Fishing with Wussy

Eight years later he kidnapped me.

I had left Aunt Rose's and was on my way home when
I saw a white convertible. It was coming toward me up the
other side of the street, travelling fast. I didn't think it would stop,
but it did. At the last moment it swerved across the street to my side
and came to a rocking halt, one wheel over the kerb.

'What's the matter?' my father wanted to know. I must have
looked like something was the matter. He had a grey chin and his
hair looked crazy until he ran his black fingers through it, which
helped only a little.

I said nothing was the matter.

'You want to go for a ride?'

I figured he must mean for ice-cream or something.

'Come here,' he said.

I started around the car to the passenger side.

'Here,' he repeated. 'You know what "here" means?'

Actually, I don't think I did. At least I couldn't figure out what
good it would do me to walk over and stand next to him outside the
car. I found out though, because suddenly he had me under the
arms, and then I was high in the air, above the convertible's
windshield, where I rotated 180 degrees and plopped into the seat
beside him. My teeth clicked audibly, but other than that it was a
smooth landing.

He put the convertible in gear and we thumped down off the
curb and up the street past Aunt Rose's in the opposite direction
from the dairy. I figured he'd turn around when we got to the
intersection, but he didn't. We just kept on going, straight out of
Mohawk. My father's hair was wild again, and mine was too, I could
feel it.

The car smelled funny. My father didn't seem aware of it until
finally he sniffed and said, 'Oh, shit,' and pulled over so that he was
half on the road and half on the shoulder. First he flung up the hood,
then the trunk. With the hood up, the funny burning smell was even
worse. My father got two yellow cans out of the trunk and punched
holes in them. Then he unscrewed a cap on the engine and poured
in the contents of the two cans. I could see his black fingers working
in the gap between the dash and hood. I thought about my mother,
who would be just about putting her key in the front door lock and
wondering how come I wasn't on the front porch to greet her. I
started to send her a telepathic thought, 'I'm with my father,' until
I remembered that wouldn't exactly be a comfort if she received it.

He slammed the hood and trunk and got back in the car.

'Ever see one of these?' He dropped something small and
heavy in my lap. A jack-knife, it looked like. I knew my mother
wouldn't want me to touch it. 'Open it,' my father said.

I did. Every time I opened something, there was something else
to open. There were two knives, a large one and a small one, the can
opener I'd seen him use, a pair of tiny scissors you could actually
work, assuming you had something that tiny that needed scissoring,
a thing you could use to clean your nails with and a file. There were
other features too, but I didn't know what they were for. With all its
arms opened up, the gadget looked like a lopsided spider.

'Don't lose it,' he said.

We were pretty well out in the country now and, when he
pulled into a long dirt driveway, I was sure he just meant to turn
around. Instead, he followed the road on through a clump of trees
to a small, rusty trailer. A big, dark-skinned man in a shapeless hat
was seated on a broken concrete block. I was immediately
interested in the hat, which seemed full of shiny metallic objects that
reflected the sun. He stood when my father jerked the car to a stop,
crushed stone rattling off the trailer.

'Well?' my father said.

The man consulted his watch. 'Hour late,' he said. 'Not bad for Sam Hall. Practically on time. Who's this?'

'My son. We'll teach him how to fish.'

'Who'll teach you?' the man said. 'Howdy, Sam's kid.'

He offered a big, dark-skinned hand.

'Go ahead and shake his ugly paw,' my father said.

I did, and then the man gathered up the gear that was resting up
against the trailer. 'You want to open this trunk, or should I just rip
it off the hinges?' he said when my father made no move to get out
and help.

'Kind of ornery, ain't he?' my father said confidentially, tossing
the keys over his shoulder.

'Hey, kid,' the man said. 'How'd you like to ride in the back?'

'Tell him to kiss your ass,' my father advised. 'You got enough
gear for three?'

The man reluctantly got in the back. 'Enough for me and the
kid anyways. Don't know about you. Can he talk or what?'

My father swatted me. 'Say hello to Wussy. He's half coloured,
half white, and all mixed up.'

Wussy leaned forward so he could see into the front seat. 'He
ain't exactly dressed for this.' I was wearing a thin T-shirt, shorts,
sneakers. 'Course, you ain't either. You planning to attend a dance
in those shoes?'

'I didn't have time to change.' My father shrugged.

'Where the hell were you?'

My father started to answer, then looked at me. 'Some place.'

'Oh,' the man called Wussy said. 'I been there. Hey, Sam's kid,
you know what a straight flush is?'

I shook my head.

'His name is Ned.'

'Ned?'

My father nodded. 'I wasn't consulted.'

'Where were you?'

'Some place,' my father said. 'Which reminds me.'

We were on the highway and there was a small store, a shack
really, up ahead. We pulled in next to the telephone booth. I heard
part of the conversation. My father said she could kiss his ass.

When he got back in the car, my father looked at me and shook
his head as if he thought maybe I'd done something. 'Don't lose
that,' he said. I was still fingering the spider gadget.

'As long as we're stopped,' Wussy said, 'what do you say we put
the top up?'

'What for?' my father said.

Wussy tapped me on the shoulder and pointed up. The sun had
disappeared behind dark clouds, and the air had gone cool.

'Your ass,' my father said, jerking the car back onto the
highway.

It was half an hour before the skies opened.

'Your old man is a rock-head,' Wussy observed after they
finally got the top up. It had stuck at first and we were all soaked.
'No wonder your mother don't want nothing to do with him.'