How to Gut a Fish
an excerpt

How to Gut a Fish

Summer 1972

Ruth knelt down on the freshly painted wood dock and felt the hot sun against her bare shoulders. She dipped her feet into the cool mountain lake water and watched as the tiny fish swam up to her bear toes. The gently kisses of the fish against her feet tickled and made her giggle. The brilliant light blinded her as it danced across the tiny ripples of waves that were stirred up by the gentle Mock-orange scented breeze.

“Okay, are you ready for this?” Her father towered over her shadowing the sun light over the dock. She watched as he took his old blue and red Seattle Rainiers’ baseball cap, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Taking a long slow drag from the cigarette, he flicked the ashes into the water below. His face was red from working in the sun too long, but the rest of him reminded her of the brown bears that live in the forest that surrounded the lake, big and robust. It was his laughter that she loved most; he laughed with his entire body touching the souls of all around him. Ruth was born a daddy’s girl, he was the hero in every story Ruth read. He was the young Tom Sawyer, or Oliver Twist; in years to come she would cast him in every story Hemingway wrote. Ruth spent as much time as possible with him, taking interest in football and fishing just so she could be close to him.

“Watch closely. I’m going to show you this once then it will be your turn to try,” her father knelt down next to Ruth and held the small rainbow trout under her nose. She watched carefully as he gripped the tiny body in his hands with finger nails so gnawed off that it sickened her to look at them. With the soft silver belly exposed, he picked up a large fishing knife with a weathered wooden handle, and starting down at the tail, he plunged the tip into the flesh. In a smooth fluid motion he cut the entire length of the fish stopping just under the gills.

Placing the knife on the dock, he replaced it with his large finger. Ruth watched as he pulled out his finger covered with blood and fish guts then flung the mess into the clear mountain lake beside them. He stabbed his finger again and again into the delicate fish ripping out all that it contained. When he was finally finished, he dipped the fish into the cold water to wash the last bits of blood and waste off.

“Okay, your turn,” he ordered as he skid the knife across the planks. Still covered with blood and bits of purple remains, Ruth didn’t want to touch it. She stared at the red droplets that fell onto the dock and then slipped between the boards before dissolving into the shadows of the lake. “This is part of being a fisherman.”

Ruth stared at the motionless fish in her hand. With her free hand she gently ran her thumb up the soft, slippery skin of the trout’s underbelly. She felt her jaw tighten and her eyes narrow as she fought her nervous tears. Abhorrence weighted on her chest and she found it difficult to breathe.

“Come on!” She slowly jabbed the tip of the knife through the thin flesh. “Good job, not too fast.” The knife did not cut as smoothly in Ruth’s unskilled hands, and she found herself having to stab the fish again and again before reaching the gills. As she pulled the knife out of the underbelly the fish twitched in her grasp. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and gently watched as she worked. “It’s okay, it’s just the nerves, don’t worry it’s dead.” His presence beside her on the dock gave her confidence and eased her disgust. Ruth smiled up into his blue eyes, sitting so close to him she could smell the musty scent of him all around her as she slid into the warmth and security of his body.

“Okay, now clean out the guts,” her father instructed as she parted the two layers of skin to peer into the cavity. There blood and organs were ripped and torn into a red unrecognizable mess. Closing her eyes, she slipped her fingers into wet fish’s body. She didn’t open her eyes again until she reached into the cold lake water to rinse the entrails off. She watched as the bits of fish organs sank slowly towards mottled colored slate stones that lined the lake floor. Suddenly a school of small squaw fish swam out from the cool shade of the dock and fought over the litter polluted the mountain water. For a moment, a wave of nausea sweep over her and she took a deep breath to settle her stomach.

“Evan, Ruth,” Her mother’s voice floated over them like the sweet songs of the red-breasted robins that nested outside Ruth’s bedroom window. Ruth felt a twinge of envy feel over her as she felt her father’s hand slip off her shoulder.

“Suzanne,” Ruth’s father shouted as he jumped to his feet causing the dock to sway. “We caught eight fish.” He held his prize out over his head so she could see it from her vantage point standing on the house’s deck at the top of the high bank.

“Wonderful.” Ruth looked up to see her mother silhouetted against the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. She watched as her mother leaned casually on the rail and looked down over them as the halo of the setting sun encompassed her. “I’m almost ready to start dinner.” Even from this distance, Ruth could see the glass of wine in her mother’s hand as she lifted it to her lips. Ruth could hear her older brother and sister calling their mother from within the house some where. Suzanne gave Ruth a quick wave before turning on her heels and retreating to the cool recesses of the house.

With that her father sent the dock into motion swaying roughly until the water splashed up from between the boards as he trotted across the platform towards the beach. He was already half way up the dusty path that switch backed several times up the steep hill to reach the cabin at the top before Ruth felt steady enough to follow after him. With her freshly cleaned kill carefully gripped between her fingers, she started the journey toward the kitchen leaving the blood covered knife on the water’s edge.