“Boy, what you straining with?”
“Don’t know, pa. It’s fighting me, though. It’s fighting me.”
“Look at that pole bend. Ease up a bit, boy. Give it some slack. See? Your pole’s not twitching. Whatever it is, it’s not fighting you, it’s dragging. Maybe something crawling on the bottom.”
“But it’s coming, pa.”
“Want me to take her for a spell?”
“I’d like that, pa.”
“Give it some slack before we switch poles. Something that heavy, you got to work slow, might have to get upstream of it to pull it in without snapping the line.”
“Look, pa. There it is. I see it.”
“Damn thing’s in the glare of the sun. What is it? Can you see? Feels like some bottom grass. Pity if we can’t loose the line.”
“It’s a man, pa. A black man.”
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