“Was he using a lure when he hooked Elihu? Or live bait?” Obviously, Grampy Luke was fishing for some tips.
“Or a pig and jig,” Jason offered, proud of his knowledge.
Buck Irwin stepped forward. He was known as one of the finest fishermen at the lake. He held a cup of coffee that steamed up over his face like a kite-tail of smoke. A quick smile widened his jaw. From under thick brows, he looked at Jason. Lines decorated his eyes from many hours spent squinting in the sun, and his wrists looked as thick as the head of a bat. Indeed, he looked like a homerun hitter. It was said that his wife, Taffy, knew all the names of everyone who lived around the lake. She was the postmaster and liked to tease that she was keeping count of how many love letters each one received.
As Buck smiled at Jason, his black mustache curled. He pointed to the wooden beam over the cash register. “Hooked Elihu on a Devil’s Horse. That’s what Skeeter said. It’s a top-water plug, one like’s hanging up there.”
Stuck in the wood of the store’s beam was a long slender lure shaped like a cigar. Three stems, with three hooks on each, hung from its body similar to chandeliers. The lure was black-and-white striped with two yellow dots for eyes. It also had a silver metal propeller on its nose.
“What’s the propeller for?” Jason gazed up at the Devil’s Horse.
Bill took the lure down and handed it to Jason. He had to be very careful so the sharp hooks did not stick him.
“Supposed to look like an injured fish,” Bill said. “The propeller will kick up water when you reel it in. It’s called a top-water plug. You throw it out and twitch it as you bring it in. Bass will hit it like they think they’re about to have Thanksgiving dinner.”
Bill chuckled. Jason handed the Devil’s Horse back to him, and Bill returned it to the beam.
Jason studied again the pictures under glass of the enormous bass that fishermen had hooked and were holding up. How wonderful it was to imagine Elihu being even bigger and grander.
Buck put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “When you want to get serious about hooking Elihu, get a Devil’s Horse. Elihu’s not likely to swallow that. You don’t ever want a fish to swallow your lure; it’ll kill it for sure, and in a cruel way. Got to set the hook just right—in the side of its mouth so you can unhook it and save your lure. And release the fish too, if that’s what you choose. All us around here practice catch and release, ’less we’re fishing for dinner. And you know what, Jason?”
“What?”
“I bet Elihu’s so smart by now, that old bass can spot a lure twenty feet away and dive for deep water. But a Devil’s Horse is a good way to start.” Buck winked at Jason. “Elihu has a lot to say.”
Jason stared at Buck. “And you think by now Elihu is way over twenty pounds?”
Of course he’d already been told that, but he would never get tired of hearing about the great bass. In just mentioning the name Elihu, he felt chills prickle up his arms.
“Oh, yeah.” Buck pointed. “And he’s twice as big as that.” He gestured toward the stuffed bass hanging on the wall over the ice machine. The fish’s tail was preserved as though it were flapping. Its great mouth was open like the top of a huge jar.
“Dooey Murdock caught that. Right now Dooey’s down at the filling station ’cause his truck tire’s going flat.” Buck laughed. “Dooey’s the worst I know about keeping a bass just so he can stuff it and show it off. He’s been after Elihu for three years now.”
“Three years?” Jason’s tongue tripped on the words. What did it mean if somebody like Dooey Murdock with his fancy boat couldn’t catch Elihu? What chance then would he have–just an eleven-year-old?
His dream of catching Elihu felt injured. It felt punctured, as if the dream itself had been something holding air and was now poked with a needle. Jason and Elihu. Elihu and Jason. He had to get it back. He had to bring the whole dream back.
He breathed deeply. He swallowed. He jiggled his knees.
He also knew now that the boy outside with the cane pole had surely lied. That boy had said Dooey wasn’t much of a fisherman, but the trophy stuffed bass here in the shop said otherwise.
Grampy Luke turned to Buck. “Have you ever hooked Elihu?”
“Yeah, once, ’bout five years ago. Now I just try to keep Dooey from coming up with the big fish. Dooey sells stuffed bass to restaurants to hang on their walls. He’s got customers all across the state. Every one of them would love to have Elihu stuffed and hanging on their walls. But more than that, fishing companies would pay thousands of dollars just for a photograph of a bass that breaks the world record. Elihu would certainly do that. Look out there. Dooey caught those yesterday.”
Buck nodded toward the live-wells on the back porch of the Tackle Shop. Jason and Grampy Luke went to see what was in the dark, swirling water.
Two big bass, of about twelve pounds each, hunkered down, barely moving in the circulating water. They were wild things trying to hide in shadows, even from each other. When Jason and Grampy Luke leaned over to look down in, the bass bolted for cover, which of course was not there.
With their fins waving to keep them afloat, and their gills opening and closing in a frightened rhythm, they hugged the corners of the live-well.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Grampy Luke said softly.
Jason felt his skin tingle. His eyes watered. The fish were mighty things of wonder. He knew he was standing in the presence of one of the earth’s greatest mysteries; and yet, looking at the captured bass, he felt a deep, horrible sorrow. The fish were too splendid to be held in metal tanks. He was embarrassed for them. They deserved to be free.
“Hey, Buck,” Grampy Luke called into the bait shop. “Are these females?”
“Don’t know.” Buck came out onto the porch with his coffee still steaming. “Most bass don’t have roe this time of year.”
“Roe?” Jason repeated.
“Fish eggs,” Grampy Luke explained.
Buck put his hand on the live-well and looked down in. “Yeah, each year a bass can spawn thousands of babies. Usually they spawn here in February. Florida stays so warm, fish can lay eggs early and feed all year. That’s why bass get so big in Florida.”
Jason dangled his fingers in the water. The live-well was also where Bill kept the bait-shop shiners. The shiners were a natural food source for bass. They were bigger than minnows. They darted in the water like shooting stars. At least Dooey Murdock’s bass had plenty to eat.
“How long they been here?” Jason asked.
“Dooey put ’em in there last night.” Buck smiled at Jason. It was clear that Buck was getting a kick out of Jason’s awakening to the love of fishing. “Dooey’ll take ’em to a taxidermy man when he leaves here tonight. When Dooey put ’em in, they looked half dead. But the circulating water has lots of oxygen
