The Stranger
(1970)

Original Work by D. Armstrong 3A

He was the ugliest character I have ever seen, and judging by the deadpan expressions on the faces of the twins he was the ugliest they had ever seen as well. He came silently from the green-tinged mist that shrouded the marsh, moving with an interminably slow, waddling gait. The long, flowing robes that he wore emphasised his penguin-like appearance. A balaclava-type head-dress fitted tightly around his face but hung loosely around his head, neck and shoulders. The pupils of his eyes, big and black, filled the lenses of the huge pair of spectacles that he wore. His nose seemed almost non-existent, and his face ended with thick, blubbery lips that he seemed unable to control. Beneath his lips the neck of the helmet merged into his robe.

He halted a dozen yards away, peering over a tangle of brambles as though not wanting to spoil our sport. The upper portions of his mis-shapen body leaned at an incredible angle, so that I expected him to fall headlong into the brambles at any moment. The twins, aware that the stranger was watching us, had taken renewed interest in their fishing, making exaggerated casts and taking great pains in adjusting rod rests and mending lines.

I nodded a greeting to the stranger and turned back to the water. "You meditate?" The sibilant question came, or seemed to come from within my head rather than through my ears. "You meditate?" 

"Er, yes", I stammered.

"You utilise the power of the water to tranquillise the effect of your nervous system on your thought?"

I turned back to the water and spoke over my shoulder.

"I suppose so. It gives a fellow a chance to think his own thoughts in his own time. That's an important part of angling!"

"Angling? You call this meditation angling? I soo. And your companions? They are angling too?"

"Yes", I said shortly. "They are quite good at it, too"..

They have acquired considerable skill at the art of meditation?" came the sibilant whisper.

I grinned. The only time the twins meditate is after I've dusted their backsides.

"Well, they'll be among the prize-winners this year, but I won't", "They are excelling their teacher? This is good. For what purpose are the articles you have placed around you? That antenna-like protuberance that points across the water... It helps you to focus your thoughts, perhaps?"

At the risk of being rude I said, "Have you never seen a fishing rod before?"

"Fishing rod?" The whisper took on a sharper note. "This antenna puts you in contact with the inhabitants of the water?"

I thought back to the Nigerian student who had never heard of fishing for sport. Evidently this was another such case.

"This is a sport", I explained. "We use this rod to catch fish It's the most popular sport in Britain, probably in the world!"

"I see!" he whispered, his voice registering excitement. "This game you play in conjunction with the inhabitants of the water, a test of skill like chess, for instance?"

At that moment young David struck and missed a bite. "The young one made a contact?" the voice hissed.

"Nearly". I whispered back. "Watch that float on the water. The fish may bite again, and the bite will register on the float".

The stranger was silent. I realised that we were all watching David's float. It seemed to be very important. Then the float disappeared, the fish was on and David soon put his net under a nice roach.

The stranger had approached from the brambles and now stood only two yards behind me.

"Ah, the contact is made. There has been physical combat that I do not understand. How does the fish adhere to the antenna? And what now happens to the fish?

"Look", I snapped, "See this hook? He puts a piece of paste or a maggot on, and the fish grabs it in its mouth, down goes the float, and he strikes. Then it's a matter of handling the tackle properly to get the fish into the net. Now if the fish is a small one he lets it go back, but if it turns out to be a big one he might have it set up in a glass case. Now, is there anything else you want to know?"

A horrified gasp came from the stranger. "But I do not understand. This fish allows itself to be impaled on a hook for the more chance of winning a small piece of food? It risks death for this?"

Now I had reached the limit of my patience. I didn't want the twins listening to any more of this rubbish.

"Look mate", I rasped, I don't know who you are and I don't know where you come from, but wherever it is you must depend on fish to some extent for food. All over this world people are catching and rearing fish for food and sport!"

"All over the world? For food, for sport?" The whisper was really faint that time. He turned slowly with a series of jerky movements and waddled away along the path towards the marsh, where he was lost from our sight in the mist.

"Gosh, Dad, he was a queer sort, wasn't he?" said young Jimmy. "Sure was", agreed David "He gave me the creeps. I had goose flesh all the time he was here".

We packed our tackle and set off along the path to the marsh and the main road. David led the way, stopping here and there to pick up stones to throw back into the pond. "Hey, Dad, look at this, he shouted. We hurried to him, and stared at the imprint of a flipper in the mud. I couldn't associate it with any creature that I knew of. It might have been a frogman's swim-fin, but it seemed unlikely. We turned from the path, and walked towards home. The mist that had covered the marsh a few minutes before had completely cleared, and there was no sign of the stranger.

D. ARMSTRONG, 3A