"Gon´ Fishin" by Sophie ´Photosoph´ Matthews

"Pull, dangnabbit, -pull!" Sherman heaved against the rope.
His body, with muscles ironed by an age of work, was strained with the effort.

It was just him now. Him, the rope, and the fish.

A gleam flashed in his eye at the thought of it. The fish...

Well, there was the boy, too.

"Lookit 'im," Sherman thought to himself.
For a flicker of a moment, he locked an eye on the young man. Kevin, or Sam, ...whatever his name was... he was 'the boy'. The young, pale kid he'd hired that Spring
(all he'd needed to do was convince him it was good work experience for a degree in marine biology...), had been mostly confined to gutting fish in the galley.
There. That was biology for him.

The older man turned back to his hands, and the task before him. Gritting his teeth,
he shoved his feet out in front of him and leaned back; pulling with his arms, his legs, his sheer brute strength...

It was coming. Slowly, but surely, it was coming. Inch by terrible inch,
aching with the strain that would not cease, he and the boy held the net by its struggling bonds, and drew it, by ever painful second, towards them.

"Ah!"

The boy was screaming. Sherman ignored him. To him, the net was worth more. It held the bounty of the ocean deep;
ever with secrets, ever with beauty. And people payed for that beauty. Paid for that light,
fresh touch of pure white flesh that easily parted from
bone and skin, and left the mouth with a hint of that life trapped under the waves.

The boy was still screaming.

Sherman cursed. That kid was the last one left. Mo, Skippy, and the guy with the parrot,
the eye patch, and wooden leg, who kept going on about 'gold' and a mysterious treasure map... they were all gone.
Dead with scurvy, the poor scum. They told him, they did... about limes and lemons and all that...
but limes and lemons were a penny a pound, and he could always recruit a couple more crew for that much.

Still... he needed the boy. Well, not now... but later. Maybe later.

"Dang ye, boy." he grunted, his mind now clear. The pain from the weight of the net was stamped down under his controlling mind.
"Ye better survive 'til I can get to ye-"

It was time. The net, the fish, the bounty... it had stepped onto the deck, footsteps a-flapping.
With a crazy, too bright smile, he gave up and let its weight drive him to the floor.

The screams had stopped now. Blast!

"Ye scum!" Sherman cried, dragging himself out from under the net. "Don't die now -I need ye!"

He had the strength of a hundred men, the sharp-edged mind of the shreddest fox, and the sympathy of a rock. But he needed the boy; so the boy would live.

Avoiding the fish on the deck with ease, he side-stepped over to where he remembered the boy being...

There was a HUGE fish there! -A money fish. Sherman's eyes lit up quickly, then dulled. With a grunt and another burst of strength, he lugged the load off the youngster.

"THE FISH!!!!" the boy screamed, sitting bolt upright. He was wild eyed, and shook slightly.
He had the fear and confidence of a small fly being rapidly overshadowed by a fly-swat.
He was a boy after the old man's heart. ...It was a pity he had none.

"Ye all right?"

It took the boy a while to answer while he swayed, eyes empty and glazed. Slowly, his eyes focused, and the colour returned to his face.

"The FISH!!!!" he screamed again, frantically scrambling, sliding, twisting, slipping, lunging, scrabbling... desperately trying to reach it.

"Hold ye horses," Sherman barked, and waded through the mess of the scaled hides drowning in air. Finally, he arrived.

"'E is quite a big 'un," he remarked, flipping it over. He stopped. And suddenly, all noises ceased.

He paused long enough for Kevin, or Sam, or whatever his name was, to slide over a wall of fish and coast to a stop by his feet.

"Issa... issa..." Kevin, or Sam, or whatever his name was, stuttered.

"E's a mermaid." Sherman said. He didn't seem surprised... until you looked at his eyes. They were as wide as the land is long.

Both of them stood there, shocked to silence.

"Whaddawedo?" asked the kid. "Give 'er to the musuem? The papers? The government?"

The fisherman thought it over. "Nah. They pay pittance."

"But... it's, it's a... a..."

"We've been over this already." Sherman growled. His voice had a menancing edge like the bite of thunder.
"It's a mermaid. But she ain't gonna earn us any money by going ta the musuem, or even ta the black market...
tried that once. CIA took it away. Dunno why. ...Didna even send me a check!"

"But-"

"Shuddup!" he yelled, and his voice produced a shiver not only on the boy, but on the boat as well. You really had room to yell at sea.

The boy shuddup.

"We'll... wait. Issit dead?" He stopped, then prodded her with a toe. There was no reaction. "Ah. Well." he gave some thought to this. "Chuck her in wit' the rest." Shrugging, he turned and began to walk away.

"SIR! She's a-"

He whirled around. Suddenly, the true horror that was him, usually hidden from his face, appeared. "I SAID IN THE BUCKET!"

The boys survival reflexes kicked in, and he hauled it away.

The old man stood on the deck in reflective thought. Turning, he gazed out to sea... to the pasture of his hunting ground; the forest of his fruit.

First that horsey-hippocampus thingie, now this. But he'd be fine; as long as they tasted like tuna.