When down the stream there loomed the second (and also last) bridge in the Zona, I decided not to go any farther but try my luck at the sharp bend of the current under the precipitous drop-off in the bank. And right there happened that after what folks go fishing at all. The float did not twitch or flinch but went under the surface deep and slowly. I pulled back and the vibrating pole in my hands responded with the strangely unyielding resistance. No fish jumped from the water wiggling in its flight over the air. I had to pull the tight line all the way closer and closer and finally drag it onto the dry land… The fish twisted and arched and beat the sand, scaring me by its might and size, never had I seen the like of that dark blue piece of alive thick hose.
I threw the “miserables” back to the river, filled the can with water, and lowered the pray into it but the fish had to stand there upright—its length did not allow for tumbling in the can. 2 boys came from the bridge, they had already finished fishing and were on their way home. They asked me about the catch and I showed them the fish. “Burbot!” without a sec of hesitation identified one of them.
When they left, I realized that I couldn’t catch anything better, that it was time to cut the line and go home… I walked ascending the Gorka and the glory ran before me—a couple of boys jogged for a couple of hundred meters to meet before the Block. They wanted to take a look at The Burbot. And when I was already nearing our house, an unfamiliar auntie from the corner building stopped me on the walk to ask if that was true.
She peeped into the can at the round muzzle of The Burbot turned asleep by that time, and asked me to give it to her. I immediately handed the milk-can over and waited while she carried the fish to her home and brought the can back, because it’s only right to do what you’re told by grow-ups….
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In those years, a year was much longer than nowadays and it was packed with bigger number of memorable events. For instance, in the same summer with The Burbot my sister, and brother, and I went to the pioneer camp, though we were not young pioneers yet.
One sunny morning the children from our Block, and from the twin one, and the Lowlander-children from the wooden houses by the foot of the Gorka upland collected at the House of Officers where two buses and two trucks with canvas tops were waiting for us. Parents gave their respective children suitcases with clothes, and bags full of sweets and other tasty things, and waved after the departing convoy.