Where I'm Calling From

than anything I had ever caught. I took hold of his jaw again.
    “Hey,” the kid said but didn’t say any more when he saw what I was going to do. I washed off the blood and laid the fish back on the bank.
    “I want to show him to my dad so bad,” the kid said.
    We were wet and shivering. We looked at him, kept touching him. We pried open his big mouth and felt his rows of teeth. His sides were scarred, whitish welts as big as quarters and kind of puffy. There were nicks out of his head around his eyes and on his snout where I guess he had banged into the rocks and been in fights. But he was so skinny, too skinny for how long he was, and you could hardly see the pink stripe down his sides, and his belly was gray and slack instead of white and solid like it should have been. But I thought he was something.
    I guess I’d better go pretty soon,” I said. I looked at the clouds over the hills where the sun was going down. “I better get home.”
    “I guess so. Me too. I’m freezing,” the kid said. “Hey, I want to carry him,” the kid said.
    “Let’s get a stick. We’ll put it through his mouth and both carry him,” I said.
    The kid found a stick. We put it through the gills and pushed until the fish was in the middle of the stick.
    Then we each took an end and started back, watching the fish as he swung on the stick.
    “What are we going to do with him?” the kid said.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I caught him,” I said.
    “We both did. Besides, I saw him first.”
    “That’s true,” I said. “Well, you want to flip for him or what?” I felt with my free hand, but I didn’t have any money. And what would I have done if I had lost?
    Anyway, the kid said, “No, let’s not flip.”
    I said, “All right. It’s okay with me.” I looked at that boy, his hair standing up, his lips gray. I could have taken him if it came to that. But I didn’t want to fight.
    We got to where we had left our things and picked up our stuff with one hand, neither of us letting go of his end of the stick. Then we walked up to where his bicycle was. I got a good hold on the stick in case the kid tried something.
    Then I had an idea. “We could half him,” I said.
    “What do you mean?” the boy said, his teeth chattering again. I could feel him tighten his hold on the stick.
    “Half him. I got a knife. We cut him in two and each take half. I don’t know, but I guess we could do that.”
    He pulled at a piece of his hair and looked at the fish. “You going to use that knife?”
    “You got one?” I said.
    The boy shook his head.
    “Okay,” I said.
    I pulled the stick out and laid the fish in the grass beside the kid’s bicycle. I took out the knife. A plane taxied down the runway as I measured a line. “Right here?” I said. The kid nodded. The plane roared down the runway and lifted up right over our heads. I started cutting down into him. I came to his guts and turned him over and stripped everything out. I kept cutting until there was only a flap of skin on his belly holding him together. I took the halves and worked them in my hands and I tore him in two.
    I handed the kid the tail part.
    “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I want that half.”
    I said, “They’re both the same! Now goddamn, watch it, I’m going to get mad in a minute.”
    “I don’t care,” the boy said. “If they’re both the same, I’ll take that one. They’re both the same, right?”
    “They’re both the same,” I said. “But I think I’m keeping this half here. I did the cutting.”
    “I want it,” the kid said. “I saw him first.”
    “Whose knife did we use?” I said.
    “I don’t want the tail,” the kid said.
    I looked around. There were no cars on the road and nobody else fishing. There was an airplane droning, and the sun was going down. I was cold all the way through. The kid was shivering hard, waiting.
    “I got an idea,” I said. I opened the creel and showed him the trout. “See? It’s a green one. It’s the only green one I ever saw. So whoever takes the head, the other guy gets the green trout and the tail part. Is that fair?”
    The kid looked at the green trout and took it out of the creel and held it. He studied the halves of the fish.
    “I guess so,” he said. “Okay, I guess so. You take that half. I got more meat on mine.”
    “I don’t care,” I said. “I’m going to wash him off. Which way do you live?” I said.
    “Down on Arthur Avenue.” He put the