Eleven
Now that I have access to fire, I thought it acceptable to brave trying some fish again. But, just in case it had the same effect on me, I prepared some precautions. I topped up my scrap metal bowl with treated water, and filled the hard woody shell of the pink waterfruit as well. It formed a pretty handy bowl once you scorch off the outermost hairy layer. It really is a useful fruit, and I must try to find more of them.
I am a lot more rugged than I once was, and able to wade out far further to brave the ocean cold. And now I have the benefit of bait; scraps of fat and gristle from the carcass, as well as the maggots that had started to feast on it. The fishing was far easier work.
The deeper you wade, the larger the fish. The largest ones I saw had to be at least as big as me, though I’ll admit that those individuals are few and far between. They are tantalisingly slow, but it would be wasteful to hunt them. I would surely be unable to consume all of the meat on my own.
I caught two; one arm-sized, and another a little smaller. I carried them back to camp with the big one slung over my shoulder and the small one still caught on the tip of my spear.
There was a small crowd of creatures waiting for me on the shore. The dark furred, twinkly-eyed beasts of the forest.
I froze, swallowing hard at nothing. My spear hand faltered. The fish slipped from its jagged point and onto the sand.
The creature at the front of the band tiptoed forward, It made a noise, a sort of long whine in wavering tones, and then shut its jaws and looked up at me expectantly.
I felt my face bend into a frown. Even if my old human utterances hadn’t begun to escape from me, they would surely be of no use now. The noise that escaped my weathered lips was a crude approximation of the creature’s own; soft and warm and hopefully friendly.
The creature cocked its head, and then turned back to its compatriots. Many clicks and chirps and breathy half-barks were shared. A dozen pairs of dark eyes stared up at me.
Finally, the creatures bowed their heads. A gesture of goodwill, hopefully.
I used the point of my spear to gesture in the direction of my camp, and then gave a brief upward-inflected whistle. The head creature’s ears pricked up with interest.
The pack followed me across the sand with their tails drawn low, and settled in an uneasy semicircle at the edge of the yellow plastic raft as I got to work tending to the fire.
The fire had burned itself out in the night, though I had no shortage of tinder and kindling with which to replenish it. The process of sparking the tinder with the bow drill had become far easier with practice, and my small band of onlookers barked and chirruped in surprise at the ease of which I could summon fire.
The task of gutting and portioning the two fish was no doubt more familiar to them, and something I myself had become desensitised to. The offal was left in a pile on the raft to be dried into future bait, and the meat was carved up into uneven fillets. I broke one piece down further into bite sized cubes and skewered them on a twig.
The touch of fire acted quickly upon the meat. Within about a minute it had lost its purplish sheen and metallic scent, and hopefully its poison along with it. Once I was satisfied it was cooked, I removed the skewer from the flame and blew on it. The noise made one of the creatures jump in surprise.
The texture was softer. Less chewy. The buttery taste seemed deeper and more complex, and the subtle smoke of the fire had brought out a particular oceanic saltiness. Once I had eaten a couple of bites, I pulled the rest from the skewer and placed them on the yellow plastic in front of me.
One of the creatures whined questioningly.
I nodded my head and made a broad gesture with my hands. The animals were not too eager to share. Perhaps, I reasoned, they’d had similar experiences with fish meat to my own first attempt.
One of the smaller members of the pack was the first to brave a mouthful. A handsome animal with a broad dorsal stripe of grey fur along its back and a particularly bright glint behind its eyes. It chewed carefully, and then swallowed.
The pack leader gave a warning growl, but then the little striped one responded with a merry yip. Slowly, a couple more members of the pack stepped forward to take their own nervous nibbles. More barks and yips were shared, this time with a far more approving tone.
I took another fillet and impaled it whole on a stick to roast. It cooked unevenly, the edges curling up and charring, but the smell was still rich and appealing. Once I was satisfied that it had cooked through, I placed it down in front of the leader. They gave an upward whine and I replied with an affirmative yip.
Once they were one hundred percent sure I was not trying to poison them, they took the roasted fillet in their jaws. With a whistle the pack regrouped around them, and the animals all slunk back across the beach and into the forest.
Contact had been made, and with surprising cordiality. I suppose route to one’s heart, so to speak, may well be through the stomach.
I kept roasting and eating fish until I’d had my fill, and by then the sun had started to set. I was awake late that night with a slight stomach ache, which I did fear was some residual trace of poison I had failed to cook out. When I woke up the next morning feeling no worse for wear, I put the whole thing down to excitement.