A half hour passed and then the deer flies came out and it began to drizzle. Covering the far fast water, stripping his line quickly, Moses got his strike. A big fish, maybe thirty pounds, taking so hard Moses didn’t even have to set the hook, his rod already bent double. Immediately the line screeched and the fish shot downriver, taking most of Moses’s backing before it paused and he started to reel in the slack. Jim lifted anchor and began to paddle gently toward shore, his net within reach. The fish came close enough to look at the canoe and raced downriver again, breaking water about fifty feet out. Flipping in the air. Dancing on its tail.
“Hey there, Moses. Hey there.”
The fish struck for the bottom and Moses imagined it down there, outraged, rubbing its throbbing jaw against the gravel, trying to dislodge the hook. It couldn’t, obviously, so it gave in to bad temper, flying out of the boiling water once more, shaking its angry head, diving, then resting deep, maybe pondering tactics. After Moses had played the fish for another twenty minutes, he heard and then saw the others in their canoes returning from their pools. Approaching Vince’s Hole, Gilles and Len both cut their outboards back sharply, as courtesy required, but not Armand, whom Barney had instructed to actually accelerate into the opposite bank before killing his engine. Frank Zappa bounced over the water at God knows how many decibels. Cursing, Moses reeled the fish in close. It was lying on its side on the surface now, panting desperately, but good for one more run. Moses vacillated only briefly before leading the exhausted fish toward the net. And that’s when Mary Lou stood up to take pictures, her flash attachment exploding again and again. Distracted, Moses didn’t notice his line tangling round the butt of his rod. The fish bolted, running his line taut and jerking free of the hook. Moses’s rod sprung upright, his line going slack.
“Well now,” Barney said, “like the old hands say: it’s more difficult than you think.”
Back in camp, Moses was told soon enough that Barney had killed two salmon, a total of twenty-four pounds, Larry had landed a five pound grilse, and Rob had lost a fish.
As the bartender had gone home it was an exuberant Barney who served the drinks, allowing Darlene another vodka and asking Moses whether he would like his soda straight up or on the rocks. Har, har, har. Moses, pleading fatigue, allowed that he would have just one and then retire to his room to read in bed.
“Didn’t I tell ya, Mary Lou? Moses is a real highbrow.”
“Well, I’ve read a whole stack of novels myself this year, both fiction and non-fiction. I never bother with TV.”
“In my humble opinion,” Darlene said, “TV is just one big waste of time. I only watch PBS.”
“Yeah,” Barney said. “‘Sesame Street.’”
Rob shook with laughter, retrieving a trail of snot from his upper lip with a lizard-like dart of his tongue.
“I’m going to turn in now,” a tearful Darlene said. “Will you be long, Barney?”
“I won’t be long here, but I sure will when I get there. So there’ll be no call for you to unpack your vibrator tonight, baby.”
The telephone rang, Barney scooping it up before Jim could reach it. “It’s for you, Moe.”
Jim rubbed his hands against his trousers. “You can take it in the kitchen,” he said.
It was London on the line.
“Lucy, is that you?”
“Yes,” a thick voice came crackling back.
It was, Moses reckoned, three o’clock in the morning in London. “What’s all that racket in the background?”
“I’m moving.”
“At this hour?”
“You’re such a nag, Moses.”
“Why are you slurring your words?”
“It’s my jaw. It’s still swollen. The dentist yesterday. Oh, you and Henry are both going to be sent some photographs. I don’t want either of you to open the envelopes. You are to put them right in the fire. Do you understand?”
“Are you in trouble again, Lucy?”
“Will you please do as I ask for once and not bother me with any stupid questions.”
“I will throw the envelope in the fire without opening it. Have you spoken to Henry yet?”
“Obviously you are more worried about him than you are about me.”
“There’s a delicate sensibility at play there.”
“But not here?”
“No.”
“You think I’m disgusting?”
“Yes,” Moses said, hanging up. Then he dug a couple of pills out of his pocket and swallowed them without water.
Approaching the bedroom lodge some fifteen minutes later, Moses saw moths dancing in the cone of light coming from Darlene’s bedroom. Darlene was waiting on her side of the screen door, wearing a Four Seasons Hotel towel robe belted loosely over a wispy black negligee with a red lace trim. “You’re not a teetotaller,” she said. “You had to give it up, but you continue to nurse some secret sorrow. My daddy was a boozer too.”
Moses laughed, delighted with her. Darlene was sucking on a joint. Opening the screen door, she handed it to him. Moses inhaled deeply before passing it back, not letting go of her hand, but drawing her close and whispering a suggestion to her.
“Why, Moses Berger, you are a simply dreadful man,” she said, all twinkly. “But if he sees your car gone as well he’ll figure it out and go absolutely apeshit.”
The banging screen door of the dining-room lodge warned them of Barney’s unsteady approach. Darlene thrust the joint at Moses, hastily adjusting her towel robe, and then began to spray her bedroom with deodorant. Retreating to his own room, Moses collapsed on his bed, gratified that he was still capable of mindless lust. Then the bickering flared in the next room, Darlene declaring with some vehemence, “I’m not getting up to brush my teeth and rinse out again. If that’s what you want go find yourself a whore.”
Moses quit his room and headed for the dirt road to walk off his rage. He made it as far as the turnoff for Kedgewick before he started back. Once in camp again, he didn’t return directly to his room. Instead he slipped into the dining room and dialled Clarkson’s number in Montreal. Clarkson, he knew, was in Toronto. Beatrice answered on the seventh ring.
“I’m at Vince’s Gulch.”
“Moses, it’s one A.M.” She sighed. “Did Jim ask after me?”
“Possibly he hasn’t inquired because he has yet to catch me alone.”
“You mean to say you’re with somebody up there? It was our place.”
“Get into your cat and drive straight out here. You should make it by morning.”
“Don’t humiliate yourself, Moses.”
Stung, he didn’t speak again until he could trust his voice. Then he said, “What in God’s name can you see in him?”
“Solomon Gursky isn’t his obsession. I am. Oh, and this will amuse you. He thinks I’m intelligent.”
“Beatrice, he’s going to bore you.”
“I’ve had quite enough of not being bored. What you call boring would be refreshing. At least if he goes out to fetch a pack of cigarettes at ten P.M., I can count on his not being gone for a week or ten days without a word, me going out of my mind, and then you phoning to say I’m in Paris or back in the clinic again. Is it somebody I know?”
“What are you talking about?”
“With you there.”
“Yes. It’s somebody you know. Why not somebody you know?” he asked, slamming down the receiver.