Читать книгу A Hundred Silences - Gabeba Baderoon - Страница 4

1. Give

Give

Before dawn, low voices briefly loud,

my father and his friend the ambulance driver,

his days off always in the middle of the week,

drive away from the house

with thick sandwiches and a flask of tea

and my father’s green and white fishing rod

whipping the wind behind the ’76 Corolla.

Camping by the sea,

we’d see him take his rod further down the beach,

walk waist-deep into the water, plant

himself with legs apart in the breakers,

reach back, cast the line

baited with chokka, and pull,

giving then tightening the line, nudging

its weighted stream of gut to the fish.

But in this place on the West Coast

they never disclosed,

they stand unwatched, out of reach

of each other’s lines, at their backs

a fire on the beach not stemming

the dark but deepening it.

Often it would come to nothing,

their planting and pulling,

but sometimes the leather cups holding

the ends of their fishing rods strained

as they bent back against the high howl

of the reels being run to the limit

and holding.

Bowing forward and giving

and leaning back and pulling,

their bodies make a slow dance nobody sees.

And at home the scraping of scales

from galjoen and yellowtail

and slitting the silver slick of skin

to make thick steaks for supper,

setting aside the keite for breakfast,

the head for soup and the gills and fat for the cats

while they tell us how they landed them.

I wonder about the empty days, more frequent,

the solitary standing in the dark at the edge

of something vast, sea and sky,

throwing a thin line into the give of it

and waiting, silent and waiting,

until something pulls

against your weight.