The great carp hunt Part one

Well, I was cleaning out the place and I come across this here pile of papers. They was mailed to me and I never bothered to read them until the other day. The fact they was in an envelope inside the one they was mailed in and labeled, “You Bastard” didn’t help none. Well, I figure I ought to just go ahead and post it here!

The Great Carp Hunt
By
Lovec s. Antonsyn

It’s 4:30am in Kozojam and thing aren’t pretty. I sit here with only dollars in my pocket. I have to get out of here. The natives have turned ugly and our sponsors, the Stavkař team have disavowed any connection with us. I have to catch a local train to Sv. Michael, and then another one to Kralupy where we then get on a train to Prague. But there are problems.

I am sitting here with all the windows open and Dechova music playing. All the other Chatas are quiet, but not mine, I have my fan on full blast to keep the mosquitoes and the damned stinging nettles at bay. I don’t even know what to call these things that look like flying ticks hoovering around my glass of Bozkov rum.

I have to pick up my adviser and friend Mel Poorer. We both have to také this broken and trashed Skoda 120L and drive the 10 km to the train station, board the train and escape, all without paying a massive bill. The bill at the main office for a week at the chata, plus damages, plus the liters of slivovice, a double toed foot carved out of sandstone, the granat, and hruskovice and vinovice are way more than we have between us.

Nobody believes we are who we say we are. They have all deserted us. How did this happen?


Dear Mr. Antoninsyn,
Here’s the schedule of events at the Kozojam Tournament. We are thrilled you can join us. The tourney is a biggest fish everday, plus a one shot carp only day. Highest total will win. Every night will be a Kolbasa roast and beer party. We expect over one hundred people. The train leaves Prague at 3:45. No visa is required, nor shots. Although it is rude not to have shots when offered.


Indeed, no shots. I knew better than that. I had been outside Prague before. That is why I needed this vacation. The grueling schedule of deadlines about the latest Czech personality who could speak English so I could get an interview was bad enough. But, I was also doing restaurant reviews and the night clubs, and the kino schedule. I was frazzled and near breakdown. The prospect of a carp hunt was for me was just what the doctor ordered.

When I arrived in Kozojam, they were there to meet me. They were thrilled to have a real American Journalist working for a genuine Prague newspaper. They threw my bags in a Skoda Favorite, and I thought, “Why not?” and all this, Pan Anotininsyn, and respect were great. I wanted to stay at the autocamp in a chata, but they said, “Ne Pan Antoninsyn, you have a room at the Pension!”

On the trip the driver told me. “The family that has the pension owns half the town. They are the town concil and they own the hospoda. The autocamp is not for people like you. All they have is an obcerstveni.”

***************

I had been to these villages before. The ponds were filled with fishermen. They fished until late and then the party began. I had tried to arrange a night fishing, for the big ones, but it couldn’t be done. I was talking to a local, me so drunk on Pivo and slivo that I understood the local perfectly even though he spoke no English. “ Ne, noc ne, ale pro tebe, DO PRDELI!!!! AJ JA JA JAAAAAAAA!” Well, I thought, “this guy hates foreigners,” but then I noticed he was tearing at his shirt and another guy was laughing as he tried to reel him in after hooking him with a number 3 laser carp hook. The maddness was too much for me and I left. Back at the chata Jana was waittting for me and we got into the Trabant and went cruising. I was slugging back more and more Slivo and soon I began to go crazy. We steered the Trabant back toward the pond and the obcerstveni near by.

We crashed through the hedges and parked. The headlights were shining on the shocked fishermen and tha campfire. I jumped out and shouted in my best Czech, “Ahoj! Dobry dano! Jak she mash? Ty vola! Vola! Vola! Ty Vool!” I could see that wasn’t working and indeed they were looking a bit angry. So then I turned to the obcervestni keeper, “Please! I need,” then I blanked out. What the Hell did I need? Why was I in a village? I backed off slowly and dived into the Trabant with Jana, but Jana wasn’t there, it was a big eel! A big eel was jabbering at me about something involving pareks and rohliks. What in the Hell was going on? I started screaming and ran for my life. All this time I heard chants of pivo and curses from hell. All I remember was some Latin sounding chants, “cizinec bulby, cizinec bulbi!”

I awoke some days later by the railroad tracks hidden under a bush. Then I managed to get home. That experince had left me shaken and wiser. I knew what I was getting into this time.

******

So, the night before the touney was to begin, we were in the pension restaurant knocking back the pivo and slivo with some damned toothpaste tasting green shit in between. Then came some vodka some real mind bending pig tranquailizing stuff called fornet-23. It was foul and obnoxious, yet, well why spoil it. It is still legal in some parts of the world.

About this time my advisor Mel started screaming about the ODS and that they were fucking all the little girls and selling them to the Germans for the highest prices. "You rapers! They are commies under a different name! Nothing has changed!” I rushed over and bought some pivo for the people in earshot. “Damnit Mel!” I whispershouted into his ear. “Just be cool. It’s not your country. We have to get out of this assignment alive.”

Then he shouted again. “And the Gypsies! You bastards! You are like the,” He didn’t finish that one. I sprayed him in the face with Beecherovka. He was writhering on the floor before the locals could react. I dragged him out the door and threw him in the pond. After he crawled out we climbed into the Skoda and sped off. 10 minutes later we were on the other side of the pond. I parked the car and looked up into the sky. I must have felt the effects of the slivo for I thought I was staring into a revolving beer ad. The kind that the light went up and down and changed colors and you wondered how they did it until you smashed one and saw it was all just colored glass. While I was contemplating this, Mel came out screaming, “Damnit! Damnit! I’ve found the Czech dream! It’s what we are here for! You’ve got to meet these people!”

My memory of that night is very hazy. The smoke stains on my retena may never go away. We were at the obcerstvni. It is a little place hidden away serving smoked sausage and shots of everything. I remember meeting Franta. He was the dealer of the area. He slid a silver flask to me. I started to open it. “Not here!” he hissed. “In the bathroom!” I went in and took a snort. It was high grade almost pure something-ovice. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. It was clear we would need gallons of this stuff to be on the edge and get into the minds of the people around us.

I don’t know when we got back to the pension or how we got in. Judging from the scowls and disdain that rained down upon us, it must have been a rude entry. Needless to say we missed the first morning of the fish contest. It went that way all week. We kept hitting the ovice to keep sane among these people who sat all day upon the wildly spinning and heaving banks of the pond. Yes, the stavkař people had had enough of us and doubted we were with the number one English newspaper in Prague at all.

I forget which day it was, I think it was Thursday when we were at the obcerstvni, sitting at the picnic table with the grease smoke and sizzling sausages in the air. There was a british couple nearby. We were quiet, listening to them to see if they were just decoys or not. A green Skoda Favorite kept going past, making laps around the pond. Mel said, “That Skoda is making me nervous. You know what they said about that family.” I replied staring straight at the Brits. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a bunch of Ukers from Kiev coming in, besides, they wouldn’t dare try anything here in daylight. They’ll wait until they get a permit. Today’s Thursday. They’ll have to wait until Monday when the “uřad’ is open. By then our Ukers will be trumps around here.”

“What,” said the man. “Surely not here? It’s so peaceful.” His wife nodded. I glanced at Mel. The mafia runs everything in this country. Problem is which mafia. The Israel, Ukraines, Russians, and even the Italians are here seeing who will get the prize.”
Mel took over, “Yeah that green car there is the mayor, he works for the Russians. He thinks he can push us around, but we got a surprise for him.”

We smiled as we watched the couple pack their caravan and speed off. We snuck off and hit the flask again. The problem was the story wasn't ’oming along. I had nothing. I wanted to know what it was like out there fighting a big one and getting him up to shore. We had to find a guide and go after a real fish. Maybe a sharp toothed needle mouthed Pike , or better yet a night sessions after a sumec. A sumec is a freak of nature that grows over two meters long and eats ducks and swans. They have even been rumored to také down a kid or two.