5/1 14:30

As always, for tens of kilometers around Meuse Town, the sky hung dark and heavy even though no rain had fallen; the air sat thick and stagnant, as if time itself had congealed and stopped moving. The old Meuse River flowed on as it always did, through Meuse Town as it always had, and on its bank sat Old Frantz, who had fished the whole afternoon away without a single bite. To him this was just another dull way of killing time — much like his life, really — and yet it was strange, because this was supposed to be the season when black bass ran thick every year. The sweltering heat had him soaked in sweat, and distant thunder rumbled uneasily. Old Frantz muttered under his breath. Today he'd brought strips of veal for bait, because back at the bar he'd made a bet with Louis — he wasn't going home without a fish. It was a matter of pride, and pride was not something he could afford to lose.

The bobber twitched once, then sank completely beneath the surface, and with it came the fast, screaming whir of the reel.

Old Frantz snatched up the rod, and the instant he had it in hand he felt the tremendous pull — this was no small fish. Giddy with delight, he could already picture the look on Louis's face falling. The pull surged harder; his footing slipped, and he went straight into the water. The Meuse River churned up a cloud of silt, and nothing more could be seen.