Shih-Li Kow's new novel Part - 2 Famous story

Mr. Miller took his position on the bow and spilled his life jacket, which made him sweat. I saw that his shirt was all wet, the moist circles that began in his deodorant differed from the rest of his shirt. I was sitting in my back with a bucket and my bait. With a respectful expectation of fun, I turned from my phone. In recent years, the telecommunications signals had improved so much that we could get calls in the middle of the lake. Instead of air and sky and the purity of space beyond, we live under a new invisible wave-shelter sky that leads conversations, data transfer packages and millions of pornographic downloads. It was an unpleasant thought that reminded me of dying cells and cancer.

I welcome my phone to Ismet. He said, "I have already silenced my phone, brother."

"OK".

He hung a worm with a chicken skin tag and threw it away, slowing my heartbeat while I was in wait to settle. I loved the fishing of the meditation Stupor, which came with the expectation. There were not many things for which he declared a lasting love. Fishing was one of the few, and had now become better with time no longer a luxury. As much as, or perhaps even more affirm life, that an act of the spouse stopped when there was no tick-tack of the clock.

The silence was deep and rich bones of lonely pleasure. There were occasional cries of Howling monkeys, a flutter of a bird in the trees, a call that the cliff and the vibrations of insects, trembling and invisible. The water was green gray, clear and clean, but I could not see through the depths. It was like trying to look through the tinted glass and see that shadows and reflections.

The boat went smooth and I lost the sense of time. I sank into the family movement and I forgot to ISMT, the woman turns the sides of her book, and the man at the front turn red in the sun.

Nobody talked to me. I didn't know if Ismet or Mr. Miller caught anything. I'm dodging. Sometimes I pulled the line, changed the bait and toss it back, smooth, always so smooth with a short arm stroke and a wrist. There was a Lotus bank in bloom on the other side of the lake. The flowers were open, pink, large and extravagantly beautiful. No one is reaping the roots of lotus; They were not disturbed.

I took a plug and a little Ikan Hantu that I raised and threw back into the water. I watched Ismet. He crouches on a seat, with his sleeves raised on his shoulders, writing text messages on his cell phone with two inches. His angel stuck between the seats. Mrs. Miller had her book concealed, separated on her knees. His wide-brim straw hat protected his eyes while he slept peacefully.

"Holy crap," said Mr. Miller suddenly. His line was tense. Fought and released, rolling in a fish. I looked at it as a corset, changing its weight, shaking a little the boat. His movements were smooth and practiced.

The lake had given a great front, the biggest I had seen, the catch hooked by Cikgu tea in a fishing contest a few years ago. He still had a picture of her in her wallet. Mr. Miller shifted into a revolution and raised the bent stalk. The fish fought under the water, forcing the tug, but we could not see it yet.

Miller said: "He's a monster, boys." Very big.

Ismet stopped to see. Mrs. Miller took her camera out and take pictures. Miller stepped on the step at the front and stepped back.

"Honey..." Mrs. Miller. Before I finished, I was in the water with a scream. Ismet hurried forward, ready to overthrow. We saw the surface of Mr. Miller, hovering in the water, waving and smiling. His glasses were still on his face. Ismet threw the report and we all began to laugh, even Mrs. Miller.

Mr. Miller called water, "sorry guys, I lost the line and the fish." Isn't that something to say to people home?

We laughed until we saw a wave in the water to travel to Mr. Miller.

"Go away," cried Ismet.

 

Fear caught me, my instinct. Ismet Bent and held an arm. "Quick, quick," he cried. Miller swam his head on the water. It was two shots of the boat, a ridiculous smile splitting his face. I couldn't see what was under the wave, but it was fast, heading right for people like a tracking rocket. I looked around for something, everything to throw at the thing that came. There was nothing in his hand except the book of Mrs. Miller and the shoes that slipped from her feet.

"Quick!" cried Ismet. The high fish, exposing a long snout in an incredibly long body. "Get Outta Here!"

Miller yelled, his finger still on the shutter button of the camera. Mr. Miller greeted him with an arm, always smiling. A white look at his face replaced his teeth smile as he was resurrected from the water, raised by the snout between his legs. I threw the book into the fish, but could not tell if it met me at all. I threw the shoe and plunged into his body. Mr. Miller's poor vertebrae and fall back. The disturbing water, the long body of the fish snake a curve that stirred the water in moss and Rose.

The water was closed to him and never returned to the surface.

Peggy Miller shouted again, this time a horrible sound, many layers that have remained with me for years. We saw the water from our rocking boat, but there was nothing but a growing silence, as the water soothed. The red spots hover, mark the place where he descends like a tombstone. I heard my heart beat in my ears and later their slowdown brought a sense of shame. I was afraid, but fear was selfish, a fear for me that the boat was toppled, and my body joined Mr. Miller, and my destiny tied to it with the creature in the water. I had responded by preserving myself; I had no memory of the intention of Saving Mr. Miller. I just wanted to stop coming to the monster to talk to me. My relief of being on the boat, unscathed, was marred by the discomfort of guilt. I could have jumped to save him from the fish, but I didn't.

Something like the rain fell. The rain that seemed to rise from the lake to the water of heaven.

Miller's been under sedative for two days. My condolences and the offer of aid fell into the stunned ears. She asked to leave the big house. The old furniture, he said, was celebrated death in them. She moved to one of Hemingway's rooms and her daughter flew to take her home.

ASP-Sevaraja, which had a well-trained nose for gossip, like a wine sommelier, told us that Mr. Miller had three wives before Peggy. The legend of the fourth wife Lake has gained a new life. Every man who was married four times and dared to defy the water would test the hatred of the lady of the Lake; He, after Mr. Miller, who had developed an appetite for male meat. The Chinese princess had become a dragon fish.

"But don't worry, Auyong." She's not married yet, huh? ASP-Sevaraja joke.

"Everyone will stop fishing for a few months." There is human flesh in the ecosystem. Do the Navy divers move? I didn't tell him he could return to the lake.

"No one goes there." Let's try to excavate the ground, but it could be too deep. He showed me the pictures of Peggy Miller's camera. Tim Miller had a glimpse of amazement on his face as if a rogue had poured ice water on him. The Serpentine fish was silver grey.

ASP Sevaraja said, "We sent the photos to the wildlife Department to identify the species." They think it's an imported fish.

"Will you try to catch it?" Asked.

"For what?" Make it famous as the monster of Loch Ness. We always love to be famous for stupid things, huh? "Anyway," said ASP-Sevaraja, "I have enough to do catch two-legged monsters."

I didn't tell him the fish had a face I knew. He knew me too. I saw how he looked at me when I threw the book. It was the fish that Benoit had released during the flooding two years ago. I didn't tell Benoit, either. Somehow, a silly balance told me to protect them from guilt, it was for mine to atone. I thought he would feel guilty, and my redemption is based on this hypothesis, but the balance worked. All I needed was to keep him at that pivot point for a year or two, maybe three, and it would fade from memory. He always did.