Tom left home as the first crimson lights of the sun reflected upon the eastern horizon. He had a pair of blue jeans and gray, checkered shirt on him. Very suitable clothes for a hot-to-be day.
Tom walked through the dusty roads of the Back Slope, went into the woods and then out the woods through a very steep path onto the river bank where the snow, melting on the high mountains, had fed the brown waters of the river. Then he stopped and, quite lazily, calculated how to get across the stream. If he had not had such a heavy load on his back, swimming to the other side would be a piece of cake. But now, with that twenty pound camping pack... Worse of it the backpack and what it held inside belonged to George and George was spending all he had on these camping tools and you would not think of inflicting any harm on them. Worst of it Tom now felt too lazy to walk down to the wooden bridge almost two miles ahead.
Gee, he told himself. Let Kareem arrive and then we will settle it down in a friendly way.
He took out the backpack, lay on the ground and smelled the strong perfume of the fresh grass crushed under his weight. It was a beautiful spring day. A very special time when the nature just awoke and nothing had the heaviness and drowsiness of the summer. He could hear, from afar, the barking of excited sheepdogs trying to pocket newborn yeanlings. A bee kept whizzing around his head and Tom waved his hand in the air without paying much attention to what he was doing. His mind was working on something more important.
We better fish on this side, he thought. This is a better option. Kareem is such an understanding friend of us. He will understand it after seeing how tired I am. He is such a lovely friend of us.
The bee whizzed around his head again and declined to move off and Tom rebuked him in a mild anger. You are a busy one, aren't you, he told the bee. You know how a man could be tired? He was not angry at all. This was not one of the mornings when his temper would easily flare up.
Now the golden rays of the sun touched his face gently. Tom did not intent on thinking about anyhting particular. He just wanted to fish. He had the equipment for this. He borrowed them from George. You could have nourished nothing but sympathy and a hardened protectionism towards George's equipment.
Finally Kareem, on the other side of the river, emerged from the thick strawberry bush and walked down to the bank and sat there. Tom, now leaning on his elbows, said, "What's goin' on, old friend?"
"Except being tired?" said Kereem philosophically.
"What is it dangling from your bag?"
"Nothing," said Kareem in a casual way, turning his head to the dead hare with grey fur. "He was digging the earth and very much occupied with the work and did not see me approaching. He is an old one. I will put it here on the grass."
"His meat must be hard," said Tom politely. "This is no problem, though. I would volunteer to skin it, if you would let me."
"If we were unable to catch some fish, that one would do well," Kareem opined. "Sure, you can skin it."
"So," said Tom. "Won't you come over here?"
"You were having a good rest when I came down. You go down the bridge while I am having a rest here. You can't swim across with that load on your back, you know."
Tom squinted and thought. In fishing, stakes were always high that you come up with nothing after hours of hard work. The hare was old and bruised but still it was newly slayed and fresh.
He had no sooner decided to get up than he heard Kareem speak. "I am no selfish," he was saying. "I would love to share my food with you. But if you choose to stay on that side, I can't help you with that."
Tom felt badly humiliated . "A dead hare," he said coldly. "An old dead hare. I am very much thankful to you. Using these improvised equipment I can provide for myself much food with a little toil." Then he went on humbly, "I might not catch the biggest ever fish. I will not catch the oldest, after all."
"It is an old hare," Kareem accepted. "You want me to say it? But even an old hare is better than a no-hare."
"Well, then," Tom said boldly, "You keep on resting with that old hare of yours on that side of the river and watch me catch the freshest ever fish in the world."
"As you wish," Kareem told him.
Tom waited for fish for two and half an hour. The little toll he attached to his fishing rod did not strike even for once. Gradually, he began to feel bored. He was more tired than bored, actually. But he opted for looking like bored. Then he looked out at Kareem. He had skinned the hare and now was preparing a fire. Soon, the smell of meat frizzling over the wood fire spread around. Tom now pretended not to be swayed by it.
"You even did not try to catch fish," he called out to the other side. "You gave up easily. And you ruined my luck by bringing along that hare. That old frump."
"You know you have all the equipment," Kareem talked back.
"Nonsense!"
"If you came over here, I would happily share my food with you."
"You know I can't," said Tom.
"Why?" asked Kareem. "What is it that keep you from eating your friend's food?"
"I would not swallow my word just for the sake of an old hare. I have my principles."
"What princples? We are talking about hunger. Hunger and tiredness. I am as tired as you are hungry. See that? It could have been just the opposite?"
"Would you go back on your words? Words that you gave yourself."
"Why? Sure! It is worth it."
"How?"
"You see you have to walk down the bridge and this is a big enough compensation. You can be a man of principles only by paying a price for them."
"Yes, it is worth it," Tom conceded somehow happily. "Stay right there."
"I am not going anywhere."
"Don't touch the meat until I come," Tom warned Kareem.
"I can wait," Kerim assured him. "You be quick."
Tom walked along the river. First he was a little shy but later he got used to it and filled with hard found confidence. Life was affectionate and generous despite some sporadic mishaps. Man was capable of sacrificing one principle for yet another.
Oh, no, maybe this was a big lie, a fairy tale, made up by old men to deceive young men like Tom. Maybe the world had not been a just place for a long time. And principles were not easy to change.
Tom was now really furious.
He stood by the remnants of the wooden bridge which the flood swept away the other day and thought over what kind of world it became.
*All comments/criticism/suggestions are much welcome. Thanks.*
