Chapter 31: A Taste for Blood — Part 4

The spear gun a simple affair, made from a long cut piece aluminum pipe, painted black, with an extremely thick medical grade rubber hose. Two bearings are glued into the ends of each side of the hose, and a half-inch cable tie straps it firmly to the pipe. Because the pipe originally came from a walking stick that was designed to pull apart, it has one end that is thicker to allow the other pipe to settle in. This works well to keep the hose from slipping. Arpie pulls his barbed bolt from the saddle, one that has twenty feet of fishing line on it, so he can pull back what he catches. In about an hour, he’s caught three arm length catfish and a Pike: All fish that would normally be in deeper waters, but the lot of them now inhabit the edge of the airborne lake.

Arpie doesn’t want to talk about fish as Opus goes to work gutting them, tossing their guts back into the pond. He’s thinking about other things, most of his thoughts at the moment are nonsensical time fillers. Opus fillets four fish in less than twenty minutes, working on a cutting board, soaking the flesh in salted water, and using a little soap to wash up. Once he is done, he skewers it on sharp wet sticks, and sets the fish close to the fire, letting it cook. The catfish has more oil in its meat than the pike, but the pike was larger and more muscular than the catfish. Opus has been careful to cut them into even pieces, and once the fish is cooked, and the two are eating, Arpie, as usual, breaks his silence.

“So how has it been with Betty?” Arpie asks suddenly, though Opus always expects some kind of words to come from Arpie once the food is served.

“She’s really young. So we’re taking it slow . . . ” Opus says, but Arpie knows the truth, and he’s scheming, a trait that is almost a habit for him, especially where Opus is concerned.

“Do you love her?” Arpie asks, considering.

“She’s really smart. Even when she’s sweaty, she smells good.” Opus says. “We talk for hours.”

“But not about that.” Arpie says, not having to explain.

“No, not about that.” Opus admits, chewing slowly on his fish.

“It’s been months kid, you gotta get all that out in the open.” Arpie says. “You wait too long and you’ll make her think you don’t trust her. You do trust her, don’t you?” Arpie likes to meddle, and Opus knows he’s meddling now.

“So why don’t you tell her?” Opus asks, trying for sarcasm.

Arpie smiles. “Well thanks. Next time I run into her, I’ll get her out for tea and we’ll have a word about the birds, the bees, and you.”

Opus fusses with the coals of the fire, wishing Arpie would just nose out. “If you tell her, will it make me look like a coward?”

“I don’t know how she’ll spin.” Arpie pulls the fish loose, and gives it a couple blows, chawing off a piece. “But I do know that whatever Betty does, she’ll do it no matter how it’s presented. Any pretense otherwise is going to be an excuse to run. The question is, Opus, if she does run, are you gonna chase her?”

Opus smiles, his mind drifting. “Yeah, I’m going to chase her.”

“Then let’s get back to Tó Naneesdizí and get cleaned up. And whoever gets to her first tells her the truth.”

They finish the fish quickly, mount up and head back toward Tó Naneesdizí, bellies full and minds wandering. Opus is smart, he knows when he’s being bullied, and when he’s being conned. Arpie, he knows, is doing both.

“You know, she likes it when people call her Beth, not Betty.” Opus says, as if it is a sticking point.

Arpie snaps a little. “I’ll call her Beth when she’s settled on you. Otherwise she’ll always be a Betty to me.”

“Crazy old man.” Opus mutters, happy that the ride into town is finished in silence.