Little Guy, Little Fish

Iwas in Central Park the other day, waiting for the swimming pool to open, when I spotted an unusual little guy who was fishing in the pond. He sat in a motorized chair. Behind the chair were metal crutches with braces at the top for his arms. An oxygen tank was beside him. I think that's what drew my attention and caused me to take a closer look.

He was about as tiny as a man could be. Very fat in the face and tummy, but twiggy little arms and legs. He was brown-skinned and had a plain navy-blue cap on his head. There was also a black synthetic cloth wrapped around his head under the cap, and in the back of his head, just above his neck, there was a large bulge, which might have been hair, or it might have been a growth of some kind. Was he Indian or Arab or black or Filipino? I could not tell.

"Did you catch anything?" I asked him.

"Not yet." His voice was a tiny chirp from under a thin moustache.

"Are there big fish in here?"

"Shit yeah," he said, and then he added something I didn't quite hear.

"Sorry?"

"They got 10-pound fish in here."

"Wow. Have you ever eaten one?"

"No. But I know people that did."

"And they seem like healthy people to you?"

"Shit yeah. Ain't nothing wrong with the fish in here. They try to tell you there's pollution in here, but you tell me, where's the pollution?"

"I don't know."

"You tell me. Just look around here. There ain't no fish floatin' dead up in the water like there'd be if it was polluted."

"Good point."

"Look around here. Just tell me where the pollution at."

"I don't know," I said.

"You gotta be careful. People will tell you any damn thing's not good for you, but you gotta keep your eyes open, or they'll take advantage of you. Ain't no pollution in here. Shit. You got that stuff down there," he removed one hand from his pole and swept his hand in front of him. "But that's algae. That's all it is. Wouldn't be growin' no algae down here if it was polluted. Shit."

"You've got a point," I said.

"You don't see no sores on the fish, do you? People always tryin' a tell you you can't eat something. They say you can't eat eggs. Eggs. Now what is wrong with eggs? They been eatin' that shit fo' a century."

"That's true."

There was some movement near his bobber, and he grew serious for a moment.

"You got one nibblin' there?"

"Little one. Shit. Up in Utah, where I used to live, there's good fishin' there."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Oh I'm goin' back. I'm just waitin' for them to take this trache out of my throat."

He had a white plastic circle attached to the front of his throat.

"Is that from smoking?" I asked him.

"Nope. Sleep omnia. I go to the hospital, they tell me I got sleep omnia. Don't make no sense to me. I'm 45 years old. All of a sudden I got sleep omnia? But they tole me I wasn't gonna live unless I let them do this operation. So I tole 'em to go ahead. Problem is, they say I got too much fat up in here."

He passed his hand over his throat.

"I don't know what they talkin' about. My brother is fat. He got rolls of that shit up in there, you know. It's all folded over many times. How can they tell me I'm too fat?"

"Which hospital do you go to?"

"Mount Sinai."

His pole bent slightly and he started reeling. In a few seconds, he pulled in a little fish.

"Tiny one."

"Yeah." He pulled the hook out of its jaw. "Croppie." He threw it back.

"So since you're sure the fish is okay here, why don't you eat it?"

"I would. Only thing that stops me is I don't want no ticket."

"So why couldn't you go to a hospital out in Utah?"

"I could. Problem is I lost my job there. Lost my job and my 'partment. I was hangin' round with the wrong people. They was doin' lots a drugs. Cocaine. One of 'em took advantage of me. He was doin' drugs and sellin' 'em. Cocaine. Cops caught 'em with about 20 kilos. And he had put down my apartment as his address. I went to prison. When I got out, my mother was livin' here, so I came back to stay with her for a while. But I'm goin' back to Utah, first chance I get. They got better business opportunities up there."

"What business are you in?"

"I was in computers. Worked in technology services. Mainframes. Also worked in a pawn shop, stocking the shelves, just before they put me in prison. That's how I got sick. And then I got carbon monoxide poisoning. That's why I got to take this tank around."

"You got carbon monoxide poisoning in prison?"

"No. I got that from breathin' exhaust fumes in a car accident. Twenty cops had to come and pry the metal away from me. They told me afterwards they didn't think I was gonna live."

"You've had some bad luck."

"Yeah. But at least I'm alive. A lot of people die from shit. That's the worst luck you could have."