*Continued from part 1. Please read it here if you haven’t already.
I tear my eyes away from the conflict and make my way slowly to the other side of the bridge. It is deafeningly quiet, aside from the cruiser parental terrorists (whoops! I meant tourists) teaching their little ones how to fish. Can you imagine, after the hours of anguish and determination and relief at having gotten this far, attempting over and over whilst getting ripped back to sea, finally surviving this battle and likely countless others before it.
And then some child on a cruise outing dangles a flimsy line as though it were all for nothing but their entertainment. Not a fight to the death for the purpose of life but a trivial plaything to combat their short attention span. As though the only value a creature might have lies within their capacity to be hunted.
You would watch us and laugh as we plummet downward over and over again and cheer us on or heckle us through our silent struggle upward as we make it to the other side, exhausted and battered. Then just like that, pluck us out of the water, snuffing our existence in a game that was rigged to your advantage, stealing god’s thunder.
I spot a couple resting away from reach, safe for the moment. A small number compared to the raging force behind them but my heart is nevertheless elated. I throw an exuberant party of one in my head, I am on the sidelines of a marathon victory lap. I keep my camera to myself so as not to give away their position.
“Easy target!!” a few bros shout to each other across the bridge, cruisers all of them. I am filled with rage, and laugh boastfully to myself when one of their fishing lines snags on a tree branch bowing over the water and is stuck forever. An eagle soars by, and at once I am ashamed for laughing, knowing that now the tackle will surely get lodged in a friend’s unsuspecting talons. The eagle highlights another concern - there are countless other predators to fear besides these human attackers.
Revolted by the display of machismo and disregard surrounding me, I leave abruptly to hike upstream where it is quiet. I find a solemn moss covered rock to sit alone and absorb the impact. I am far beyond the waterfalls and the fishermen and cruisers. I believe I may even be too far from the salmon. Perhaps we all died before reaching this point. It is enough to not be in their presence but to just sit next to a quiet brook, being near the same water they breathe, contemplating my devotion.
I sit still and calm as floods of emotion are carried away by the current. I write and process, the thoughts hitting the blank page over and over, as I hear occasional plunks echo from beneath, some fish plopping back into water, or maybe gulping at a meal, the sound of water cascading steadily through a nearby tunnel. I stay still and write, as birds and insects and trees slowly tolerate and then warm to me. Waiting for the brief interval between morning and afternoon cruise ships to venture back out.
And then..suddenly..they arrive! Like a victorious pod marching home from war, I can see them splashing their way noisily towards me even though the stream is calm. I am their welcome party, baring no expense. They charge ahead then pause and float idly, then race forward repeatedly as though they are being chased. And I suppose they are, by exhaustion and hunger and time.
I can hear and see them splashing a quarter mile away, a force to be reckoned with. Their fins weaving ominously through the quiet current, deadlier than any shark. Here they come!
I sit on my mossy pew and worship, a cool breeze lifting my spirit, my heart is whole. Leaves flutter towards the water surface and join the parade downstream. The salmon are resting yet energetic as ever, mingling and bursting simultaneously, a huge ruckus ensues and then calms, some scuffle concluded as quickly as it started.
Someone swims up close to my rock and we regard each other peacefully.
I should have known this peace could only bring about some pirate nemesis. A child with a fishing rod, wading hungrily into the creek to wreak havoc on my joy. He walks about for an hour or so, while I delight every time he casts his line and comes up empty. We continue like this for a good portion of the day. Occasionally he comes close but senses my impatience just as I sense his innocent curiosity. It makes no difference - he is my greatest adversary today. He climbs up high above the tunnel to get a better vantage point and keeps searching for prey, like so many men and boys before him. Maybe he’ll give up and go away.
To my dismay, the salmon hop about merrily and alert him to their presence and he’s off like a shotgun. Skulking through the water towards them, a snake ready to strike. He hitches the rod and after a few attempts, an unlucky soldier bites. Now is the real fight to the death. “Let go! Let go!” I scream in my head, not certain who I am screaming at, or if it is even an option at this point. The line pulls taut and the villain reels us in slowly in triumph as we buckle and twist ferociously, kicking up waves.
We are the salmon who already won the epic battle against the elements and the fates and god, up the rocky rapids, just to fall victim to a small boy and his novelty. The end of an era to us, just a mere game to him. We were so close to our destiny. So close to the end, our one purpose and final destination. After the grueling fight, now we are tortured, laid out on the rocky surface under the sun, gasping for breath. Is this really how it ends?
He celebrates and calls to his father for praise, meanwhile his grandmother screams at him viciously to “throw it back!” He is in no hurry. What am I to him? Just some gulping creature here for his pleasure and nothing more. All of the heroic feats it took for me to get here forgotten or never learned about in the first place. He unhooks the line as I hurdle and flop, still trying to get away. He is not gentle. He holds me up meanly while his father takes a picture and my racing heart falters and slows. My gulping breaths quiet. My body stills. I am gone.
“Place him upright and throw him back in the current,” his father instructs. My ghost ears perk up, hope beyond the shipwreck. “Put ‘em back, hurry up now! Hasn’t got much longer to live.. if he even lives. Might not make it.” Why not? Oh. Because I was already tattered and dying before this murder ensued. He places me in shallow waters, right beside the current. After his hustle wading through water for hours earlier, now he hardly wants to get his feet wet. Not to save my life anyway. Only to snatch it away. Boys will be boys.
He puts me in upright but I tip over, dead, dying, deadest. The kid walks back to shore. “No put ‘em in, deeper, son! Gotta keep him upright, in the current!” After a lot of arguing, he moseys back out to me and tries again. He holds me upright under water, looking exasperated back at his father, clearly thinking my life is futile.
Slowly we start to breathe, a despondent flapping of fins despite the end. He jumps a bit in surprise and his father encourages him. He picks me up out of the water again and my heart sinks, thinking some new malicious torment has been stirred, some sick reverse concept of water boarding. He really does want to play god. But no, without hesitation I am thrown heavily into deeper waters, and all at once, the hallowness is replaced by sentience, a jolt of electricity as I surge out of his hands and into the current, swimming on my own.
Now we run, no time to process, the memory cast aside as just another trauma in the stream of many in this lifetime, many just today. Charging forward, determined, fins and tails waving happily above water in the wind. Here I go, back to my calling, an unstoppable force.
Captivating storytelling, beautiful writing.