clung to his skin. He sat on the grassy bank of a pond with Elvis sitting nearby. They heard the rocket taking off. Elvis looked at Hank. Hank stared at his line.
“Mr. Hank,” Elvis said, “someday we go to Alabammy? I want to see my Grand Mammy.”
Hank hockered up and spit off to the side.
“There’ll be other rockets, Elvis,” he said, but when he thought about it he realized that his mother was probably gone by now. The letters stopped coming six years ago. He pictured the old house the way he remembered it. By now they had probably torn it down to make way for a strip mall.
After the sound of the rocket faded, they sat for a long while without saying anything. Finally, the boy got up.
“I go back to village,” he said.
“Got your lessons?” Hank asked.
The boy nodded. But before he could run off, Hank called to him.
“Yes, Mr. Hank.”
“Don’t worry, Elvis,” he said, “You’ll get your chance to go. I’ll take you. I promise. Just wait until you’re a little older.”
After the boy left Hank wondered if he could keep him until he was 25 years old. The
marine recruiters would be looking to sign him until then. And from what he heard there were still plenty of wars going on in other parts of the galaxy.
He turned his attention to his line in the water. He knew Ol’ Whiskers was sitting out there somewhere. One of Mata’s friends said she saw him last week. Or was it the week before? What did it matter? He had time. As long as it was up to him, nobody would build any hotels or resorts and bring in any tourists to liven up the place until he had Ol’ Whiskers mounted on his wall.
When Elvis got back to the village, Mata was waiting for him at the Head Honcho’s place. She asked him what Hank was doing, and Elvis told her that Hank was fishing.
“Thank you,” Mata said. Then she asked Elvis to wait in the next room for his lessons.
Once Elvis was gone the Head Honcho crossed his arms and leaned back.
“Who is next?” Mata asked.
“Get that farmer who lives out by the twin springs to come in and see me,” the Head Honcho said, “Mr. Hank will believe him if he says he saw a giant fish.”
While I consider myself firmly rooted in the present, I sometimes catch myself recalling vivid memories of my younger days. I realize that nostalgia fed by imagination can be a powerful force. And if we were given the choice of enduring the bad weather we are experiencing today or slipping back to some sunnier day of our past, I have no doubt that many of us would choose the past. For my second ghost story I decided to give this choice, or maybe I should say this temptation, to the main character.
In the Light of the Summer Moon
Copyright 2008 by S. Thomas Kaza
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