Rats                             1,948 wds          

      I saw this while fishing with my friend on the James River. Here is what i saw:  

 Rat A found a dead catfish swollen in the heat, washed up in the shade of a grounded, rusting berge. The river is wide abd sabdy on that far shore.

   Drawn by a saucy mix of flavorful  aromas, Rat A began to scratch away at eh skin of thebloated belly.  No bllood came and Rat A knew most of the blood had drained away, or might be found in gobs or pools among the organs. Some  tasty mash might be found in the stomach and the liver is a yummy treat. 

    As Rat A crouched and clawed at the blaoated catish, Rat B approached from behind, slowly, sileltny.       Rat B was Rat A's best friend, partner, buddy, home slice and number one in plentiful food times as thesewere not.  Rat B timed its advance badly for, slithering ever closer, crouching, collecting strength in the loins to strike; at that moment Rat A opened the intestinal wall of the piscine prize and odors rich in rot flooded Rat nostrils. This olfactory feast reached Rat B's shriveled belly, the belly  grumbled, rumbled and rang. The belly spoke, 'Here i am!'  

    Rat B leaps, driven forth by a stomach surge to the aroma.

    However, the growling gut alerts Rat A. 

    Spinning, facing friend turned foe in flight, bare fangs flashing, Rat A slips aside and razors his own fangs into the throat of Rat B. They roll, entangled, Rat A ripping open the gullet as the assailant's hammering heart pumps hot blood into the A’s dry throat. 

    The taste of Rat B’s blood sends Rat A into a frenzy; ripping Rat B open to the spine, gorging on the hot fountain.

Sated in body, not mind, Rat A turns to rat tradition; with claws and jaws working in perfect coordination, tearing open the chest cavity of Rat B the victor devours the heart. The best part of a rat is the heart.

I saw all this action from a boat on the James River across the water from Turkey Island. My friend was asleep in the bow, we had been fishing for an hour or more and we drifted. No luck, the bass and catfish were asleep below.         

    The river flows so slowly there a man has time to think. On the way to the river in the truck, our boat in the back, we drank beer and smoked a joint and talked. I told my friend about getting ripped off by a squirrely guy selling tires and he said, “Maybe you and me can do some business.” I was expecting sympathy, don’t ask why. If want sympathy i guess i better find it in the dictionary between shit and syphilis. My friend often takes a hard line. Sometimes i admired that strength in him.

As the fish ignored our bait, we emptied the cooler and grew drowsy in the sun. My sleeping friend and i drifted toward the shore and rocked there in a gentle eddy.

Across the water was the grounded barge, rusty, abandoned, a broken down truck on a highway of water. As my friend slept as i watched the aforementioned contest between Rat A and Rat B. I did not wake my pal so he might  enjoy the savage scene of fang and claw. I’m sure he would have loved it. 

    After the claim jumper’s throat was ripped open and heart devoured my mind drifted away. I thought about my cousin, my poor lovable, mistreated cousin; for her a cruel world full of rats.

     I had glimpsed a particle of the eternal struggle and thought i might, of necessity, be ruthless and set things right in my  world, in my own mind if nowhere else. Yet, gazing at my friend, my co-worker, my confidant, a man i loved, i felt powerless to act.

    My opinion of and feelings for him had taken an unfortunate turn. 

    He didn't know  my thoughts and feelings for him had changed. I tried to hide them until i could decide what to do. I still had a lot of thinking to do. I guess we could say my mind and heart were ‘stressed,’ and i was, here another ten dollar word, ‘ambivalent.’

A few days ago i saw my friend in Chiota’s with his new woman, the home wrecker. He had little to say, just sat and made puppy eyes at her do i quickly left them. This huzzy had taken him away from his second wife and children, but i knew how he felt; he sought a new, free life as his wife was heavy now and made unattractive by having children. Plus, children take a lot of time and money. 

    And so he had traded one woman for another as beforre this woman, who had borne him the children, he traded my cousin for her. 

    My friend asleep in the boat (i now saw) had grown heavy, bloated in the sun and i wondered if the added weight troubled him. 

When his first wife, my cousin, married him he joined our family. That’s how it happens. My cousin was his first wife, let’s call her wife A. Then he divorced her, lured away by Wife B with whom he had three children. Wife B and the children were cast aside for yet another, a claim jumper. I didn’t catch her name and don’t care to know it. 

    Until now, i thought this was an understandable, natural role of man; to seek freedom. Then my cousin, Wife A, moved to the other side of the country. She did not want to live in the same city or state where lives a man as heartless as my friend. 

    Heartless, how so? Come on, i asked her, how bad can a guy be? you two never had any kids. Before she got on the bus she told me she wanted children and her husband forbid it, requiring her to get an abortion.  When it happened and for years after i knew nothing of this. 

    When he split with her we were on the same job and i asked him about it and he said nothing about an abortion. Why the split? He said, “I’m just not happy with your cousin anymore.” This seemed reasonable to me then and they had no children. My cousin is not perfect. Couples come and go, no matter. 

    Then my friend impregnated the next one, Wife B, and they had three children. Wife B sunk in fangs, put her religion on him and refused to  get abortions.

    This is what he did to my cousin, my family. A man i loved wronged my cousin and family. I’m divided by this pain. 

    Learning all this, i felt the need of justice, for action, but lacked the opportunity and the drive. As soon as i decided one way i switched back to the other. That’s the way people are, that’s how they do each other and it happens all the time. This was when i began to think seriously of me and death and planned or accidental changes. I say changes, you know what i mean. It was revenge. I thought this and didn’t want to admit thinking it.  

    As we drifted on the river, my friend deep in sleep in the bow of the boat, it occurred to me that if the boat capsized he would be thrown into the river and maybe he would be so surprised by suddenly being underwater he would breathe and forget how to swim. 

    Not a bad plan; we both drank a lot of beer and there were drugs involved, officer. 

    We drifted, staying pretty  much in same place, the eddy making us go around and around, the sun pressing on my neck and shoulders, the weight grew heavier. I would not hurt him to satisfy a dark, unjust purpose, if that is what moved me, but i must defend my family; family is all we have. Yes, a contrary voice said, family is family but murder is murder. Still, to see on my cousin’s face that last time, when she told me what he had required her to do, the look of a mother who lost a child that not merely died but murdered by her own hand to pleas him. This thought pushed me to seize the moment. 

Yet then i was only thinking murder, only drawing up a design. I studied the situation and shuddered; murder was possible.  

    As i observed my friend’s position, his body turned to one side, head on a seat cushion and thought he might find it easy to surface from under the capsized boat and swim away. I then noticed that the anchor (nothing more than a couple of iron window sash weights roped together) rested in the bottom of the boat directly under his head. I figured together they weighted over thirty pounds. If the light anchor chain encircled his neck as the boat rolled over he would have to manage not ony the surprise of breathing water but also anchor and chain around his neck, pulling him deeper. 

    I would have to move the chain. This would make some noise; a metal chain scraping across the aluminum hull of the boat, and this might wake him. It was a possibility, it could be done, but again, all the way back to the beginning, should i do it?

       Thinking it, seeing it happen agitated me, drilling in again, why did you do that to her, you said you loved her, why did you dump my cousin and break her heart? Then you did it to another woman! And abandodned your children.  “I’m just not happy with her.” And your happiness is more important than anyone else’s happiness, more important than a person’s life? 

     I can trade a life for a life, right? Police do it, soldiers do it, judges do it. 

I will say “I’m just not happy with you, my friend,” and dump you into oblivion, okay? He will  go to hell, that’s sure. Two wrongs don’t make a right, they say, but one right can correct a wrong.

      I stood up, too aggitated; i had to do something, to get away, to move. I prepared to step forward to see, to consider possibilities as my friend slept. I would take a rod or the handle of the net, and move the anchor chain over toward the other side so it would have a better chance of encircling his neck, if i really decided to do this. 

     On the way there, however, i stepped on and maybe broke one of the fishing rods and thought, oh shit, and not wanting to break it more, stepped back and the heel of my right foot caught the edge of the seat and i fell back, twisting to one side, falling onto the edge of the boat. I scrambled to grab the edge rolling off and this threw all my weight against the edge and the whole boat went over on top of me. 

On top of us.

Now i don’t know where my friend is. Well, i’m sure he’s still sleeping. I’m drifting down the river. I’m not sure of anything. All i did was get out from under the boat and float away. I didn’t want to look up stream, or down. I’ll spend the night soaking in the water or sleeping on a sand bank if i have to, if i ever wash up. This is what it r means to be washed up. I don’t care, i do care. Maybe i’ll just melt away, spread out and dissolve. Of course my wife will give me all kinds of hell about it. Where is my guiding hand? Who can tell me what to do?  I will never get off this river and now i don’t want to. 

End of “Rats.”

The work praises the man or woman or nonbinarian. 

                            Irish proverb, lengthened.