“Slowly,” his voice was deep, calming and soothing.
I pulled at the string with a nervous energy – frantically.
“Slowly,” he said again, more loudly this time with a tinge of frustration and a hint of laughter in his voice.
It was pulling against me; I pulled harder – quicker. Then suddenly, the line went slack and without the resistance, the rod flew back thwacking me in the face. I sank to my knees, and let out a growl of frustration, rolling in the pebbles and shells.
He was laughing – guttural rasping laughter that seemed to echo the wind that ran up and down the valley.
Frustrated, I slammed my hand into the stones and instantly regretted it - sharp cuts of pain darting into my palm.
He laughed again. “That wasn’t very sensible was it.”
“No.” I spat the word out sulkily.
“What did I say?” he asked, smiling widely at me.
“Slowly,” I grumbled.
“And did you pull slowly?”
I said nothing. What a stupid question. We both knew I hadn’t pulled slowly. If I had, the line wouldn’t have snapped.
“Come on,” he said, lifting me from the stones and dropping me on my feet. “Let’s have another go. We’ll have to rebait the line.”
I reached into my pocket, feeling the wet worms wiggling and wriggling around my fingers. I picked one and pulled it out. I put it on the end of the line that he held out in front of me and cast the line out into the lake.
“What will you do, if you get another bite?” he asked, smiling.
“Pull it in - slow-ly.” I replied, rolling my eyes as I spoke.
As we sat there, waiting for another bite, a cloud floated in front of the sun and a cold chill fell upon me.
“Father,” I said nervously, “where have you been?”
Rather than look at me, as he always did when we spoke, he stared out at the lake – at the horizon, where the blue lake met the blue sky. And when he spoke, he spoke with a great heaviness rather than his usual cheerfulness. “Searching,” he said with a sigh.
“Searching for what,” I said.
Still, he didn’t look at me; he looked to the sky – examining the clouds as they floated by. He breathed heavily. He stared at the sky and he breathed heavily. For a moment, I wondered whether he had heard me but just as I was about to repeat my question, he croaked a reply, “the future, I’m searching for the future.”
","author_name":"George Popplewell"}