“And you have no soul, Ginger,” Tyler said, but his eyes had softened and Kent let it go—he had been called worse.
Now that the attention was off him, Sergio also relaxed and went back to sitting on the dock, his hands stretched out behind his back.
The four of them sat there for a few minutes in silence, staring out over the water.
“I’m bored,” Tyler said finally.
Sergio spat over the dock again.
“I’m borrrred,” Tyler repeated. He turned to face Kent. “Let’s play Ba di ba.”
Sergio and Kent exchanged looks.
“What’s Ba di ba?” Baird asked, but his query went ignored.
Sergio smiled.
“Well, you suggested it, so you get to go first,” he said, directing the comment at Tyler. His voice was laced with venom, clearly still annoyed by the boy’s previous insult.
Tyler shrugged.
“Fine—I always win anyway.”
“Guys, what’s Ba di ba?” Baird asked again.
“Okay,” Sergio said with a smirk. “I have the perfect spot.”
Kent followed his gaze out over the water to where the whitecaps started to break—they were getting closer to shore with every passing minute.
“Bring it,” Tyler challenged, pulling another cigarette from the pack at his side.
* * *
“You ready?”
Kent could hear Tyler take three big gulps of air.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” he replied. “Let’s get this shit started.”
Kent and Sergio were still sitting on the edge of the dock, while Baird had moved from the shore to join the other boys and was lying on his stomach, peering down between the wooden boards. Even sitting with his legs hanging over the edge, his bare feet tickling the water, Kent could make out the tip of Tyler’s nose and his dark hazel eyes looking straight up at them from beneath the dock.
“Fucking spiders everywhere,” Tyler grumbled. “C’mon, Gingie, get this fucking thing started.”
Kent looked over at Baird as if to say, Pay attention, your turn will come. Then he peered down at Tyler between the wooden slats.
“Ba di ba,” he said slowly.
Even through the boards, Kent could see Tyler roll his eyes.
“Ba di bo,” he replied.
“Ba di ba,” Kent said again.
“This is a fucking piece of cake. I can’t believe that this is the best you could come up with.”
Sergio shook his head.
“Ba di ba,” Kent repeated more slowly this time.
“Ba di bo,” Tyler replied.
Baird had a confused look plastered on his round face.
“This is it? This is the game?”
Kent nodded.
“Ba di ba.”
“Ba di bo.”
“Well when does it end?”
He looked less than impressed.
“You’ll see,” Sergio replied.
“That’s three,” Tyler said from beneath them. His face was becoming strained—clearly, holding his body pressed to the underside of the dock was wearing on him. And he still had twenty-two to go.
“You can’t—” Sergio began, but Tyler interrupted.
“C’mon, let’s keep this rolling.”
“Ba di ba.”
“Ba di bo.”
* * *
More than a half hour had passed with Tyler beneath the dock. The tips of his fingers that pushed up through the slats had become purple and wrinkled. With the boy’s face still pressed up against the underside of the dock, Kent could see that his expression was twisted into a sneer. The tide had risen more than two feet, and storm clouds had slowly rolled in, bringing with them choppy waves. Every so often, the waves completely covered Tyler’s face, before being washed away again.
“Ba di ba,” Kent said.
“Ba di bo,” Tyler replied immediately, his teeth starting to chatter.
Sergio smiled—he was enjoying this. In fact, Kent was getting his kicks, too.
“Getting cold under there, Tyler?”
Tyler said nothing.
“Ba di ba.”
“Ba di bo.”
“Guys, the tide is rising,” Baird informed them.
The boy’s arms were crossed over his chest, and Kent could see goosebumps on his pale forearms. It was just past noon, and had to be at least a hundred degrees out, and yet Baird was shivering—he was scared. Only Kent didn’t know if he was scared for what was happening to Tyler or frightened of the possibility that he too might have to endure a round of Ba di ba.
“It’s almost over,” Kent said, deliberately drawing out the words.
Baird glanced down at Tyler’s face pressed up against the underside of the dock, then back at Kent’s grin.
“Ba di—” Baird started, but Sergio cut in, shaking his head.
“Nope—you can’t do it. Kent started it, so only he can finish it.”
Kent’s smile grew and he turned back to Tyler.
“How many is it now?” Kent asked.
Eat my perfect marshmallow, will you?
“Oh, I dunno,” Sergio replied slowly, looking skyward. He brought a finger to his chin and tapped it dramatically. “Twenty-one? No, that can’t be it,” he shook his head. “Twenty-three?”
“It has been exactly twenty-four ‘Ba di bos’,” Baird replied quickly.
Sergio made a face.
“Ba di ba?” Kent asked at long last.
“Ba di fucking bo,” Tyler replied.
Kent gave him a pass on that one.
“All right, Tyler, you win.” Then to the others he said, “C’mon, guys, let’s help get this Popsicle out of the water.”
9.
The boat returned approximately two hours after the boys had finished their lunch, and they were all back on the dock waiting for it. As it neared, they could see the outline of a figure standing at the back of the boat, a shadow in the bright sun. When the boat coasted nearer, they realized that the shape was Reggie’s muscular body.
“Wahoo!” the man shouted as he scampered toward the front of the boat. “I got the big one, boys!”
Reggie’s face was plastered with a smile so large that Kent thought that if it grew anymore, his face might split in two. Now within a couple dozen feet from the dock, he raised his right hand. Judging by the strain on his still smiling face, the gesture took considerable effort. The man’s fingers were buried deep in the gills of a massive gray fish—a Muskie that was at least four feet long. The fish was so heavy that the muscles on his bare chest and his arms flexed, the veins popping from his glistening flesh.
Tyler, having long since recovered from being submerged beneath the dock, stared in awe.
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah, baby!” Reggie beamed. He tried to hoist the massive fish up over his head, but even for him, his large bicep bulging, it was too heavy to lift one-handed. He settled for showing it off at eye level.
“Dad!” Baird exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”
“Wow,” Sergio and Kent said in unison.
It was the largest fish any of them had ever seen.
As Gregory pulled the boat up to the dock, Reggie lowered the fish back into the cooler, a satisfied grunt escaping him as his muscles got a reprieve from the heavy fish. It was so large that only the fish’s thick middle fit inside the cooler, with the head and tail hanging limply out of either end. When Reggie raised his hand again, he held another fish between thumb and forefinger—a small green fish with pink flecks.
“And I caught it with this!” he shouted, holding the lure up to the sun.
Kent squinted and looked away as the lure caught the sunlight and reflected directly into his eyes.
“What did you say I was going to catch with this?” Reggie hollered over his shoulder to Nick Salvados.
“A whale,” the man replied, the words coming out in a puff of smoke. Nick pulled the cigar from the corner of his mouth. “I said you were gonna catch a whal
e.”
Reggie laughed.
“I think what you said was, ‘What do you think you are gonna catch with that? A whale?’” He chuckled again. “Naw—just a fifty-pound Muskie, baby!”
Nick, smiling now, jammed the cigar back into his mouth and went back to dealing with another cooler, the contents of which were out of sight to the boys on the dock.
“Grab the bow, Kent!” Gregory hollered from the stern.
Kent, still in shock at the sight of the massive fish hanging out of the cooler, quickly made his way to the front of the boat. Reaching over the water, he grabbed the rope that hung from the deck and pulled, easing the pleasure craft to the dock. When the white buoy on the side squeezed against the dock, he tied it up. A moment later, the back end coasted up to the dock and Sergio tied that end up as well.
Even before the boat came to a complete stop, Reggie disembarked, indicating for Sergio and Tyler to grab the cooler that he had pushed to the edge of the deck.
“Hot one out there today, eh, boys?” he said, slapping Sergio’s bare back as he hopped passed them.
“Shit yeah,” Tyler replied, his eyes transfixed on the muskellunge.
Sergio and Tyler leaned over the boat, each grabbing one side of the cooler. With a grunt, they lifted it up over the bow and dropped it heavily onto the dock. Nick Salvados, cigar still jammed in the corner of his mouth, jumped off next, landing heavily with two feet, and Baird, hanging close to shore, grabbed the handrail, his eyes bulging in fear.
“Check it out, boys!”
Reggie nudged Sergio and Tyler to one side, then reached into the cooler to once again pull out and display his prize. It was even more impressive close up, and the boys’ jaws dropped.
“Awesome,” Tyler uttered, leaning over Sergio’s shoulder to get a better look.
Including the dark yellow tailfin, the fish was close to four and a half feet long, thick through the entire body, tapering only as it reached the final few inches before the tailfin and the dramatic underbite of its mouth. The length of its body was a pale green and brown and was covered in what looked like brown camo flecks, forming incomplete stripes that stretched vertically around its girth. With its tapered head and a row of large, irregularly placed teeth, it looked like a prehistoric beast.
“Yep,” Reggie said proudly, relishing their awestruck expressions. “Pretty effing awesome, if you ask me.”
Kent blinked hard. It was not only the largest fish he had ever seen, it was the scariest fish he had ever seen.
“Can I hold it?” Tyler asked almost breathlessly.
“You can try,” Reggie replied, groaning dramatically as he handed it over the skinny boy.
The tail fell to the dock with a dull thwack, and Reggie had to keep his hand around its middle to keep the fish upright. Tyler repeatedly tried to grab it by the gills with one hand, as Reggie had done, but failed; it was just too heavy for him. In the end, with Reggie’s help, he resigned to holding it pressed against his chest, both arms wrapped around its middle.
“Jesus! It must be at least a hundred pounds!”
Reggie, who was standing behind the boy as if he might topple any second, laughed.
“Maybe not a hundred…”
The sound of the engine behind them suddenly cut out, drawing their attention away from the fish.
“Hey, guys,” Gregory said, making his way to the front of the boat, “I know these aren’t Jaws, but give me a hand with the other cooler full of fish, would you?”
* * *
“—at least two hours,” Reggie said as he drove the paring knife into the fish just behind the gills.
Gregory rolled his eyes.
“No, I swear, I struggled with this beautiful beast for about two hours. The bastard went deep into the weeds by the shore—only about a foot of water—and I thought for a while that I had lost him.”
He flipped the fish over and made a parallel cut on the other side.
“But then, thanks to my skipper Gregory over there, we moved the boat, and I managed—little by little—to ease him out into deeper waters. It was just a matter of time; no matter how much my arms burned, I was not going to lose him—this was a catch of a lifetime, I could just feel it.”
With a flick of the knife, the fish’s head was removed from its body. The fish’s gaping mouth looked even more frightening now, the ragged area behind the gills trailing a pink-and-white mess of fat and muscle and a streak of blood.
Sergio, Tyler, and Kent watched as Reggie made quick work of the rest of the fish, first gutting it, then carving two massive filets. When he was done, he raised his face to the spectators, sweat glistening off of his handsome features in the fading sunlight.
“We are gonna eat like kings tonight, boys.”
And eat they did.
* * *
After gorging themselves on barbecued Muskie and baked potatoes, the seven of them sat around the campfire, only this time there were no marshmallows. Even Baird, he of the bottomless stomach, he who was destined to be diabetic, opted against having something sugary after devouring at least a pound of the delicious fish.
“Damn,” Reggie said with a tone that could only be described as languid, “what a day.”
“Hear, hear,” Nick replied, leaning back and lighting up another cigar.
“Moby Dick caught his whale,” Reggie sighed.
It was a warm night, the storm that had been brewing at noon having graciously passed them by. But despite the temperature, the mosquitos were so fierce that they all suffered in sweatshirts and jeans—even Tyler had changed out of his beloved Metallica shirt.
“Moby Dick was the whale,” Baird corrected his father.
Reggie shook his head.
“Not this time.”
Baird, his lips shining with grease by the light of the campfire, opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it.
“Well,” Gregory said, changing the subject, “who’s up for some music?”
Although they all agreed, their enthusiasm was tempered by the vast quantity of fish they had consumed.
It was Metallica all night long.
10.
Tyler was the one that suggested they kick off early.
“I’m bushed,” he said, staring intently at Kent. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night, boys.”
Gregory stared at him for a moment, a confused look on his face, before he finally nodded and put his guitar away.
“Not a bad idea,” he agreed, his eyes still trained on Tyler. “I managed to talk the manager at the campsite into picking up another few life jackets for tomorrow so you guys can join us on the boat.”
“Great,” Kent exclaimed, turning to Baird. As expected, the boy’s round face, flickering with the light from the glowing fire, turned sour.
Buck up, Baird.
“Well,” Reggie said, leaning backward on his log. He groaned as he interlaced his fingers behind his head. “I don’t know if I’ll go.”
Nick groaned.
“We’re never going to live this one down, are we?”
“What?” Reggie replied, sitting back up and feigning ignorance, the palm of one hand coming to his chest. “I mean, I caught my Moby Dick; what else do I have to accomplish? I should just retire.”
Gregory snapped his guitar case closed.
“Oh, you’re coming all right. And I’ll bet you another one of those crisp hundreds that tomorrow I catch the biggest fish.”
Reggie guffawed.
“Good luck.”
“But,” Gregory said with great emphasis, “this time you have to drive the boat.”
Reggie submitted by holding up his hands.
“Sure”—he licked his lips—“but no way you catch something as big as the fish I caught today, because—”
Gregory opened his mouth to say something, but Reggie continued before he had a chance to interject.
“—because,” he continued, “they just don’t exist.”
“Wel
l,” Gregory replied, rolling his eyes, “on that note, I am off to bed.”
* * *
It was less than an hour after they had put out the campfire that Kent heard a scratching sound at the door of his tent.
Kent leaned over and unzipped it and was greeted by Tyler and Sergio’s smiling faces.
“They’re all asleep,” Tyler said, leaning into the tent with the bottle of vodka as he had the night before.
“How can you tell?” Kent said, rubbing his eyes.
“Snoring like motherfuckers,” Tyler replied with a sly grin.
Kent looked over at Baird beside him, whose eyes were still closed, his mouth propped open slightly from the retainer.
“So is Baird.”
Tyler shrugged.
“Leave him.”
Sergio leaned into the tent and grabbed Baird’s ankle through the sleeping bag. A bubble of snot that had formed outside his right nostril was quickly inhaled and he coughed. His eyes sprang open.
“Baird, wake up, man.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“Fuck,” Tyler grumbled.
“Get up,” Sergio continued, ignoring Tyler.
“Why? Where we going?”
Tyler popped the top to the vodka and took a swig. Unlike yesterday, this time he managed to suppress a grimace.
“To have a drink,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Now get your pajamad ass out of bed and let’s go.”
Baird look dubious, confused, and a little scared, but he surprised them all by pulling down his sleeping bag and getting ready to rise without further hesitation.
Kent flipped back his own sleeping bag, but unlike Baird he was still in his clothes.
“Let’s do this,” Kent said, grinning.
The boys went down to the dock first. Even Baird sat near the end this time, legs dangling over the edge—maybe he was trying to look tough, or maybe it was his sleepy state that made him brave. Nevertheless, his attempts at looking tough failed horribly: he looked even more ridiculous than usual in his blue cotton pajamas that could have been worn by a seven-year-old—a massive seven-year-old with a round belly that stretched the fabric near the zipper. It was such a childish outfit that Kent wouldn’t have been surprised if the boy’s pajamas ended in booties, but with his thick hiking boots laced to the top, it was impossible to tell. He had to give the kid credit, though, as when the vodka as passed to him, he at least let the liquid hit his lips before passing it on. Sure, he stopped just short of swallowing, but Kent had to give him some credit for trying.
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