I'll eat my hat!

I’LL EAT MY HAT!

It was early morning, the sun was just barely over the horizon and the catfish were biting like crazy. Already the good old boys had a string of mud cats on their fish stringer and in their pail. Jeb and Bubba were perched on the old felled log beside the crick, their bait cans at their feet. Jeb’s can was filled with chicken livers while Bubba’s can contained a mess of squirming craw daddies just itchin’ to take hold of Bubba’s sausage like fingers. They had spent the entire journey to their favourite fishing hole arguing profusely about the merits of their preferred baits and who would catch the biggest fish today. Their fishing days were long and plentiful, filled with years of tradition of camaraderie, prolific arguments of epic proportions and brotherly love.

“There’s no telling how many chuckleheads we’re gonna’ catch today,” said Bubba with glee. “Why we got half a bucket of polliwogs just by noodling them with our bare hands.”

“Well Bubba, that might be because your hands are the size of shovels,” said Jeb as he reached in and baited up with a fresh piece of chicken liver. “The polliwogs don’t have a fighting chance against mitts the size of yours when you start noodlin’. The minute you put those two hands of yours in the water and start to stir up the mud on the bottom of the crick, why, like I said, the catfish are gonners.  But with the size of those mitts of yours, well, that hardly sounds fair; I mean, ya ain’t givin’ those catfish a chance to escape and that’s not exactly sportsman like, if ya catch my drift.”

“I catch your drift alright, I ain’t stupid. I got myself a college education. I might talk slow and all my words might not be regulation but I’m the only one of the family who graduated high school let alone college. And I’m just as good of a sportsman as ya. Maybe better, I can talk to the fish, I can talk ‘em right onto my line in half the time as you. Why, I’m the original catfish whisperer.” Bubba struck a pose, his one thumb tucked under his red suspender and his nose stuck high in the air.

“Says you”, guffawed Jeb loudly. “Haaa, you wish. Catfish whisperer, what a hoot.”

“Shut your pie hole Jeb,” complained Bubba his face becoming red with anger. “You’ll scare the fish away with all that caterwaulin’.”

“No I won’t,” stated Jeb calmly with determined look on his face. “Today I am gonna’ catch me a whole mess of fish. It’s gonna be a good day, I can just feel it. I worked hard this week, I deserve this break. I’ve been hankering to go fishin’ all week long. Today I’m as happy as a pig in mud and nothin’ ya can say or do is gonna change that.”

Bubba nodded his head in reluctant agreement. “I surely do know what ya mean, this week was brutal, but right now, why, I feel finer than a frog hair split four ways.”

The sun was rising and the glistened on the Spanish moss as it hung in long tendrils from the cypress trees that grew by the water as Jeb cast his rod, the line snaking out through the early morning mist. “Yeah? Catfish whisper ehy? Well if you’re such the famous Catfish Whisperer, you can just whisper the fish all back hereabouts if I get too noisy. Hey look!  I gotta strike already. I got a big one.” Jeb said as he tugged the line.

“Naaaw. I doubt it. All my catfish are twice the size of yours.” Bubba boasted proudly as he looked into the pail of swimming fish beside him.

“No seriously, look.”

Bubba looked at the line and back to where Jeb was jerking frantically on his fishing rod.

“Y’all probably just stuck on an underwater tree branch. It’s just some kinda structure. Y’all keep pulling like that Jeb and you’re gonna break your line and loose that new thingamajigger, ahh… the new hook that ya think is gonna make ya a fishing legend.”

“I ain’t gonna break my line, and I ain’t gonna lose my new hook. I’m gonna bring this Johnnie Cat home, ya just wait and see Bubba. You’re not the only one in this family who can fish ya know. Ya think y’all are the best fisherman in these here parts. This here giant Johnnie Cat is gonna be my supper tonight.”

“You’ve fouled your line for sure. If y’all have a fish on that line, then before God, I swear I’ll eat my hat.”

“Yeah, well ya will be having a dirty, sweaty baseball cap for your supper while I will be dining in style with sweet, deep fried Catfish, marinated in cornmeal and creole seasoning. Garnished with fresh lemon wedges. A touch of cilantro I think. Ummmmm. This fish is gonna be sooo big that I think I might even ask Birdie Jean to share my dinner with me”.

“Ya wouldn’t! Y’all know I was plannin’ on askin’ Birdie Jean out for dinner.”

“Why would she want have dinner with you and eat old sweaty hat when she can eat a prime deep fried catfish with me,” said Jeb the picture of angelic innocence.

“Why you dirty rotten…”

“Oh, I was just joshin’ you Bubba. Why bless your little pea pickin’ heart, Bro, you look madder than a wet hen.”

 “Hey there Jeb! Watch your line! I think it’s movin’.”

“What the…” started Jeb.

“Whatever you were hung up on has torn itself free,” stated Bubba as he stared at the churning water beneath Jeb’s line. “What is that?”

“It’s not no Johnnie Cat, that’s for sure,” said Jeb as the water started to ripple more violently.

The debris broke free of its underwater hold and floated to the surface. Jeb leapt up off the moss laden log. “Jumpin’ Jahosofat! It looks like…it looks like…”

“What in tarnations?” Bubba rose slowly to his feet, his hand going to his chest. “It’s a … might could be a body.” Bubba took a few paces forward until he was standing on the very edge of the water. “Dang it all, it’s a gall darn body”.

“What in the Sam Hill is a body doing in our fishin’ hole?” asked Jeb a look of terror on his face.

“I think the more important questions are, who is the body in our fishin’ hole?”

“How do I know? Looks like its face down.”

“It was a rhetorical question Jeb.”

“Oh, you and your fancy highfalutin way of talkin’. Always showin’ off that de ploma of yours. What are we gonna’ do now Bub?”

“I guess we better fetch it”. Bubba sighed heavily before he started to unlace his boots.

“Well I ain’t gonna fetch it. I’m just a simple down home boy, you’re the one with the fancy education, plus you’re the size of Goliath and could pull four of em back to shore easily.”

Bubba pulled off his second boot and threw it on the bank.

“Common Jeb. It’s your catch. Y’all know our rules, ya catch it, ya net it, and ya pull it in.”

“Now just hold your horses now, we don’t wanna’ be tampering with no evidence. That there is a corpse and its dead and the law wouldn’t like it.”

“Corpses usually are dead Jeb,” Bubba told him patiently. “But it’s adrift now, it’s done come unstuck. We can’t just let it drift down the river can we?”

“Are ya askin’ me or tellin’ me? In all my born days I never did see anything quite like that,” said Jeb shaking his head. “This is a right fine how de ’ya do.”

Bubba put a bare foot in the water. Jeb grabbed his arm.

“What are ya doing bro?”

“Told ya. Gonna fetch the dude before he floats away,” answered Bubba.

Jeb shook his head emphatically, “I told ya, we shouldn’t mess with the evidence.”

“You can keep telling me that till the cows come home Jeb but I am going to bring that poor soul over yonder back here to dry land. Y’all can’t think I’m just gonna leave it there, or let it float away. Don’t ya think I should fetch it back here? Y’all comin’?”

Jeb stood staring at the opposite side of the river.

“Take your own sweet time deciding Jeb?”

“Hush up. I’m trying to think.”

“Either way we are going to hell in a handbasket. We are doomed if we get it and doomed to Hades if we don’t.”

“Well colour me stupid. I know that either way we are up the crick without a paddle. Anyway ya look at it we’ve lost our day of fishin’. And we’re in for hours of questioning by the law, and y’all know that me and the law go way back.” Jeb twisted his jaw back and forth with his free hand the fishing rod still held tightly in his right hand.

“Okay! Go ahead Bubba. Go get that, that … whatever. Obviously what I say doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. You’re fixin’ to do whatever ya want anyway.”

 Bubba spread his arms wide, “Sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do. But I told ya that wasn’t no giant catfish on your line. Guess I’m not eatin’ my hat though.” He dove in the water.

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