Day Fifty-Six: Gathering the Fishing Nets (Part One)

The fishing net I set out yesterday should be ready to retrieve now, shouldn’t it? I can’t help but wonder what sort of haul awaits me! I’m so eager! This thought kept spinning in my mind even before dawn, urging me relentlessly to get up.

The first time I woke, I looked out at the moon still hanging high in the sky and could only sigh. I knew full well it was still the middle of the night, not yet time to rise. Whenever I have something weighing on my mind, my internal clock becomes a tangled mess. Damn it, I don’t know how many times I woke up through the night, my subconscious terrified of oversleeping and constantly sending signals to get up. Exhausted, I was dragged from sleep again and again, and by morning I hadn’t really rested at all. My mood, as you might expect, was rather foul.

Oh well. I gazed at the faint light spreading in the east and decided to get up. If I went back to sleep now, who knew if I’d wake before noon? I might as well gather my things and head out. Sigh.

Dragging my weary body, yawning, I hoisted my basket onto my back, pocketed my pistol and axe, and set off once more for the shore. Of course, Blackie was still asleep; it opened one eye to glance at me and promptly dozed off again. I hadn’t planned on bringing it anyway.

I’d walked this path to the beach so many times that I could do it with my eyes closed. At first, the early morning breeze by the sea was pleasantly cool, but with every step, the heat began to rise, sweat beading on my brow.

“Here we are!” At last, I arrived. My unrested body felt unusually fatigued today; it was obvious the walk had taken me twice as long as usual. For a moment, I didn’t immediately wade in to fetch the net. Instead, I collapsed onto a rock, breathing heavily as I watched the half-risen sun climb above the horizon, its light gentle rather than blinding, casting a golden veil across the sea. As the sun rose higher, the light gradually swept over the entire surface. “How beautiful!” I murmured in awe.

After taking in the view and resting a while, it was time to get to work. The wooden spear I’d made yesterday still lay on the shore, right where I’d left it, ready to be picked up again. Today, I observed my surroundings carefully and, to my relief, saw no sign of sharks. The fishing net was not far ahead, though it seemed to have shifted position a bit.

“Could a shark have tried to steal from the net? Surely not?” I muttered, suddenly anxious, and quickened my pace toward the net.

The net was bulging, stuffed with its catch. As I stepped into the muddy, leaf-choked water near a tree root, the water instantly clouded, making it impossible to see what was inside.

But it hardly mattered; you can never see through the water well, anyway. All I knew was that today’s catch must be considerable! I gave the net a tug—too little force, and it was so heavy it slipped from my grasp, nearly toppling me into the water. Luckily, I braced myself with my wooden spear and avoided a soaking.

Now I had a new respect for the weight of the net; I realized I’d need both hands and all my strength to drag it ashore. I tossed the spear aside, drew a deep breath, gripped the net with both hands, and heaved with all my might.

The net finally shifted, but it was truly heavy; as I dragged it, the bottom scraped along the sandy, leaf-strewn seabed, churning the water to a muddy froth.

By the time I neared the shore, my strength was spent. My fingers were bone-white from the strain, my legs trembled, but I kept urging myself on: “You can do it! Almost there! Just a little further!” Perhaps those words really did help, for at last, I hauled the net up onto the beach.

But then, my face turned pale, and no doubt my expression was rather awkward…

“This…” I stared, dazed. Of all the scenarios I’d considered, I never expected this!

“What a shame,” I sighed, shaking my head. I had never thought of this, never imagined it, yet it had come to pass.

There were, as I’d hoped, plenty of fish in the net. But the moment I dragged it from the water, a foul stench assailed me. The odor of fermentation, of rot—perhaps due to the climate or the particular species of fish, but in my experience, fish don’t usually spoil so quickly. Yet here was the undeniable reality. There was no room for doubt; all I could do now was discard the spoiled ones and pick out whatever was still good.

Grasping the bottom of the net, I gave it a hard shake, spilling everything onto the sand in a jumbled heap. Crabs scuttled in every direction, an eel writhed in a bid to escape, a crab still flicked its tail, and—astonishingly—there was even a shellfish! I had no idea how it had gotten in there.

These crabs were much smaller than the one I’d caught yesterday, only about the size of the back of my hand, but they were better than nothing. There were four in total, and I tossed them all into the plastic basket to keep them from getting away.

Finally, I found the main culprit behind the stench. I’d seen these fish before—they travel in schools, their bodies marked with vivid yellow and black stripes. Dozens of them had become ensnared in the net, perhaps forty or fifty in all. The once-beautiful fish were now ghostly pale, clearly dead for some time, their eyes clouded, their scales bleached.

Fortunately, my wooden spear came in handy again. I used it to pitch the dead fish back into the sea, one by one.

Even after the dead fish were gone, the odor lingered, so I pressed on, sorting through the rest. Any that were still alive, or looked fresh with bright, clear eyes, went into the basket; the rest I left. Eating spoiled fish is no small matter!

The crabs kept trying to escape, but I gave them no chance—finally tying them up securely with wild grass, rendering them completely immobile.

At last, peace returned. I gathered my spoils and made ready to head back. With this weather, it was wise to preserve as much food as possible. That was what I wanted most.

On the beach, I threw all the spoiled and less-than-fresh fish back into the sea. I didn’t reset the net; instead, I decided to change my approach. Next time, I’d set it out in the morning and pull it up close to noon—this way, I could completely avoid what had happened today.

But on my way home, I made a discovery!

Yes!

Their secret!

A greedy fire blazed up inside me!

…

But I can’t do anything about it now. I’ll have to wait for a better opportunity and make a proper plan.