Demonstrationer och lite mer sommarminnen

Den här helgen har alla varit lite lättade att demonstrationerna vid amerikanska och franska ambassaderna i KL blev sansade historier. På fredagen stängde skolorna tidigare och två av killarnas kompisar som bor nära amerikanska ambassaden tillbringade eftermiddagen hos oss. Så även barnen har diskuterat filmer, karikatyrer och religion. Bertils slutsats var något i stil med att "Man måste respektera vad olika människor tror på men man behöver ju inte slåss även om någon har sagt något elakt". Och det kan man väl hålla med om. Henrik, som såg demonstrationerna från sitt kontor, kunde redan tidig eftermiddag rapportera att allt var lugnt.

Något annat vi ägnat oss åt den här helgen är att läsa Gunnars autofiktion inspirerad av sommarens fiskeäventyr.

Hooked On!

                                        By Gunnar Samuelsson
“WOAH!” I shouted as the sharp hook, gleaming in the sun, swang 3 millimeters above me. My grandfather screamed at me not to duck, because when you do that, the hook comes down with you, and makes it even more dangerous. I went by instinct and ducked. The hook flew down, this time even closer, almost a nanometer away from me. My grandfather quickly grasped the line, and the hook stopped swinging. Finally. That was a close call.

This time I was really apprehensive as I watched the sharp hook swinging from side to side.

“Gunnar, never ever never Never NEVER EVER do that again. Ok?? He nervously exclaimed.

“Never ever!” I promised, also extraordinarily nervous.”Crunch” was the sound that repeatedly was heard since we were walking on dead leaves. You could see plenty of leaves falling down, the middle of autumn is always the best fishing time of the year, my grandpa always insisted, I didn’t believe him at first, but now I really understood why.  It was a cold day, since the sun hadn’t risen yet. We arrived at the dock.My short, thin grandpa threw in the rod, “Splash” the sound of the rod actually startled me at first, since I was totally out of focus. The lake was gleaming as the sun rose up from the sea, with fresh light to give to all living creatures. You could observe fish making loud, annoying splash noises. I had been fishing many times, but now with my new rod, I was as exhilarated as ever, my confidence was going as high as the sky, because today I knew it, I was going to catch a fish.

It was 6:00 am and my brain was demanding sleep. I was amazed that my grandfather woke up at 5:30, helped me excavate some worms from the ground, and then he would sit next to me the whole day, cheering me on, and helping me with all sorts of problems with the rod. He had done this maybe three or four times before, but not before dawn. And right now, dawn was just starting. I sat there for ½ hour and then I started to feel a strange tug on my rod, like someone wanted to pull me in the lake. I imagined it at first, me plunging into the water in slow motion, and then the fish gobbling me up, almost like my brother gobbles up his sweets. My grandpa questioned, “Is something wrong Gunnar?”

“No, but just a silly question, is there fish that eat humans?” I questioned, secretly hoping he would say no. “No not here Gunnar!” he stammered and then laughed. I suddenly felt a sign of relief. “Ok” I mumbled to myself.

5 minutes later I suddenly feel my rod brutally pulling, again like someone wanted me to jump in the lake. Or maybe worse than that. Like he wanted me for breakfast. I felt hopeless. And I was pretty sure that I was going to end up in the fish’s digestive system.My grandpa was so enraptured he was exclaiming “BRA GJORT GUNNAR!!!!” (Which means good job in Swedish) He probably woke up the whole neighborhood and our family. The fish on the hook was quite tiny, but the size doesn’t matter, because I and definitely not my grandfather were going to let this fish go.

“Gunnar!!, Pull!” My grandpa wailed.

“Yep, trying to.” I replied.

The adrenaline inside me was pumping.The fish was violently struggling for its life, betraying my force. The fish just kept on pulling , and my adrenaline kept on pumping. I was the superman of fish land, I could taste the fresh air, flying through my mouth since it was wide open. The fish was pulling and pulling and pulling until it had no energy left at all. It was effortless to get it up at last. I had caught a fish. I saw the fish slowly coming out of the lake, almost shining. In my head I could hear all these holy songs, “Ohhhhhhhhhhh” For me, it was the greatest thing that had ever happened in my LIFE. My grandpa gave me a knife, the blade of it gleaming. I was about to kill my first fish. I was wondering, if it was worth it to just kill it. Why not keep it, or stuff it up or something? Well, I thought it was an epic idea, but my dad and my grandpa laughed at me, not rudely, but like it was a joke that someone said on purpose. The fish was 7 inches long, its scales gleaming in the bright sun. When the knife set foot in its body, the blood of the fish flew all over my body, not my face, luckily. The mouth was strangely moving, like it was trying to breath. We washed the fish and it suddenly flew back to life. I didn’t stab it in the right spot. My grandpa was squeezing it so tight that it suffocated. It was the fish that you can eat, so we had it for dinner. If you describe the satisfaction and gratification as a bomb, I’m sure, this would be an atomic one.