Gone Fishing

 The fall morning was destined to be glorious. Trees were in full fall display, showing their colors before the cold winter set in. Down in the valley at Dewey Lake the fog was still thick and soupy. I stood silently and listened to nature all around. The gentle lapping of the slight wave in the water stilled my soul. A gentle chilled breeze stirred the saplings along the bank as I listened to a vee of geese soaring over the lake, obscured by the fog. The calmness of the water broke near me when a large fish jumped, splashing back down causing rings in the water. You know, Dewey Lake has not always been so calm and safe. My mind travels back to what happened here in 1920. No one speaks of it. Until now.

Thurman loved to fish, especially in the fall when the winds blew cold and the lake was free of swimmers. He had been fishing at the lake since he was a boy back before the Depression. His Ma would filet his catch and whip up wonderful dishes after the sun fell behind the mountain. He was so proud of his ability to help feed his family. Money was tight then, and with 7 brothers and sisters to feed, it was his responsibility as the oldest to provide. Pa had died during the winter of 1916, the lungs just quit working as the sun rose and the stars faded into light. The heavy weight hit Thurman hard, his 12 year old body and mind switched from thinking about schooling to scraping up a living for the young ones and his Ma. The days were hard, chores around the house filled every minute from daybreak till he laid his tired head down. Thurman went door to door, begging for work - chopping wood or whitewashing fences. His Ma took in sewing for folks and ironing to earn a few dollars here and there. At night, the family would gather around the fire, swap tales of their days and Ma would get that far away look in her eye. Occasionally she would tell them about the tragedies her family has suffered, especially about her brother Dewey. “It happened one hot summer afternoon”, she recalled while sitting in her rocking chair, mending a sock. “We all went down to the lake, it was swelled up by the summer rain. We was havin’ fun, splashin’ and floatin’. All of sudden, we couldn’t find Dewey. We started to search, up and down the stream, yellin’ loudly for him, but we never did find him. All we found was his hat wrapped up in some crickweeds. I miss his curly brown hair and his dimples when he smiled.” Thurman and his siblings listened to Ma’s tale, wishing they didn’t have to see her so sad.

Thurman’s youngest brother became his shadow during those lean days. Arlie was 5 years younger than Thurman, his wiry body held a mischievous mind. Arlie loved to follow every step Thurman took. He followed him to the barn and to the general store in Prestonsburg. Arlie would talk and talk, while Thurman pondered life and hard times. Arlie’s heart was light and he had an adventurous soul. Thurman often found himself scolding Arlie, keeping him out of trouble was quickly becoming another chore. Arlie would kick over the milking bucket, spilling the precious commodity over rocks and cow pattys. Arlie loved to run into the chicken coop, scaring the poor things until it affected their egg-laying. One chore though, brought peace to Arlie; fishing. In the early morning, Arlie would wake early and shake Thurman awake. “Come on, time’s a wastin’! I’m goin’ worm diggin”, Arlie would exclaim in a loud whisper. Thurman would obediently shake off sleep and rise to begin another long day of hand to mouth living. Each boy would grab a cold piece of corn bread off the wood stove and head to the lake with their fishin’ poles slung over their shoulders.

One late October morning, Thurman and Arlie scooted out the door extra early. It was Ma’s birthday and she loved catfish. The fog held close to the dark mountains as they ambled down the hollow toward the lake. Night critters, still hunting, skittered away from their path. Early birds were awake, loudly exclaiming that the time to head south was near. As they approached their spot at the lake, Thurman sensed a presence. The air felt thick and heavy, as if it might engulf him. Arlie, on the other hand, was happy go lucky, singing something about muskrats or something crazy like that. Thurman looked at the still water and noticed a small pea green boat that had never been in this spot before. “Arlie, I think someone is here, shh.” Thurman whispered. “Ain’t no one here, stupid, someone just left this here boat, git in!” Arlie happily shouted. He leaped in causing cold black water to spray. Thurman scratched his head and pondered. It was true that the boat looked abandoned, and it look sound and waterproof. It was also true that a boat would certainly help their chances for a good fishing day. So with great doubt and worry, Thurman slowly climbed aboard and grabbed the oars. It troubled Thurman, though, and he felt a sense of dread overcome him. Thurman steered the small vessel away from the shore as Arlie chattered on about skunks and nickleodeons and a hula hoop. Suddenly the fog thickened on the surface of the lake and the boat became easier to row. “Must be in a current, I’m not rowing at all!” Thurman mumbled basically to himself. Thurman tried to steer the boat in another direction, but the craft steadily flowed in the same path. It was so dark, thickly foggy, but Thurman suddenly realized that the sun should have started to lightened the deep darkness. Where was the sun? Maybe we are in a deep hollow, he thought. Maybe it’s earlier than I think it is. Maybe we aren’t in trouble. Yet again.

The scream came from behind them, the large human form shot up from the dark water, hunger filled his red eyes. A roar and scattering morning birds filled the dark sky. The lake monster hurtled itself toward the tiny boat. Thurman grabbed Arlie with one hand and armed himself with an oar with the other. “Lord have mercy, it’s a haint!”, yelled Arlie as his little body grew weak and wobbly. The monster, covered in crickweed and smelly vines lurched toward the two terrified boys, it’s fangs dripping with digestive juices ready to go to work. Thurman’s mind raced as the distance between that borrowed boat and the monster shrunk. “Dang it, if we hadn’t gotten into this blame thing, we’d be on the shore! This will destroy Ma! We need help!” Suddenly out of no where, a man appeared. Well, he wasn’t really a man because he seemed to be floating and he wasn’t solid. He could see him clearly, but there was nothing to grasp. He had brown curly hair and had a slightly evil smile on his face. With incredible speed, the man turned the little dinghy around and shoved it back toward the shore. Suddenly the sun started to lighten the dark sky as the man lit into the lake monster with a fury not often seen. The lake monster fought back, and the two twisted deeper into the misty fog. As the battle waged on, the tiny boat with Thurman and Arlie drifted slowly back to the shore. Arlie trembled against Thurman’s side, softly crying and gasping for air. “Calm down, little buddy, we’re going to be ok.” Thurman said as he stroked Arlie’s wet hair. He wished he was sure of it. The invisible fight continued on hidden by fog and darkness, although it sounded like it was coming to an end. Thurman decided to hasten their retreat toward the shore, just in case the lake monster was the victor. He made Arlie lay down in the bottom of the boat and started to row toward land. When he heard a final weak scream, he knew the battle was finished. Breathlessly, the boys watched as a lone figure started to emerge from the fog. Thurman watched as the man he recognized from him mother’s description as Dewey, walked toward them in their little boat. Dewey winked and smiled, his dimples so easily recognizable from Ma’s description. They knew that he was the master of the lake, Dewey Lake. Dewey disappeared back into the fog as natural order returned to the lake. The sun rose, the birds sang and the waves lapped against the shore. Thurman helped Arlie out of the floor of the boat and hugged him hard. “Boy I wish I had a turn against that monster, I would have whooped him good!” Arlie exclaimed. Thurman chuckled at the meanness that was his little brother. But as he reached down to rub Arlie’s thick head of hair, he noticed that it had turned white.

5Vicki Burke Brown, Tina Blackburn and 3 others

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