King Whisker's Blessings

King Whisker’s Blessings

By Karen Ciesielski-Motta

Big Little glanced at Little Big and laughed. His deep baritone voice carried his laugh out across the water of the pond. Though his old eyes were dimmed of sight they crinkled in delight at the small child looking up at him from his seat in the small fishing skiff. Little Big grinned back with the toothless charm of every seven year old. Their smiles were matched, each missing the same teeth. Like looking in a mirror of time, each reflected a past, present and future image of the other. As they sat in the ancient skiff, facing each other, they and their matching bamboo poles, lines and bobbers were silhouetted in the early evening light.

“Come on fishy, fishy!

Come onto my hook

Come on fishy, fishy!

Come take a look”

Sang the child in his high sweet voice.

Then the grandfather joined in:

“Come on, King Whiskers!

You the one we feed

Come on King Whiskers!

You the one we need”

Back and forth the magical beckoning chants called to the legendary catfish of the pond.

“Tell me the story again, Grandpa, about how you first met King Whiskers, " the child pleaded.

“Oh boy! I done tol’ you that tale ten times or more! You wants to hear it again?, the grandfather asked with feigned reproach and secret delight.

“Yeah!Yeah! Tell me how you caught him and he got away!”

The sun was sinking in the west. Vivid red and orange clouds floated along the horizon promising good weather in the morning as the old saying promised- red sky at night, sailor’s delight. The fishing ritual to try and catch King Whiskers always commenced at dusk as the day’s heat lessened and the cool breezes coaxed out the night creatures for their suppers. The boy and his grandfather had only this last evening to try and catch the elusive catfish before the summer visit ended and Little Big had to go home.

“Killdee! Killdee! The Killdeer bird was calling its warning cry as a nearby owl hooted itself awake in the tall Cypress tree that stood on the pond’s edge.

Big Little opened the cooler stowed behind him in the stern that contained their supper and handed Little a sandwich. He took out an ice-cold root beer soda for each of them as well. As supper commenced and the bobbers gently floated on the surface of the shimmering dark water ready to make their silent call of a catch, Big began the story of King Whiskers.:

“Now, I was a younger man when I first met the King. I could first see him as a littl’un swimming around the muddy bottom with his Daddy. Once he and his numerous brothers and sisters grew to the size of my pinky finger their Daddy disappeared. From then on they was on they own and all a them went to hiding and looking for food in the muck and mud of the dark water.”

“So you couldn’t see him anymore?”Little wondered aloud. “How did you recognize him?he asked.

“I knew it was him because he had a little flaw- he was born with it, you see. Even when I would watch the kittyfish swimmin’ with their daddy, I noticed King Whiskers right off! You see he has extra whiskers. Catfish suppos’d to have eight whiskers- but he has extra on his face. ‘Stead of eight- he has ten. That’s how I knowed him when we met at that time. It was six years ago now. You was still too little for a fishing trip to the pond. I was out in the skiff just about where we’s at now. The sun was saying goodnight and I was dozin’ off to the hum and buzz of the night fliers. All of a second my line jerked! I nearly lost my pole from the tug on it. I wrestled with that fish and was looking forward to him in my fryin’ pan that dinnertime, once I got him in the boat. With a grunt and a growl (I swear he growled!) that catfish flopped on board and he kept flopping and flipping to beat the band! Then, all of a sudden he stopped and lay still as a possum playing dead. He was on his side and his beady little eye was peering at me in, what I could only imagine, was anger and surprise. I was noticing, as I was peering back at him, that fish I knew! It was the one and same hatchling I had spotted with his ten whiskers growing outta his cheeks like a banner of his majesty! Wheeehew! I whistled- I caught you King Whiskers! His mouth was opening and closing as he gasped for the water he needed to pass through his gills. Then, I heard it again- the growl and attached to it came the words, ‘Free me!’ He croaked it again and again, ‘Free me! Free me and see!’”

“Free you and see what?, I demanded. All’s I see is my dinner and dinner is you!”, I retorted.

‘Free me! And see what mercy will bring you’, he managed to whisper. His eye grew dull and his mouth began to close shut. His breathing days were about over.

“Well, I was curious of what he had to offer- so I picked him up by the line with the hook still in his lip and lowered him back into the water to swim and breathe as he needed to.

After a few minutes I pulled him out again and heard that angry growl and saw his whiskers twitchin’ at the fearful state he was in. He lay on his side just eyeballin’ me, only this time a lonely tear fell from it.

‘Free me and you shall see’, began his plea again.

By then the sun had sunk down to bed and the moon’s bright face was up and shining. There was a noisy ruckus goin’ on- like ever’ creature around us was talkin’ and bettin’ on how that scene would play out. The crickets was chirpin’, the bullfrogs was bellowin’ and the mocking birds was singing their song of many verses.

Another sad tear dropped from King’s eye. His life was in my hands and at the mercy of my appetites.

‘Free me!’, he begged,’and your mercy shall be rewarded’, he promised.

So, thinking back to when I first saw him and the mighty impression he made on me with his singularity, I felt a softenin’ in my heart towards him. The night air must’ve been full of magic because it betwitched me to cut the line and toss him back in. I left the piercing hook as a jewel and a reminder of my mercy- lest he forget his promise.

“What did he reward you with, Grampa?”, the child prodded the storyteller on. His favorite part of the story, the end, always had a different ending, a new blessing.

Big Little thought and scratched his bristled chin with a bony finger, took a swig of his root beer, sighed contentedly and replied:

“ He gave me you, Little Big! He gave me a grandchild that loves fishin’ as much as I do!”

In another version, it was the pond they were on that always provided fish, crawfish, turtles and frogs a plenty. The family never felt the pangs of hunger. Or the grandfather told of how the old tin can found when the plow dug it up, one Spring plowing, was full of Confederate silver coins that were of enough value to put a new tin roof on the old farmhouse. Each time they fished together the story was told and a new blessing was revealed by the merciful act of Big Little and the grace given to King Whiskers.

Little Big’s eyes shone black and bright in the moonlight as they rowed back toward the shore. Their last adventure fishing was completed. Though the big fish was never caught again, the blessing of mercy shown was always the best part of summer’s end for the child. The grandfather smiled to himself as he tied the skiff to the dilapidated little dock. He asked King Whiskers for one more blessing: That he would be allowed to be around for more fishing trips next summer.

Under the bright moon in the murky water swam, nearby, a very grateful and noble catfish with a shining hook in his lip.