Abbeville (28 page)

Rob stood next to me.

“I hope I didn't hurt you,” Rob said. “They teach you that you have to be pretty physical to overcome a person's panic.”

“You saved my life,” I said.

“I guess I did, didn't I,” said Rob.

I dragged my boots toward shore. They grew heavier and heavier the more my body came out of the water.

“Let's get up on the bank and pour those waders out,” said Johnny, who had finally reached us. “Hell, there might even be some fish in them.”

“First take this one,” said Rob.

He handed me my rod, and on the end of the line another miracle. The fish was still there.

“That's some pretty fine work there, son, saving the man, the rod, and the fish,” said Johnny.

The trout was as exhausted as I was and succumbed easily. When it was close to shore, Johnny seized it by the tail and lifted it out of the water. It was a behemoth.

“That's one fat brown trout,” he said. “I'd say twenty-four inches easy.”

As Johnny revived the fish, I got up on the bank, took down the suspenders of my waders, and pulled the Gore-Tex away from the wet denim of my jeans.

“You really showed me something today, young man,” Johnny said to Rob.

“First time for everything, I guess,” said Rob.

He was on the bank now with me.

“In my boat,” said Johnny, “keeping somebody afloat is about the best thing a person can do.”

As I climbed out of my waders, Johnny sat talking to Rob. Across the river two great pines towered above all the rest.

“Look at the eagles,” Johnny said, pointing into the cloudless sky where a pair of them glided like passing jets.

I watched as one great bird came closer and closer, then landed in the nearer of the trees. The branches shuddered. Then the other eagle found the second tower.

“That's a sight you don't see in the city,” Johnny said.

The breeze was cool on my wet clothes, but the sun warmed me. I looked down at a line of bubbles in the river, the current bearing them ceaselessly onward, bits of nature's passing foam.