A FISHING FOR MINNOWS

The three of them had gone to the river that day. It had been hot
and airless, the sky a cloudless
hazy blue. They had begun the journey in shorts and t-shirts; yet as
they walked along the dusty
gravel path they soon bared sweaty, hairless chests, already reddened
by the sun. They hung their
fishing nets over their shoulders, eventually dragging them on the
ground behind, when the effort to
hold them proudly became too much.

Graham had trailed behind as usual, whilst the other two walked briskly
ahead. Stalling as he
made patterns with his grubby trainers in the dried earth. They turned
around, calling out to him to
hurry up because they had wanted to make the best of the day,
especially as it was their last day
of freedom. Tomorrow they would be back to school, back to the routine
of early morning
lessons, of bells that told them that it was lunchtime or the end of
maths.

Not that Graham took much notice. He was used to the pair bossing him
about, as he was the
youngest of the three. He often wandered up here on his own, to study
the minnows, trailing his
hand in the water as they weaved around his fingers. He hated it when
they were caught up in the
nets, thrashing violently against the thin criss-crossed strips of
green plastic, as their lives
evaporated in the air around them. It was even worse when they swirled
in the confined space of
a half filled jam jar, in their confusion they sometimes hit the glass
and Graham wondered if they
felt the pain.

It was a little cooler by the river; the area was overshadowed by great
weeping willows that
draped their long, spindly branches, heavy with lush green leaves into
the cool murky waters.

They had not noticed her at first, floating in the river like some kind
of peculiar vessel. They had
abandoned their nets on the grass, kicked off their shoes, but it was
Graham who had spotted her
in the water. The other two crowded round, eventually pushing him aside
so that they could get a
closer look. He strained around them, staring in disbelieving awe at
the floating body.

Her brown hair appeared dark and serpent like in the water, the minnows
darting in and out of the
strands, as if they were weeds. The dress she wore, patterned with
flowers, now clung to her like
a shroud. The shape of her breasts, her torso and slender, boyish hips
were clearly defined by the
wet fabric. She was missing a shoe and Graham watched as her naked foot
bobbed up and
down, continually threatening to rise up above the surface of the
water. Graham thought she
looked like a statue, her smooth, seemingly unblemished face appeared
to belong to no age at all.
She was protected under this watery screen. There was something so
peaceful about the scene,
her eyes were shut and it seemed she had stepped into the river and
merely fallen asleep. Any
minute she could awaken and rise up, walk towards them.

But the tranquillity did not last. As Graham watched helplessly, the
two other boys, jaded now by
the sight of her, took their nets and began to prod the body. Each time
daring the other to get
closer to the river's edge.

She moved in a detached, dreamlike way as they stabbed at her, each
movement performed in
slow motion. The dress was now unravelling and surrounding her like a
pool of spilt colour. Her
body became shapeless, and seemed to change as the boys prodded it
harder each time; those
defined lines now blurred by the frantic crashing of the water. Even
her hair swirled around,
mummifying the face in thick coils of dirty brown. The minnows beneath
now darted haphazardly,
trying to avoid the whirlpool.

Yet the heat of the mid day sun got the better of them, the pair
collapsed on to the grass, their nets
discarded in front of them, their faces pressed down into the cool
ground. They had left her now,
bored and tired with their game. Yet she continued to sway a little,
until the river calmed once
more, returning to its steady flow.

They were not watching Graham, or realised how close he got to the
edge, kneeling down, his
feet tucked neatly under him. He peered closely at her, leaning further
down each time, until he
could not stop himself toppling headfirst into the river.

The water felt cold, indescribably refreshing against his skin.
Eventually he found her, the hand stiff
and unyielding, but he grasped it anyway. The fabric of her dress seem
to wrap around his wrist,
his arm, anchoring him further down in the water and it seemed too much
effort to fight it.

He felt the minnows flick over his face, nothing it seemed would stop
their journey downstream.