There are other fish, too, who do leave the river waters where they are born, though these fish, when it comes time for them to die, they come back to the river where they were born to do their dying.
Bob’s father was a man born and raised right here in this dirty river town.
Bob, like Bob’s father, was born and raised right here in this dirty river town too.
Like Bob and like Bob’s father, I was born and raised right here in this dirty river town too.
Only Bob’s father’s father was the only one of us fathers who was not born and raised right here in this dirty river town too.
Bob’s father’s father was a man who came to this country from a country other than ours.
Bob’s father’s father came to this country on a boat.
This boat, it was the kind of a boat that can tip a boat like Bob’s boat over in its wake.
When, by boat, Bob’s father’s father came over to this country, this is when this Bob was given his new country’s name.
Bob.
It’s true that when Bob’s father’s father came to this country, Bob’s father’s father did not speak any English.
Some other man who did speak English gave him his name.
Bob.
When Bob’s father’s father married Bob’s father’s mother, they had a baby boy and they named this newborn boy Bob.
When Bob’s father grew up to be a man, he married a woman who would become Bob’s mother. When it came time for them to have a boy of their own, they called this boy Bob too.
This Bob is the Bob who is my father.
This Bob is the Bob who lives on a boat, on the river, and is the Bob at the center of this story.
When I was born, even though Bob did not know a thing about it, I too was named, by my mother, Bob.
Bob.
As my mother once told me, Your name’s the one thing you got from your father.
When my son was born, even before he was born, even before I knew if he was going to be a girl or a boy, I took to calling him Bob.
Hey, Bob, how we doing today? I’d say, with my lips pressed against my wife’s fish-white belly.
My wife didn’t like it one bit, the name, Bob, or the fact that I took to calling our not-yet born child Bob.
What if it’s a girl? she said.
We’ll call her Bobara, I said. Or Bobbie.
But it’s not a girl, I said.
It’s a boy.
Because I knew that it was.
It’s a Bob, I said.
I said, It’s just the way it was meant to be.
Bob.
After a while, my wife gave in.
When our son was born, my wife took one look at him and then she nodded her head.
Robert, she said.
My little Bobby, she said.
We can always call him Junior, she said.
But it’s Bob, I said, for short.
Night.
It is night.
At night, on the river, it feels to Bob like he is on a boat floating across the sky.
Sometimes at night, floating on the river like this, Bob feels like he’s a bird flying across the sky.
There are birds out here on the river who live along the river’s bank.
We call these birds river birds.
River gulls.
River ducks.
River gooses.
River swans.
These are the birds, and these are the names of the birds, who live with Bob on and along the river.
Like Bob, these river birds fish the river for fish.
Hunters who hunt these river birds, when they eat these river birds, these hunters sometimes say that these river birds taste like fish.
We are what we eat.
Bob, if Bob were a thing to be eaten, Bob too would taste like fish.
Fish in the river fish for other fish in the river.
After Bob fishes the fish out of the river, Bob eats the fish that he fishes out of the river.
Sometimes, Bob eats the fish without even first cooking up the fish.
These fish that Bob sometimes eats without first cooking these fish up, these fish that are so small that they fit in the palm of Bob’s hand, Bob eats these fish in one quick swallow.
Bob eats these littler fish, fish that fit in the palm of his hand, whole — head, tail, guts, bone.
The fish and everything that is the fish.
These fish, Bob does not cut off the heads off of these fish.
These fish, Bob does not cut off the tails off of these fish.
These fish, Bob does not gut the guts from out of these fish.
These fish that Bob eats whole and in one swallow, these fish, I can picture these fish swimming around inside Bob’s belly.
To these fish, Bob is as big a fish as a big fish can get.
To these fish, Bob is as big as a whale is big to the fish that swim in its shadow.
A whale is not a fish.
If Bob were to one day sit down and write down the story of his life, this life story of Bob’s might begin something like this:
Call me Bob.
Hey, Bob, I want to one day call out to Bob.
Bob, I am a fish.
I am a fish, Bob.
Fish me!
Fish me up.
But call out to Bob, like this, this, I never do.
Let Bob be, I believe.
Let Bob fish in peace.
Call me Bob too.
I will fish too.
I will follow Bob’s boat around the river as long as Bob’s boat with Bob on it is out on the river fishing.
I will fish and fish these dirty river waters that Bob has already fished.
I will fish the waters of the river that Bob has already fished just in case the fish that Bob is fishing for isn’t, by Bob, fished up out of the river and then fished up into Bob’s boat.
If I do fish this fish up and out of the river, I will hold this fish up and out for Bob to see.
Here, Bob, I will say.
This fish, Bob.
Bob, it’s yours.
This fish has your name on it, Bob.
Bob, this fish.
I have fished it up for you.
And what will Bob do once I give him back this fish?
Will Bob kiss this fish?
Will Bob eat it, this fish?
This fish, will Bob cut off the head of this fish?
No, no, no to all three of these.
Bob, if I know Bob, Bob will throw this fish back.
Bob will give this fish back to the river.
And the river, the river will kiss Bob back.
Bob, when Bob is thirsty for water, Bob dips his fishing hands into the river and, like this, Bob lifts the river up to his puckered-up lips.
Like this, Bob drinks.
Or, sometimes, Bob will lower his lips down to where the river is and drink the river’s water like this, without his hands, just like a fish.
Other people other than Bob, if these other people were to drink the river’s water, like this, like Bob, these other people other than Bob, they would likely get sick.
But not Bob.
When Bob drinks the river’s water, when he is done drinking it, Bob licks his lips.
Like a fish would lick.
If a fish could.
Lick.
Picture this.
All fish have mouths.
Some fish have teeth.
Some of these fish with teeth sometimes have teeth that you can’t see.
But they are there, these teeth that you sometimes can’t see.
Give me your hand.
You can feel them, these teeth.
With your fingers, you can.
Stick your thumb into these fishes’ mouths.
That sandpaper feeling that you feel — can you feel it? — this is these fishes’ teeth.
Those other fishes with teeth that you can see, these fish that have teeth you don’t need fingers to feel, do not stick your fingers or thumbs into these fishes’ mouths.