It was average and gray-coated, with rough, grimy surfaces and grass yard enough for a three-foot run. Even the trailer birds had more success, robbing from the overflow. He was goofy in other ways, too. From a block away we stood and watched the goings-on. That was before he ever came fishing with us.
His bad features seemed ten times more noticeable. Sandro Meallet is a graduate of The Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University. The same gray-white rocks filled every space between the wooden crossties. Tom-Su spoke very little English and understood even less. Later we settled with the only local at the fish market, and then stopped by the boxcar on the way to the Ranch. Some light-red blood eased down his chin from the corners of his mouth, along with some strandy mackerel innards. The wonder on his face was stuck there. Half a mile of rail and rocks, and he waited for a hint to the mystery. We would become Tom-Su's insurance policy. Drop of water crossword clue. We pulled the seagull in like a kite with wild and desperate wings. His teeth were now a train cowcatcher, his eyes two tar-pit traps, and his drool a waterfall.
"Tom-Su have small problem, Mr. Dick'son, " she said, and pointed to her temple with a finger. Suddenly, though, one of us got a bite and started to pull and pull at the drop line, with the rest of us yelling like mad, but just as we were about to grab for the fish, the drop line snapped. We tossed the chewed-into mackerel into the empty bucket and headed back to our drop lines, but not before we set Tom-Su up in his private spot. We searched for him along the waterfront for what felt like a day, but came up empty. Fish slime shined on his lips. At times he and a seagull connected eyes for a very long minute or two. It was the same crazy jerking motion he made after he got a tug on his drop line. When the cabbie let him go, Mr. Drop fish bait lightly crossword clue. Kim stepped to the taxi and tried to open the door. Each time we'd seen Tom-Su, he'd been stuck glue-tight to his mother, moving beside her like a shrunken shadow of a person. Kim glared at Tom-Su for nearly two minutes and then said one quick non-English brick of a word and smacked him on the top of the head. Mr. Kim, though, glared hard at the side of her head, as if he were going to bite her ear off. Not until day four did he lower a drop line of his own.
We decided that he'd eventually find us. And that's all he said, with a grin, as he opened the cupboard to show us a year's supply of the green stuff. We peeked in and saw Tom-Su, lying on his side in the corner, his face pressed against the wall. At ten feet he stopped and looked us each in the face. But eventually we got used to it, or forgot about him altogether. Drop bait lightly on the water. When one of us said the word "drowned, " we all climbed down to pull Tom-Su from the water. At Sixth and Harbor the tracks branched into four, and on the two middle tracks were the boxcars.
At the time, we thought maybe he was trying to spot the fish moving around beneath the surface, or that maybe his brain shut down on him whenever he took a seat. Since the same bloodstained shirt was on his back, we knew he hadn't gone home. Then we noticed a figure at the beginning of Deadman's, snooping around the fishing boats and the tarps lying next to them. "He twelve year old, " she said. At City Hall we transferred to the shuttle bus for Dodger Stadium. The father, we guessed, must not've wanted his son at Harlem Shoemaker; he must've taken the suggestion as deeply personal, a negative on his name. "No, no, " his mother said, "not right school. Its eyes showed intelligence, and the teeth had fully lost their buck. We knew that having a conversation with Tom-Su was impossible, though sometimes he'd say two or three words about a question one of us asked him. His eyes focused and refocused several times on the figure at the end of the wharf. Back outside we realized that Tom-Su was missing. Sometimes we silently borrowed a rowboat from the tugboat docks and paddled to Terminal Island, across the harbor just in front of us, and hid the rowboat under an unbusy wharf. When he was done grabbing at the water, he turned to see us crouched beside him.
I looked at Tom-Su next to me. We stood on the edge of the wharf and looked down at the faces staring up at us. Several times during the walk we turned our heads and spotted Tom-Su following us, foolishly scrambling for cover whenever he thought he'd been seen. We'd never seen anything like it. Tom-Su then grabbed the fish from its jerking rise, brought it to his mouth in one fast motion, and clamped his teeth right over the fish's head. And no speak English too good. "Then take him to Harlem Shoemaker, Mrs. Harlem Shoemaker was the school for retarded children. MONDAY morning we ran into Tom-Su waiting for us on the railroad tracks. We saved his doughnuts and headed for the wharf. The Kims stared at each other through the window glass as the driver trunked the suitcase, got into the driver's seat, and drove off. When Tom-Su first moved in, we'd seen him around the projects with his mother. That whole week before school was to start, Tom-Su seemed to have dropped completely out of sight.
But a couple of clicks later neither bait nor location concerned us any longer. Up on Mary Ellen's nets our doughnuts vanished piece by piece as we watched straggler boats heading into or back from the Pacific Ocean. We watched as Tom-Su traced his hand over the water face. The big ships were the only vessels to disturb the surface that day. It couldn't have been him, we decided, because the bag was way too little between the grown men carrying it out. All the while the yellow-and-orange-beaked seagulls stared at us as if waiting for the world to flinch. As the morning turned to afternoon and the afternoon to night, we talked with excitement about the next summer.
He had no idea that the faces in front of him had fascination written all over them, not to mention more than a crumb of worry. Tom-Su father no like; he get so so mad. Suddenly I thought that Tom-Su might go into shock if we threw his father into the water. We did the same a few days later, when a forehead bump showed again, along with an arm bruise. Early on we stopped turning our heads to look for him closing from behind. But that last morning, after we'd left the crowd in front of Tom-Su's place and made our way to the Pink Building, we kept turning our heads to catch him before he fully disappeared. We continued our walk to the Pink Building. But mostly we headed to the Pink Building, over by Deadman's Slip and back on the San Pedro side, because the fish there bit hungry and came in spread-out schools. Under it, in it, on it.
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