Net of Blood by Selmoore Codfish

Author:Selmoore Codfish
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, travel

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Chapter 7

Friday I woke, ate breakfast then sat on the porch doing carving. James sat with me. The air was foggy.

“Is it good to fish in fog?” I asked.

“It will probably go away and be fine,” said James. “It’s best to wait and see.”

They wouldn’t be able to see large sharks coming through the fog. I agreed that it was safer to stay home.

A man approached on the path. It was hard to see who it was until he was close.

“Good morning,” said Edgar. “Were your dreams good?”

I nodded.

“Yes,” said James. “I saw that our family was reunited and living happy.”

“I wish it to be true,” said Edgar.

The two of them talked more about the weather. I kept filing.

“You are making good progress,” said Edgar to me.

“Thanks,” I said. “Here’s the other one.” I got out my completed one.

“Oh,” said Edgar, “that was your second piece?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m about done with one and onto the second barb.” I was half done with that one.

I noticed the surprised expression he always had. It was more pronounced now.

“It took me years to make mine,” said Edgar. “What about you, James?”

“A while,” he said.

“It seems like someone just making a copy should be able to go fast,” said Edgar, “but a person that had the spirit guide him would be slow.”

I didn’t want to spend years here, or even months. I needed to get back to my real life, but making a spear was part of building respect between us.

“It takes understanding of how the fish behaves, and how the spear works. Then it won’t be a copy, but an expression of what it means to fish,” said Edgar.

I set the work down. I could wait a day or so until I’d been in the water. I nodded to Edgar to show I’d understood his point. Fishing wasn’t their employment, but their life. The spear wasn’t a tool, but a symbol of their identity. They rarely used the carved ones anyhow, but used the metal spears. The carvings were a process of growth and a display of achievement.

Just then, three men came up the path. As they got close, I saw it was Winslow followed by Charles and Elias. The fog was thinning.

“Hello,” said James. Winslow exhaled in an exasperated manner.

“What is up?” asked James.

“The phone booth was defaced,” said Winslow. I’d forgotten they had one since no one ever used it.

“Someone had drawn a picture of Xing in the dust that collected on the window,” Winslow continued.

I thought that was an extremely mild case of vandalism. Pranksters wrote ‘wash me’ on cars all the time.

“It was very unflattering. His face had gills, and fins were drawn on the body.”

“Then it was not far from the truth,” jested Charles. Nobody laughed.

“It is going to get out. Everyone will hear about it,” said Winslow. “When I went to get a rag to wipe it off, I passed some boys. They saw it.”

“Then half the town knows by now,” said Edgar. “Eventually Xing will hear.

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