Suder Read Online Free PDF Page B

me.
    â€œBud,” said Daddy, walking into the room.
    â€œHey there, Doc. I decided to take you up on the fishing.”
    Daddy rowed the boat out into the middle of the river. With the four of us it was a tight fit. The sun was strong and the mosquitoes were thick. Mr. Powell seemed real happy to be with us. Daddy and Mr. Powell were sitting at either end of the boat.
    â€œThis is my special spot,” Daddy said. “I can guarantee you the big ones.”
    Mr. Powell laughed. “All right, Doc.” He looked at me. “I can’t get over how much you look like Bird. Round the eyes. Round the eyes.” He grabbed my face and tilted it from side to side, looking. “The mouth, too. Doc, your boy got lips like Bird.”
    I put my finger to my mouth and traced the outline of my lips. He let go of my face.
    â€œWhat do you want to be when you grow up?” asked Mr. Powell.
    Martin and I looked at him.
    â€œWhat about you, Marvin?”
    â€œThat’s Martin.”
    Mr. Powell nodded.
    â€œI want to be a dentist.”
    Mr. Powell was silent for a second as he looked out over the water. “What about you, Bird?”
    â€œA ballplayer, I guess. Baseball.”
    â€œNo, you should go into music. You should pick up the saxophone. You’ve got the lips for it. Lips just like Bird.”
    I looked at Daddy and saw him smiling at me. He was sliding his hook through a nightcrawler. “Maybe you should think about that, Craig,” Daddy said. “About taking up the saxophone.” Daddy dropped his line in.
    â€œWhy was your wife wearing that coat, Doc?” Mr. Powell slapped a mosquito on his neck.
    Daddy sighed and then he looked at Mr. Powell. “Well, Bud, I’ll tell you. She’s crazy.”
    Mr. Powell laughed and then he stopped. He just watched as Daddy attended to his line.
    â€œWhat you got, Daddy?” Martin asked.
    Daddy pulled in a catfish. “I told you this was a great spot,” Daddy said.
    A few minutes later Mr. Powell snagged something. His line got tight and he started pulling and reeling. “Jesus,” he said. The tip of his pole curved around to point toward the water.
    â€œWhat you got there?” Daddy asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Mr. Powell said, “but it don’t seem like no catfish.” He pulled the line in and at the end of it was a sack.
    Martin reached over and grabbed the line. He pulled the sack out of the water, over the edge, and into the boat.
    â€œNo,” said Mr. Powell, “don’t open it. Don’t open it.” He sat up straight and frowned.
    Martin stopped and looked at Mr. Powell. “Don’t open it?”
    â€œDon’t open it,” Mr. Powell repeated.
    Martin hesitated, then he grabbed the sack and dumped what was inside onto the bottom of the boat. It was kittens, little kittens, little, wet, dead, decomposed kittens. And a rock.
    â€œDamn,” said Mr. Powell, turning his head.
    â€œI didn’t know what was in there,” Martin said, anticipating a reaction from Daddy.
    â€œJust put them in the sack and toss it back in the water,” Daddy said.
    â€œWith my hands?” Martin whined.
    â€œYou dumped them out.” Daddy raised his eyebrows.
    Martin pushed the kittens back into the sack, and also the rock. Then he dropped the sack over the side. Martin put his hands into the water and rubbed them together.
    Not too much was said about the kittens. As the morning passed, Daddy caught a few more fish, Martin caught one, and I pulled in two, but Mr. Powell didn’t catch a single one.
    â€œWell, damn,” said Mr. Powell. “I must be doing something wrong or else you fellas are fishing with cheese.” Just then his line went tight.
    â€œYou’ve got one, Mr. Powell,” I said, standing up. I was excited for him. Daddy pulled me down.
    â€œLook at the size of that thing,” Mr. Powell said. Then his line snapped