Fishing

Last summer, a friend and I decided to go fishing. A few years ago, we'd discovered a lake outside the city limits—it was just a few kilometers from the city limits—and we'd always been going there. We chose a spot, settled in, poured ourselves a drink, and cast our lines. The fish weren't particularly biting that day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun was blazing hot. We weren't alone on this body of water—fishermen often come here to catch crucian carp. Many anglers have stayed overnight at the lake, but I personally don't understand how anyone can fish at night.

At lunchtime, the bite stopped completely. Within a few hours, I'd caught two roaches the size of an index finger. I suggested to my friend that we go for a swim. We cast our lines, stripped down to our shorts, and headed to the sandy shore. We ran into the water and started swimming. The water was warm; the only downside was that it was murky. Of the entire fishing group, we were the only ones swimming near the shore, and we couldn't understand the other fishermen—how could anyone refuse a water treatment on such a hot day? Then I went ashore and sat down on the sand. My friend, however, continued swimming. He's a candidate for master of sports in boxing, and he's got plenty of nerve.

Suddenly, I heard a roar—my friend screaming. He panicked and started swimming for the shore. When he hit the bottom and was limping through the water, I ran over and hoisted him onto my shoulder. He was practically crying, explaining in obscene Russian that something had bitten his foot. After pulling him ashore, I laid him down on the grass and noticed the outer part of his right foot. There was a bite mark on his foot, and the marks didn't resemble a fish's, but a human jaw. The bite had been so severe that the teeth had left burgundy-blue swellings in the areas where the bite had been. Several fishermen came running at the scream. Upon seeing my friend's leg, they were stunned for a moment. Only after a while did they begin to speculate. One elderly fisherman suggested that one of the drowned men had bitten him—supposedly we were disturbing his peace. He said he regularly came to this lake and had seen several drownings; supposedly, young men would drink heavily in the heat, jump into the water, dive headfirst, the blood vessels in their heads burst from the temperature change, and then they'd drag the dead man out onto the shore. And there were cases, he continued, where they never found the body...

We quickly packed our things, I put my friend in the car, and we drove to the city. My friend's leg healed in a couple of days, and within a couple of weeks we were playing soccer. After that incident, I wouldn't be able to drag myself back into the lake for anything.