THE CATCH
NANOOK WAS A RETIRED OLD MAN WITH A LOT OF TIME ON HIS HANDS but although he wanted something to do, he was also very lazy.
Somehow fishing came to mind. So he bought a second hand fishing rod and tacklebox one day then the next day ambled alone up the dock. He embarked on a little aluminum skiff out into the bay; baited his hook, cast his line, and waited. After a while the breeze felt so soft and comfortable, the sun was warm, and his bones felt so heavy that he fell asleep.
He jerked awake to the sound of something disturbing his rod. Sleepily he began reeling it in. The line pulled taut, the rod bent, and he felt the lively vibration of something struggling to get free. Then! Splish-splash! Just like that he caught a fish.
A rockfish popped out of the water and into the boat. It shook and flip-flopped, mouth agape, gills twitching for the last shreds of water sliding off its body.
Nanook leaned over and held it down with his massive bear paw, a dry, knobbly-knuckled hand, as he carefully removed the hook. The fish's teary eye expressed so much terror that he felt it necessary to apologize.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Off you go!” He said gruffly.
Nanook gently released the fish right back into the bay.
“Well, that was exciting.”
It was only eleven o'clock in the morning but his belly grumbled. Feeling like catching something was more work than he expected, he opened his cooler and unwrapped a cheese, lettuce, and tomato sandwich on marbled rye. As he was eating, he noticed there was a little fish swimming around by his boat.
Not expecting anything to come of it, he tore a mayo-covered piece of the sandwich and tossed it into the water. The fish swam up and ate it. He recognized it was the rockfish from earlier. He didn't even think fish liked sandwiches.
“That's enough for today.”
It took him almost an hour to eat the rest of his sandwich, herring egg salad, and flask of hot coffee. He was about pack up to return home when he noticed his line was in the water. The reel was whizzing.
“This better not be that same fish.”
But whatever he had hooked was deep underwater. The line went out very far and was very slack. He reeled something in and it wasn't a fish.
It was an internet service provider CD tangled in an old fishing line, a broken net, with a coat hanger, six pack rings, a balloon, and another coat hanger. It was mucky and disgusting. He couldn't bring himself to drop it or throw it back in the water, so he laid it out in the boat by his feet.
Nanook dipped his hands into the ocean for a quick rinse and the rockfish jumped into his chest. Nanook jumped too. The boat was wobbling and bobbing.
When he got a hold of the fish it stopped struggling.
“What are you choking on?”
It wasn't a chunk of cheese, but a plastic bottle cap.
Nanook dug it out of the rockfish's mouth and tossed the cap into the pile. The rockfish slipped out of his hands and tumbled back into the ocean.
Wiping his hands on his jeans, Nanook turned and was about to pull up the anchor when he noticed there was something shadowy just under the surface. He reached down and the back of his hand brushed against a clump of gillnet curled around the chain. He sheared the knots with a pocketknife but found bundles and bundles of near-invisible nylon mesh hiding in the murk.
Nanook stared at the floating debris questioning himself what he should do with it.
“Fuck.”
He began pulling in clumps by the fistfuls.
“Fucking shit!”
Soon he had an itchy armful of trash covering his lap and he could see that there was more connected to it in the water, like a nasty spaghetti, but instead of sauce it was garbage soup.
Nanook's hands became stained and black with some kind of filmy grease as he pulled more and more old fishing gear into the skiff. He dragged in a sloppy mess of tangled fishing lines and rusted hooks. On each hook there were CDs, all by the same internet provider, in factory condition.
“Ah, fuck! Fuck me!!”
He heaved and hauled a wet ball of fraying rope and netting out of the ocean. It contained smashed milk jugs, deflated mylar birthday balloons, soda liters, and a dirty vinyl tablecloth. Party cups and frosted lids, clear plastic straws and bags, spilled into the skiff.
Nanook pulled and pulled. Everything he found, he added to the dripping slough until the pile was as tall as he was, and higher, and higher.
It strained his back and welted his fingers but he kept pulling. The pile almost buried the skiff completely. The old man soon resigned to taking off his boots, his coat, and lowering himself into the ocean to make more room on the skiff for more garbage.
Loopy, itchy rolls and rusted coils of old trot lines and braided lines were yanked out of the water and added to the pile. Loose bottle caps and crispy plastic wrappers of all kinds and all colors regurgitated by the depths were collected by hand and tucked in.
The weight of the massive catch reached the maximum capacity of the skiff and was perilously close to exceed.
Nanook fished out and pulled up the last thread of monofilament. It came with another CD and then another hundred meters of twisted fishing net.
The maximum capacity exceeded three times.
The propeller and anchor were totally freed but the skiff's hull was barely visible above water. He wasn't able to use it so he swam around to the bow and began pulling it himself towards the land.
He kept his chin up as much as possible, afraid that otherwise he might get invisible plastic caught in his nose and mouth. Paddling for a while, he and the skiff hardly closed any distance. Nanook uttered one final curse, sputtering.
“Cocksucker!”
Clean, salty ocean filled his mouth as a wave came and took off the top half of the pile. The smack of the water stunned Nanook.
When the old man recovered, he found himself staring at a large, dark whale coming towards him with its maw wide open. It swallowed Nanook, the skiff, and the enormous pile.
Inside the whale, there was garbage. Nanook felt around for skin and flesh but only found plastic.
It was a whale made out of garbage. Its tongue was grocery bags and cigarette filters. Its teeth were bottle caps. The roof of its mouth were sails, soiled tarp, and broken barrels held together by mesh.
The whale swam to the dock and hurled itself over the marina. Garbage scattered across the parking lot, across windshields, and tables in the outside eating area.
Nanook emerged from the pile with his coat and shoes as onlookers swarmed around it.
“Somebody should do something about this,” he said.
And then Nanook went home.