Heretical Fishing

Chapter 37: Neighbors

Maria’s body struck mine, whisking my thoughts away. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing physical touch, and my heart seemed to jump at the impromptu embrace. Her toned form latched onto me like a lost sailor clinging to a life raft, and she buried her face in my chest. I hugged Maria back, matching her fierce grip and resting my chin atop her head.

“Can I take that as a yes, or . . . ?”

I lost track of time as we held onto each other. Eventually, she pulled away, taking a step back.

A single tear dripped down each cheek, and her lower lip shook.

She nodded wordlessly, averting her eyes as she wiped them. “I’m—I’m sorry. It’s been really hard . . .”

I felt the need to rush to her, to wrap her in another hug and make it all better. Instead, I tried to convey my comfort with a smile.

“You don’t need to apologize, Maria. It’s human to have powerful emotions, especially when your family and livelihood are at stake. Besides—I’m a hugger. I’d gladly hug anyone, even that grouch of a dad you have to deal with.”

She laughed, the sound a breath of fresh air. “Wow, you really must be a hugger.”

I nodded sagely, trying to uplift the mood. “Right? Speaking of, he’s probably going to fight the offer of farming my land tooth and nail, won’t he? Do you think you can convince him?”

She nodded, freeing the strand of hair that always slipped so easily from behind her ear. “He’ll come around—we have my mother to care for, and she may be the one thing that makes him cast his pride aside.”

“Your mother? Is she okay?”

Maria grimaced, shaking her head. “She’s really sick. Her pricey medicine is the main reason we’ve been struggling.”

“Maria . . . I have money. How much is it?”

She shook her head again.

“You’ve done enough already, Fischer. It wouldn’t be right to rely on you for that.”

I shook my head. “If someone’s health isn’t good enough to spend it on, what is? Think of it as self-serving—I won’t sleep well knowing someone is sick when I could make a difference.”

She gave me a tight smile. “Thank you, but we can cope for now. If it truly gets dire enough that we can’t afford it, even my dad wouldn’t be too proud to accept your generosity.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

“I am. Do you think farming the sandy soil will work, though?” she asked, not-so-subtly changing the subject.

“I do, or at least Barry reckons we can.” I shrugged. “They’ve made their crops work, and my land is only a little worse than theirs. I’ll be happy to help out, too—I have no interest in farming for myself, but if it can help you guys . . .”

She took a deep, steadying breath, looking toward the light of the western sky as she breathed it out. “My pride wants to say no, but at this stage, I’d accept any help if it gets us more fields to work . . .”

“Done,” I said. “Do you want me to come and let Roger know with you, or do you think it’s better if you go?”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’ll be much smoother if I go alone, I think.”

I nodded, and seeing she was still struggling to compose herself, laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I really am sorry, Maria. I can’t imagine the pressure you’ve been under. It’s all going to be fine, though. I promise.”

She nodded and turned back to me.

“Thank you, Fischer. I can’t express how much I appreciate it.”

I barely heard the words. Her eyes were puffy, but that didn’t detract from her beauty. The sun rising behind me highlighted her freckles and reflected in the tears still threatening to fall. She smiled and tilted her head, and I felt the need to rush to her once more, to hold her until everything was all right. Again, I smiled instead.

“Don’t mention it. That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

She nodded, wiping a tear that formed as she blinked.

“I’ll go talk to Dad. Should I come find you after, or . . . ?”

“I’ll be waiting with Barry in his fields. Take your time, okay? I’m sure we can find stuff to have a yarn about until you can convince your old man.”

Her smile spread wider as she nodded again. “Okay. I’ll go find him.”

She turned and strode away, and I watched for a moment before spinning to head back to Barry.

Damn, I have a serious savior complex going on. I need to rein that in before I go embarrassing myself.

“Fischer!”

I turned back, peering down the street toward Maria.

“Thank you!” she called, bouncing on her heels as she beamed a toothy smile at me.

She turned and jogged away, her hair bouncing with her hastened steps.

That’s not helping the complex, Maria . . .

Barry and I raced down his last field to be tilled. His technique was honestly impeccable—much better than my own; the speed at which he moved was wild, considering I had an enhanced body, and he was only a little slower than I was. I emulated his movements, taking care not to exert too much pressure and snap the full-length tool that Paul had given me.

I reached the end of the last lane and waited for Barry to finish his. When he got there, he stood and stretched his back, his hunched-over method with the broken hoe evidently not an ideal posture to till with.

“You sure you’ve never done this before, Fischer?” he asked, giving me a grin.

“Never, but I can’t say I don’t see part of the appeal—there’s just something about physical work that clears the mind, ya know?”

“Does that mean you’ll set your heretical fishing ways aside for some farming?” Barry wiggled his eyebrows and gave me a smile, already knowing my answer.

I laughed. “Nope—unless it’s to help out others, of course!”

Barry shot a glance behind me, and I turned to see two people approaching. The first was a vision of glee, her steps bouncy and short. The other looked like he was chewing nails, a scowl firmly settled on his face. They both stopped before us.

“Fischer. Barry,” Roger said, giving us a small nod.

“Hey, guys!” Maria said, her excitement palpable.

“Perfect timing!” I smiled at both of them. “Barry and I just finished up here. Should we go scope out the fields?”

“I don’t know what scope out means,” Barry said, “but if you mean you want to go have a look at the fields, I’ve already picked the perfect spot to start.”

“Yeah!” I smiled. “That!”

Barry laughed. “Follow me.”

We walked between the fields of cane as Barry laid out what his steps were for preparing sandy soil.

“The issue with sand all comes back to a single aspect: moisture. Water drains through sand too quickly, not letting the roots absorb enough before it disappears.”

“Is the key watering more often, then?” Maria asked.

“Yes and no.” Barry made a so-so gesture with his hand. “More water is important, but if you simply water the sand without changing the composition of the land, the water will drain away any nutrients you’ve added. So, you can’t simply water it more and hope for the best.”

“How do we change the composition, then?” Roger asked, speaking up for the first time since their arrival.

I glanced to the side, seeing the same get-off-my-lawn style grimace plastered across his face, but his eyes held curiosity and intrigue.

We’ll win you over yet, Roger.

“It’s actually simple, if a little physically intensive,” Barry answered. “You need to add nutrient dense soil to the sand.”

“Wait, just adding soil?” Maria cocked her head to the side in confusion then swept the always-escaping strand of hair back behind her ear.

“If it was that simple, we’d see more people farming the sandy flats,” Barry said with a grimace. “It’s taken years for our fields to reach the point where we can farm them without constantly having to add soil from the forest. You’ll find it much more difficult than simply adding nutrient-rich soil a single time, and the first few harvests will probably be stunted, yielding little.”

Roger nodded, the ever-present grimace disappearing as he rubbed his chin in thought.

“That makes sense. If the water washes the nutrients away, each time we water the fields, the soil will be forced further down into the ground, and will start to build up beneath the taproots, correct?”

“Right,” Barry confirmed. “The washed-away sediment will settle underground, and eventually, will build up and enrich the land.”

I’d reached the same conclusion, but I let the farmers talk it out.

Anything to distract Roger from dwelling on the fact he had to accept help from others.

There was little in my past life more powerful than the stubbornness of an older man, and this world seemed exactly the same in that regard.

“Well,” Maria said, “Even if the yield is small, anything is better than nothing. Thanks for your help, Barry. And you, Fischer.”

She turned to give me a small smile. “I know I’ve already thanked you—probably too much—but really, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said.

Barry nodded. “As Fischer keeps reminding me, that’s what neighbors are for, right? You don’t owe me a debt, and I’m happy to assist.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Maria elbow her dad in the ribs, none too gently. He glared at her, but under her continued stare, Roger cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Fischer. Thank you, Barry.”

“You’re welcome!” Barry and I shot back, then turned and grinned at each other.

We stepped from between two fields, finally arriving on the sandy stretch that marked the beginning of my land. There were seven wooden pegs stuck in the ground by Paul, who was waving enthusiastically from the far side as he wiggled an eighth peg into the sand. He’d marked out two fields, with a meter of space in between each other and Barry’s existing crops.

“I was thinking right here,” Barry said. “It’s far enough from the coast to not be too salty, but the added salt content of the ground should aid sugarcane in growing. It’s also close to the forest, and therefore, the soil we need.”

“Sounds good to me, mate. Shall we get started?”

As I dug another spade worth of soil from the earth, I smiled at the hole I was forming. Barry, Maria, and Roger were all taking wheelbarrows filled to the brim back to the fields, Paul having returned home to assist his mother. I’d nominated myself for the shoveling, knowing my body could easily carve through the soil. I felt bad about making them travel further than was strictly necessary, but after explaining my reasoning for digging where I was, they were happy to oblige.

We were on my land, closer to the river than the north end of my property line.

I could have just dug another hole in my free time, but it seems destructive to create two holes when I can only disturb the forest with a single one . . .

With each shovel of dirt, and with each soil-laden wheelbarrow carted away, my bonus project came closer to completion.

It was a staggering amount of earth we were moving, but even when Maria and Roger poured with sweat, and their breaths came heavy, nary a complaint was whispered; we were all focused on the task at hand, and the sooner we completed the fields, the sooner the farming of them could begin.

“Two more trips each should do it, Fischer!” Barry said, his brow only a little sweaty.

Damn, my man has some serious cardio skills going on . . .

“No worries! My hole is almost the perfect size!”

After I loaded all of their carts for a final time, we took a moment to sit and rest in the shade next to my creation.

“Your heresy . . . really knows no bounds . . . Fischer,” Maria panted out, drinking from a gourd of water she’d slung over a shoulder.

“It really doesn’t, does it?” I answered, beaming a smile.

Roger’s scowl was well and truly back as he stared down in the roughly three meter by three meter hole. “And what do you call this monument of stupidity, heretic?”

The words only made my happiness swell. “This, my good man, is called a pond.”