Anyway, without any provocation at all Luciada held out a small shinny white strip of freshly cut fish belly. “Aquí esta tu carnada Mateo,” she said not so fluently, handing me the small ribbon of flesh. It caught me off guard for a second. I had not spoken, much less thought, about fishing for some time now, and here is Lucianda handing me precious bait. I usually have a hard time picking up on subtle hints. But this was not one of them. It was more than obvious what she wanted me to do with that bait.
“Here’s your lure, now go out and catch some fish if you want breakfast,” I saw her saying with that outstretched piece of fish flesh. And even with my empty stomach, I sat there and considered the proposition for a second or two. I was really enjoying my music up until this point; kind of like being woken from one of those heavy sleeps where you don’t want to get out of bed or even roll over. But I got up, reluctantly, and a little angry at the interruption, and grabbed that slimy smelly strip of fish belly with one hand and put my guitar away with the other; making certain not to get my guitar dirty.
I hadn’t been fishing for a few weeks and this was actually on purpose. I was tired of cast after cast with nothing on the reel in. Although the small piece of real meat was far superior to the usual narrow piece of frayed white cloth from the bottom of my t-shirts, I was still doubtful. And I in fact went over two hours without the slightest indication that fish actually still lived in water. Right around 10 I gave in to the empty feeling in my belly and put my pride aside to call it quits after one more cast.
Not really even paying much attention to the somehow still shiny piece of meat, I felt something trying to pull the rod from my hands. I gave a look, to make sure it was indeed a real live fish and not some mean combination of seaweed and current. As soon as I saw some commotion down there at the end of my line I started pulling and reeling about as subtly as my host mom told me to go fishing. And about 5 seconds later it was over, my line floated up to the surface with no hook on the end.
“Damn it!” I probably said out loud. Had I still had my hook, this excitement would have given me at least another hour of hopeful fishing. I even looked down to my body for more bait, but dressed in only a green pair of shorts and some dark colored boxers, I had no other options. Nothing to tempt this guy, even if he would consider swallowing another hook. So I slung my rod and reel back in the canoe and was forced home. If only to rub my luck in my face, I passed by at arms length a ginormous fish sitting next to a fallen log. I cussed that guy a few times too I think.
Once home, I threw my pole up into the house, and prepared myself to explain what just happened. Having somehow managed to get it all out, my host mom reminded me, “ahh, Mateo, tu iba a comer mmuuuucho pescado hoy,” (Mateo, you were going to eat a LOT of fish today) as if I was the one wanting fish to begin with. She proceeded to hand me my consolation breakfast of white rice and a meager piece of fried chicken. I ate it, a little disgruntled at her for making me go in the first place.
This is what I could have been eating.......
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