The window was open and the sharp morning air drifted into the room, having a nausea effect on me. The dew had settled on the fields like a veil of silken thread and the sun reflected its light in the silken mirror. The birds sang loudly and harmoniously and their song entwined with the snoring of Grandfather, dominating all sounds of human subsistence. Hundreds of flies flittered in the light, gliding along the thin film of dew. The dogs lay asleep on their sides.
I dressed quickly, hurried out and grabbed a fishing rod. If the dogs woke everybody, they would be aware of my plan and they would laugh at me. I hated them when they laughed.
The fields were damp and slippery, as I rushed down to the river. A sequence of footprints were imprinted on the ground where I stopped, down a winding path around the fairy fort. It was said that bad luck would fall upon the person who entered it. I didn't believe it, but as I was never a gambler, I didn't want to take the chance.
There were a few fishermen on the bank, when I reached the river, silently waiting for a good catch. The water was calm, flowing swiftly under the trees. I sat down and put the worm on the hook. Its slimy coat slipped through my hands into the water. They had said that I was too young, but I would show them. I cast the line and the water splashed as the hook hit it.
I stared at the line, as the water carried it swiftly down the river. My Uncle had always put the fishing rod on a stick. But I held it myself. I wondered if the fish would understand what I was doing. Maybe they would help me. Everytime a salmon leaped into the air, I wanted to grab its slimy flesh, but I could not. I would show them that I could fish. There would be plenty of fish for tea and then they would believe me. Yet I still was waiting, like a soldier waiting to kill.
As I pulled the line in, I felt a jerk and the small head of a fish appeared on the surface of the water. He didn't put up a big struggle, but peacefully resigned himself to death. I had succeeded and now they would believe me. My Uncle had always put the fish on a stick, so I copied him.
The sun had risen fully now and soon they would be getting up. I hurried. The sky was clean and pure, as I rushed through the damp fields. I gave the dogs a bone, so that they wouldn't wake the others. They grabbed it savagely, as if hesitant to accept my payment.
My Grandfather was still snoring, when I arrived back in the room. I put the fish on the table. They would all see it when they woke. They would believe me. I crept into bed. The house was still silent and now the snoring of my Grandfather seemed louder than the song of the birds. The air was fresh and clean, purifying the atmosphere to celebrate my success.
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