The Bass Wore Scales (44 page)

We trudged down to the water, carrying our tackle and life jackets, and saw Pete’s rowboat bobbing on the lake. The sun was just beginning to send some light flickering across the water, but it wouldn’t make its appearance above the trees surrounding the peaceful scene for another half-hour or so. It was a cool morning, or would be until the sun was up, and both of us were wearing sweatshirts.

We climbed into the red boat and got settled. I dropped the oars into the oarlocks and waited while Moosey untied the boat and pushed us away from the dock. The birds were just starting to make some sounds, and we could hear squirrels beginning their morning chatter as well. I gave a pull on the oars and sent us gliding across the glassy surface toward the deepest end of the lake.

“
Okay, what’s the surprise?” asked Moosey.

“
I got some worms,” I said.

“
I’ve got some too,” said Moosey. He held up his coffee can. “A whole bunch of ‘em.”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’ve got
professional
worms. I got them down at Uncle Jerry’s Bait Shop.”

“
Wow
!” said Moosey. “Can I see one?”

“
Just as soon as we get over there,” I said, pointing to an old oak tree that had fallen half into the water. “Old Spiney doesn’t stand a chance.”

“
We’re gonna get him this time for sure!” said Moosey.

* * *

An hour later, we’d caught two small bass and a small striped turtle that had a taste for professional worms. The sun was above the trees, and Moosey and I had stripped off our sweatshirts. We kept the bass, vowing to eat them for breakfast and were about to throw the turtle back when Moosey thought of a better idea.

“
I can keep him for a pet!”

“
It’s a water turtle, Moosey,” I told him. “It’ll die if it’s not in the water.”

“
I can keep him in the bathtub,” said Moosey. “then I’ll take him out on Saturdays if anybody wants to take a bath.”

“
Well, at least the morning’s not a total loss,” I said.

“
Yeah,” Moosey added cheerfully. “I got me a pet turtle!”

“
Your mother will be thrilled.”

We reeled in our lines, put my professional worms in the coffee can with Moosey’s amateurs, stored the poles under the seats and decided to call it a day. Our two breakfast bass were in a twenty-five gallon ice chest I’d brought to carry home Old Spiney. They looked pretty small, but, I thought, maybe we’d have some pancakes as well. I’d started to row for the dock when there was a tremendous splash on Moosey’s right. He was so startled that he dropped his turtle into the bottom of the boat. The splash was immediately followed by the sight of a giant fish leaping out of the water, his skyward path taking him directly toward Moosey. So great was the fish’s leap that had Moosey not been sitting where he was, the fish might have sailed over the boat and landed in the water on the other side leaving us with nothing but a good fish story. But Moosey let out a yelp and threw up his hands, hitting the fish on the nose with a loud smack and causing him to end up flopping in the bottom of the boat.

“
WE GOT HIM! WE GOT HIM!” shrieked Moosey at the top of his lungs. “WE GOT OL’ SPLINKEY!”

“
Spiney,” I said. “Old Spiney. You sure got him!”

“
Wow! Look how big he is,” Moosey said. “He’s HUGE!”

“
I brought the scale,” I said. “Let’s weigh him.”

I reached into my tackle box and pulled out a digital fish scale. Then I made my way down the boat to where Moosey was sitting and looking at Old Spiney.

“
Look at all those hooks,” Moosey said. “They must hurt him.”

I lifted the fish’s head and looked into his gaping mouth. “I count four,” I said. “No five. One is mine. See, here’s my lure.”

“
Can we take them out?”

“
Yeah. I think we can.”

I went back up to my tackle box and got a pair of pliers and some snips. When I got back, Old Spiney was lying still.

“
Is he dead?” asked Moosey.

“
No. Look here. See. His gills are still moving. He’ll be okay.”

Very carefully I removed three of the hooks with the pliers. The last two, I pushed through Old Spiney’s lip, snipped the barbs and backed them out.

“
There we go,” I said. “Good as new.”

“
We’re going to let him go, aren’t we?” asked Moosey.

“
It’s up to you,” I said. “You caught him.”

“
Let’s let him go.”

“
Okay, but we’re going to weigh him first.”

I lifted the great bass up by one of his gills, and slid the hook of the scale under my finger and let him dangle. The scale read twenty-one pounds, ten ounces.

“
Wow,” I said.

“
Is that a world record?” asked Moosey.

“
I don’t think so. It may be a state record. But in order for it to count as a record, you have to catch him on a line. You caught him out of the air.”

“
It’s good we’re going to throw him back then.”

“
Yeah,” I said. “He’ll be here next year. And he’ll even be bigger.”

“
And we’ll get some more professional worms. Those work great!”

“
That’s a plan.”

I lifted Old Spiney off the scale and lowered him into the water, holding him dorsal-up while the water passed over his gills. He was still for a moment, then gave a shudder and with a snap of his tail, he was gone.

Postlude

“
Have you seen Betsy?” I asked Codfish as the three of us walked down the street toward my office.

“
Yeah,” said Codfish. “She’s at your place. I stashed her there. She said she was gonna cook you supper. Something about roasted woodchuck and chicken skins.”

“
How about you, big boy?” cooed Marilyn, looking down at Codfish from her five-foot-three-inch stature. “You having dinner with anyone?”

“
I’ve got some minnows in the fridge,” said Codfish.

“
Looks like we’re all going to be singing two-part music for a while,” I said, lighting a stogy.

“
Heinrich Schütz never had any basses either,” piped up Marilyn. “They were all out fighting the Hundred Years War.”

“
How do you know?” I said. “You’re a secretary.”

“
Oh, I know stuff. Lots of stuff.”

“
I’ll bet you do,” said Codfish. “C’mon Doll-Face. I’ll show you why we always swim upstream.”

* * *

“
I see that you didn’t win the Grand Prize,” said Meg.

“
No, I didn’t. But I did place in my category, and my winning entry is on the internet until next year. There it is, in black and white.”

On the computer screen in front of us was my brilliantly composed ode to the Valedictorian Brandi and her unfortunate t-shirt.

“
I concede,” said Meg. “You’re a worse writer than I am, and I will graciously consent to you taking all of us out to the Hunter’s Club for dinner.”

“
Hmm,” I said. “But I didn’t win the two-hundred dollars.”

“
No, Sweetie, you didn’t.”

“
It’s lucky I’m rich then.”

“
Yes,” said Meg, giving me a kiss. “You’re a lucky man.”

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Chapter 3