Bob, or Man on Boat

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.

Fish are not dogs.

Fish don’t bark before they bite.

Fish just bite.

Fish eat.

Fish eat other fish.

Sometimes fish eat other things that these fish think are fish.

Like fingers and thumbs.

There are fish who live in this river with mouths and teeth and bites that are big enough to bite off your thumbs.

There is a man who lives in this dirty river town.

This man is a man who fishes the river.

But his name isn’t Bob.

His name is Tom.

There are some folks in town who sometimes call this Tom by Tom’s other name.

They call him Thumb.

Tom Thumb.

Thumb is not his real last name.

It is not the name that his father gave him.

The name that his father gave him is Trumbull.

Tom Trumbull.

When we in our town call out to this Tom, Tom looks up, Tom looks over, Tom raises his right hand to say, to us who are doing the calling, Hey, hello, how you doing?

There is something you should know about this Tom’s right hand.

It is missing a finger.

No, it is missing its thumb.

A fish took Tom’s thumb.

This fish bit Tom’s thumb off.

Tom stuck his thumb into this fish’s mouth.

To lift this fish up out of the river.

To take out the hook that was hooked inside this fish’s mouth.

Tom did not see, he did not realize, that this fish had teeth that you can see.

When Tom stuck his thumb into this fish’s mouth, to unhook this hook, this fish bit down hard.

When this fish bit down hard against Tom’s thumb, Tom let go of this fish.

This fish, it swam away.

Into the river.

This fish, it was a fish that got away.

This fish, it took Tom’s thumb with it in its mouth when it swam away into the river.

Tom raised up his thumb’s bloody stump.

Come back with my thumb!

You dirty rotten fish!

Tom says he actually said this.

As if this fish had ears for it to hear.

I sometimes wonder.

How do fish hear?

And this I wonder too:

What would a fish do with a thumb?

Fish don’t have hands.

Fish have fins.

Fish have lips.

Some fish have teeth.

I’ve said this.

This fish had teeth that Tom did not see.