Migrators by Ike Hamill Page B

tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled and reeled. The boat moved slowly towards where Joe’s line disappeared under the surface of the lake.
    Joe leaned forward and looked at the water.
    “I think it’s stuck on the bottom,” Joe said.
    Alan looked around. The boat had drifted towards the side of the lake. Alan took the short paddle and stuck it in the water. It hit bottom. Alan pushed the boat towards the line and it sprang free. Joe covered his eyes as the lure popped up out of the water and tangled around the end of the pole.  
    Alan’s laugh sounded hollow as it bounced back from the trees. Joe frowned and set down his pole so he could untangle the line from the end.
    “Ow!” Joe said. He put his finger in his mouth.
    “I’ll move us out towards the middle again,” Alan said.
    “Are you sure we’re doing this right?” Joe asked.
    “Nope.”
    After another hour, they’d learned a few things. Alan learned how to cast. It was a combination of flicking your wrist and hitting the button at just the right time. Joe learned how to pee over the side of the boat without falling in. Both father and son learned that boat seats were cold on October mornings. Neither learned the secret of catching a fish.
    The sun popped over the trees and a light mist began to rise around the shallows. Joe and Alan sat in the boat with their poles stowed. A little breeze rocked the boat and rippled the surface of the lake. Near the entrance of the stream that led back to their dock, a fish jumped and splashed. Joe turned to watch for it—to see if it would jump again.
    “Oh, shoot. You’re supposed to have a life vest on, I think,” Alan said.
    “Do we have one?”
    “There are a few in the camp. I guess they’re still good. I can get you a new one the next time I’m at the store.”
    “Are we coming fishing again?” Joe asked.
    “I don’t know. Don’t you want to?”
    “Sure,” Joe said. He propped his chin on his hand.  
    Alan watched his son staring out over the water.
    What are you thinking? Do you know right from wrong, Joe? Do you know you could have killed that little girl? Do you feel remorse, or did we somehow raise some kind of deranged killer?
    “What do they do in the winter?” Joe asked.
    “Who?”
    “The fish. Do they die and then new ones are born next year?”
    “Oh. No, they live under the ice. People cut holes through the ice and try to catch them. The big fish live for years and years.”
    “Before people came along, did anything eat the fish?”
    “Bears eat fish. They catch them when they’re going upstream. And eagles and other birds catch fish. I’m sure they have lots of predators.”
    “But people are the only ones that catch them on a line,” Joe said. “When people first invented fishing line and hooks, they must have had no idea what was going on. They think they’re getting a worm and then they’re being dragged out into the air.”
    “I’m not sure fish think that much about anything,” Alan said. “I think they’re fairly primitive.”
    “They’re like some people,” Joe said.
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing,” Joe said.
    “Do you mean that some people are primitive?” Alan asked.
    “Well yeah, I mean, right? Like those guys who used to hang around on the corner near the dry cleaners? You remember how they would come up to the car whenever we’d go to get the shirts? All they did was beg for money and then go buy drugs.”
    “And that makes them primitive?” Alan asked.
    “Like a fish,” Joe said. “Simple.”
    “Simple minded?”
    “No, I mean they would do this and then they would do that. It was simple—only two steps. You remember that movie we watched?” Joe asked.
    “Which one.”
    “The one with the shark,” Joe said. “That guy said, ‘All this machine does is swim, and eat, and make little sharks.’ Fish are simple.” His voice transformed when he quoted the movie.
    Alan smiled past his own dark contemplations. His son was already