This story placed second in LEEF's inaugural writing session. The Racist was lauded for his wistful construction of the prose in this story.
La Grande Envie
by The Racist
Judged by Norplant Rodriguez
Jacques Dodu’s boat left faint ripples in its wake, like tiny bread crumbs that would be there for a moment and then sink down into the water, betraying the old fisherman if he decided to turn back. He had no intentions of turning back. The windows in Brest were beginning to glow their usual warm yellow, and while no one saw him guide his boat away from the shore and paddle it into the blackness of the forest, Dodu felt a tickle on his back, as if something had swiped at him, or was perhaps still swiping at him, and he only just fled their reach.
A mile or so into the night Dodu rowed his boat over into the reeds and lily pads and slowed La Grande Envie to a stop. The water was not deep, and while the fisherman navigated the silhouettes around him purely by touch, it did not take him long to find what he was looking for. Out of the inky water Dodu pulled a twisted and rocky oyster and placed it at his feet. He fetched three more from their soft, muddy beds and began to row on.
In Brest, Dodu is an important man. When people see him in the streets they smile slightly and nod their heads. Young girls curtsy to him when introduced, and young men squeeze his hand too hard. Dodu loves the warmth he feels when someone from the town looks at him with respect and trust. When townspeople begin to thank him, and cry at his feet Dodu removes his cap, touches his heart with it and says softly, as if whispering to his mustache, “Mon plaisir.”
The river began to widen slightly and Dodu stopped his boat again. The full moon surrounded La Grande Envie, and if one could look upon the tiny vessel from a distance far away, they would see but a speck in the center of the orb’s brilliant milky whiteness. Here Dodu took a rusty knife from a box and pried the oysters open. The silvery mussel inside the rocky vault seemed to quiver and shake in the fisherman’s hand, as if wishing for something like a lung or something like air, but knowing these things are for others. Dodu put the shell to his lips and used his finger to scoop the meat into his mouth, then slurped the brine. “Vous êtes salé,” said Dodu to the empty shell, and then tossed it into the water, causing the moon to tremble.
The fisherman finished his oysters and then sat very still in his boat. Few things will cause an old man to venture into the night, and no one can ever really know what these things are until one’s legs begin to move and one’s heart begins to flutter, and suddenly one finds oneself at the mercy of muscles that know where they’re going, muscles that can keep a secret. Dodu opened his box and took out a thin silk line. He removed his pants completely and tied the line snuggly around the end of his penis. The fisherman stood up in his boat and after tying a small barb and tin to the end of the thread, he threw the line in the water.
After a few minutes wrapped in the black, a fish struck at the line and the force startled the fisherman, nearly pulling him into the dark water. The line was taut and pulled his penis up and down, left and right. In the night the line became invisible and Dodu’s penis looked as if some puppeteer was hiding in the tops of the dim trees, controlling it with a delicate but steady touch. Dodu began to pull in the line. The fish wasn’t very large, but struggled like the fisherman against a powerful and demanding force. Dodu pulled and pulled until there was very little line left. Then, finally the fish broke through the water and could land nowhere else but upon Dodu’s penis. There the fish writhed and thrashed on the penis. Dodu looked upon into the sky and stared into the craters and valleys of the moon. While the fish pulsated and shook the fisherman continued staring into something he could not understand, a surface cold and distant. He thought of salt. The fish fought once more, but then turned rigid and still. Dodu rowed home while still inside the fish, stopping once in the reeds for an oyster.
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