THE HIPPOPOTAMUS IN THE RAIN

By 11:00 o’clock, the fog had lifted clear and the sun was beating hard over our heads. It was hotter than a skillet out under the sun. The bugs were out. There were loads of mosquitoes pricking away at us. I had stopped fishing because of that and had decided to throw rocks around instead. Paul was patiently waiting for his big catch. We had a full bucket of catfish and I was playing at the other end of the dirt road throwing stones and sticks in the water. When Paul finally realized he wouldn’t be catching anymore fish, he quit fishing and walked up from the edge of the creek and started to put our fishing gear away in the tackle box.

—I’m ready to go, Robert!

—I’m coming!

I picked up a few more stones to throw into the creek. Paul had hooked the bucket over his handlebars. The sun was beaming like crazy and its light was sparking off his handlebars as he straddled over his bicycle waiting for me:

—Hurry up! We’re going to be late.

I ran to the fishing hole, got on my bike and sped off toward home.

—Wait for me! he yelled. Wait for me!

I slowed down and looked behind. Paul’s bucket was spewing water from side to side and the tackle box was rattling against his front forks. He managed to steer his bicycle straight after a few wobbling efforts and we were off.

Just down the road, past Scherzinger’s farm, I saw Starvin Marvin come out of the bush right ahead of me. He had a pellet gun in one hand and a dead robin in the other. He didn’t notice us at first. When he did, he came to a complete halt. He was standing in the middle of the road.

—Stop! he yelled at us.

So we did. Paul’s bike came to a full stop right next to mine. Starvin Marvin had cuts on his forearms and dirt on his face. Surely he had spent the better part of the morning prowling in the woods for squirrel tails and that bird he was holding. His hair was a mess and his pants had holes at the knees.

—What you guys doing at the creek?

—Fishing, Paul answered. We were fishing for catfish.

Marvin was sizing us up. His eyes glared at Paul. The look on his face had nothing nice about it. Shucks, I thought for an instant that he was going to try something brainless. He looked like the sort of character who could run after you with an electric staple gun or something like that or an electric nail gun or something like that. Not a freaking thing to kill you with but just to shake the crap out of you. He was the sort of individual who takes pleasure in ripping your skin off and throwing some rubbing alcohol all over you. That’s what Starvin Marvin was about. I knew that from the very first day I had seen him there at the Silver Cliffs River.