by Peter Markus
Be alive.
Be like Bob.
Be a fish.
Fish on.
Live fish.
Live to fish.
Bob lives.
In a boat.
On a river.
A man.
A fish.
Bob.
There’s only one fisherman who fishes this river who is known by the name of Bob.
That Bob is Bob.
Our Bob.
My Bob.
The Bob who is my father.
My name is Bob too.
You know this.
I’ve told you this.
But I am better known, to those who know this river, to those who fish this river, by the name Bobber.
A bobber is what some fisherpeople use so they can see when a fish is biting on the other end of your line.
The end of the line where the hook is.
The end of the line where the bait is.
The end of the line that, when you look down into the water, this is the end that you can’t see.
When you look down into the river, you can’t see bottom.
Only the fish in the river know what the river’s bottom looks like.
Bob likes it like that.
Bob likes to imagine what bottom looks like.
Bob likes to close his eyes.
When Bob closes his eyes, when Bob imagines the river’s bottom, what Bob sees is the belly of a fish.
A fish that is bigger than the river is.
A fish that is bigger than the sky is.
A fish that is waiting, one of these days, to rise up to the river’s top.
This is the fish.
This is the fish that Bob is fishing for.
This fish.
It lives on the river’s bottom.
This fish.
It is the river bottom.
Bob fishes with his hands.
With his hands, Bob feels for his fish.
Bob feels for the river.
In Bob’s head, Bob reaches down and drags his hand down along the bottom of the river.
When Bob fishes, Bob does not look up.
When Bob fishes, Bob fishes looking down into the darkness of the river.
Bob, even when Bob’s eyes are closed, or when he is looking down into the river’s dark, Bob can still see the stars.
A bobber Bob does not fish with.
It’s true that a bobber can help you see that a fish is on the other end of the line biting.
That a bobber bobbing up and down lets you know that there is a fish down by your hook nibbling at your bait.
Bob doesn’t need the help of a bobber.
Bob doesn’t want any help.
It’s also true—and Bob is not alone in believing this—that a bobber can get in the way.
Some fishing men, like Bob, they believe that the fish can see the bobber.
When you fish, you want to be like the river’s bottom.
Like a fish down at the river’s bottom.
To be a fish in the river.
That’s what Bob wants.
To be a fish and not to be seen.
See Bob fish.
Bob’s right hand moving up and down, up and down.
This is Bob’s hand moving Bob’s bait.
Bob’s bait moves up and down along the river’s bottom.
The river’s bottom is where Bob believes that Bob’s fish is living.
If Bob believes that Bob’s fish is down there along the river’s bottom, then Bob’s fish is down there, down along the river’s bottom.
In the river Bob believes.
The other fish in the river keep getting in Bob’s way.
The other fish keep getting in between Bob and this fish that Bob is fishing for.
Bob does not want to fish up from the river these other river fish.
Bob is not fishing the river to fish for these other kinds of fish.
These other fish, when Bob fishes them up from out of the river, Bob keeps them, these fish, Bob does not throw these fish back, because he knows that he can sell them.
If Bob threw these other fish back into the river, then these other fish would still be in the way, they’d still get in between Bob and that fish that Bob is fishing for.
To this fish, Bob is faithful.
If this fish were Bob’s wife, Bob would be called a good husband.
Bob would be a good catch.
And if this fish were Bob’s son, Bob would be considered a good father.
As it is, Bob is, to his fish, a good fisherman.
A good fish man.
A good fishing man.
Know this:
When you catch a big fish, what you say when you fish this big fish into the boat is, you say:
This fish is a good fish.
A keeper is what you call this fish.
But smaller fish are good fish too.
These smaller fish, these fish we call good eaters.
These not-so-big fish fry up in a pan real good.
Out on the river, it is always good.
Even when the fishing’s not so good, out on the river, the river is always good.
Good is a good word to use when you’re out on the river.
When you’re talking about a fish.
Know this too.
There is no such fish as a bad fish.
All fish are always good.
But a boat.
A boat is not a fish.
There are good boats and there are bad boats.
Bob’s boat is a good boat because it is a boat that floats.
It is a boat that holds Bob up.
But there are some boats that leak.
There are some boats that take on water.
There are some boats that, down to the river bottom, these boats sometimes sink.
Like stones that disappear down and down into the river’s dark.
There are some riverfolks who know Bob who say about Bob that what Bob is looking for is a stone that floats.
A fish that doesn’t exist.
Or maybe what Bob is looking for is this:
A fish that walks on water.
What I say to this, what I say about Bob, is this:
Bob is Bob, I say.
I also say this: that in Bob’s eyes, in Bob’s heart, there is a fish that is more than just a fish.
There is no such fish that is just a fish.
Every fish is a beautiful fish.
Every thing that is beautiful in this world is a fish.
The moon is a fish.
The river is a fish.
The stars in the sky.
The stones in the river.
The mud on the river’s bank.
Fish.
Fish.
Fish.
Starfish.
Stonefish.
Mudfish.
Bobfish.
This is the fish in the river—this is the fish in the world—that I am fishing for.
Question for Bob:
Why a fish?
Answer from Bob:
Why not a fish?
To fish.
A fish.
It is as simple as this.
There is no other way for me to say this.
It happens again.
Bob is gone.
Bob is gone again.
Bob is gone fishing is what you must be thinking.
So what?
What’s the big deal?
I’ll tell you what the big deal is.
The big deal is this:
Not only is Bob gone.
But Bob’s boat is gone now too.
Bob’s boat is gone and Bob’s boat, it hasn’t come back.
This is not like Bob.
This is not like Bob’s boat.
It’s true, Bob likes to go out in his boat fishing all night long, but Bob likes to be back in by morning.
The morning has come and gone and it has come and gone again twice sinc
e Bob has been gone out fishing for his fished-for fish.
I’ve gone looking, all up and down this river, the past two days, looking for Bob.
I’ve gone looking for Bob out into the lake.
I’ve asked about Bob all around the river.
I’ve asked about Bob all around the lake.
I’ve asked the captains of ships.
I’ve asked the three keepers of the lighthouse.
Have any of you seen Bob?
All heads shake no.
No, no one has seen the likes of Bob since three days before today.
Today is Sunday.
On Sundays, the river is always thick with boats.
Some of these boats are boats out on the river fishing for fish.
Others of these boats are not on the river fishing for fish.
These other boats out on the river are just out on the river being just boats.
There are people in this world who like to ride up and down on the river on their boats.
These people like the river just because the river is a river.
It doesn’t matter to people like this that there are fish living in the river.
These people who like to ride up and down on the river in their boats, most of these folks don’t know about Bob.
To these people, Bob is just another fishing man, Bob is just another fishing boat fishing on the river.
These folks don’t know the Bob that we know.
Did you know this about the river?
There are places on this river, on days like today, when you can walk across the river jumping from boat to boat.
This kind of a river is, in Bob’s eyes, a river not worth pissing his piss in.
This is my river, Bob sometimes wanted to yell this out to these boats.
Go find yourselves some other river to fish or not to fish.
On days like this, Bob would sit in his boat and Bob would wish they would all just go away.
By Sunday night, Bob’s wish, it would be answered.
These other boats bogging up Bob’s river would all go back to where they came.
And the river, that river that Bob loved best, the river with Bob’s boat fishing on it, like a good dog, this river, as day turned to night, this river would come right back.
Every boat on this river that knows about this river knows who I am speaking about when I ask about Bob.
There is only one Bob on this river.
There is only one boat on this river that is the boat that is Bob’s.
There is only one boat on this river that is the boat that is Bob.
Bob is what makes Bob’s boat what Bob’s boat is.
I’ve seen other boats that look like Bob’s, but I haven’t seen the boat that is Bob.
You know Bob? I say.
I say, I’m looking for Bob, I say.
Nope, nope, we haven’t seen him, they say.
We saw him head out on the river last week, say a few others.
We used to see him out here on his boat every day, say some others still.
Check the lake, they say.
They look out past the lighthouse.
They look out towards the lake.
They say, That’s where the big fish are.
Where the big fish are, they tell me, that’s where Bob might have gone out fishing.
Yes, I say, I know, but the lake is big.
Looking for Bob out on the lake would be like Bob looking for the fish that Bob has been looking for.
These folks nod their boat-bobbing heads, yes, that’s true.
We don’t know what else to say.
The moon at night goes from halfway to whole.
It gets a little bit darker every day.
In the mornings, the sun rises.
At night, the sun sets.
But Bob is still gone.
Gone where is what I want to know.
Gone fishing is all I know.
So go fish, I tell myself.
Go fish, Bob.
Go fish Bob, Bobber.
It is the river that tells me this.
Bob is a fish, it whispers.
Bob is a fish.
When you fish for fish, you do not see the fish you are fishing for until you fish the fish up and out of the river.
But still, even though you cannot see the fish, you know that the fish are there.
You believe this.
Somewhere.
In the river.
Under the river.
The fish are there.
A fish is near.
So I believe.
I believe that Bob is here.
Bob is there.
Somewhere.
On the river.
In a boat.
There lives a man.
There fishes a man.
Bob.
Even though I do not see Bob.
I know that Bob is here.
I keep on fishing.
Go fish.
To fish.
To fish the fish that is more than a fish.
We fish.
We are fishing.
We fished.
We kept on fishing.
We fished until there was nothing left to fish.
Once upon a time there was a river.
Once upon a time there was a fish.
Once upon a time there lived a man.
Once upon a time there lived a fish.
The man who lights the lighthouse light tells me that he dreamt a dream last night about Bob.
What was the dream about? I ask.
In my dream, the lighthouse man says, Bob was a fish.
Bob was walking across the water.
He was heading out towards the lake.
So I go out onto the lake.
I don’t stop until I cross into the waters of Ohio.
When I cross into the waters of Ohio, I come across two boys fishing a river called the Maumee.
I ask these two boys if they happened to come across a man who looked like he might be named Bob.
They ask me have I checked the mud.
The mud? I say.
I say, What would a man named Bob be doing there?
The mud, one boy says, is where the river ends.
Mud, the other boy says, is where something other than water begins.
I nod my head.
Then I give these two boys a look.
These two boys look like boys but what they are, I can see, is they are more than just boys.
These boys, they are brothers.
There is, I know, a difference.
I take back that look.
I turn back towards the lake.
Good luck, the one brother says.
Then the other brother spits.
He spits into the river.
He spits into the river for luck.
I’ll take whatever good luck I can get.
The lake is big.
On the lake, after Ohio, comes New York.
Below New York, on the lake, is Pennsylvania.
Bob could be anywhere or he could be nowhere in between.
I go in my boat back to where my looking for Bob began.
I head back to where Bob is a man who lives in a boat on a river.
On a river, in a boat, fished a man.
Call us Bob.
It rains.
It rained.
It is raining.
Rain, and then more rain.
When it rains, it rains a river.
In the rain, the river becomes more than a river.
The river, in the rain, becomes a lake.
In the rain, on the lake, it is hard for me to see.
In the sky there is a star that sailors use to find which way is north.
I don’t know which star is which.
I do not know which way is north or which way is south.
I get lost.
I end up running out of gas.
I drift until night turns to day.
There are more stars than there are heartbeats.
I tell myself, This is what heaven must be like.
I don’t know why I think this but I do.
That night, in the rain, with my boat drifting on an easterly drift, I drift off to sleep.
I dream about Bob.
In this dream, Bob pulls up to my boat in his boat.
Bob tells me to come aboard.
I do as Bob says.
When I come aboard Bob’s boat, Bob’s boat, it starts to sink.
We are up to our knees sinking.
Bob, I say to Bob.
Abandon ship.
I do as I say.
I swim over to where my boat is.
My boat, it is a boat that is not sinking.
I climb up into my boat.
Over here, I say to Bob.
I throw Bob a rope.
In my hands, the rope turns to light.
Bob lets the rope go past him.
Then Bob waves and walks away.
Across the river, Bob walks.
On top of the water, I watch Bob walk.
Like this, Bob is walking.
Back to the other side.
Bob walks and he walks and he keeps on walking.
Bob keeps on walking until Bob is nothing but a sound.
Bob is nothing but the sound that the river sometimes makes when a stone is skipped across it.
I go home because I don’t know where else to go.
I haven’t been home in days, in nights.
I’ve been out on the river, these days and nights, looking for Bob.
I tell this to my son who asks me where have I been.
My son says he thought his daddy was dead.
He says that his mother told him that the river took Daddy away.
Just like the river took Bob, I say, to myself.
I’m not gone, I say so to my son.
I say, Daddy’s right here.
Don’t go back on the river, my boy says to me then.
I tell my boy I won’t.
This, I can tell you, is a lie.
In the morning, first thing, I go out on the river.
I go out looking for Bob.
Let me tell you too.
This is a fish story that does not end.
This is the story of Bob.
Remember his hands.
His knuckles are rivers.
The skin on his hands, fish-scale covered, it looks like they’ve been dipped in stars.