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The View from the Cattails' Bank

The View from the Cattails' Bank FICTION The View from the Cattails' Bank_ Ralph Price AT THE ???--we're talking fourteen, fifteen years ago--there were rumors bouncing around that this kid was performing acts of white magic. Not a week went by without a phone call from someone wanting to know what we knew about a kid who performed miracles with fish. Lapsa Mackelroy knew sinners and saints--all sorts of doodle-doddle--bleeding paintings, crying statues and the like. I called her--asked her out for dinner, but she wouldn't have it. I could hear the cats on her shoulders whining like wind as she opened yet another can of aromatic cat food, mashing the mish for them with a fork. Do they appreciate it? I imagine her bending over to put the cat food on the floor. For a moment the kimono opens. Don't even think it. Yes, she had heard of Roy Floyd, the child who commanded the fishes--in fact, had a clipping, an opinion of lazy skepticism from the editor of a local weekly. She'd considered looking into it herself. Maybe do some sketches and photos. She'd come along if I'd pay the hotel bill for Einstein and Duffy. They hated to be left at http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

The View from the Cattails' Bank

Price, Ralph.
Appalachian Review , Volume 28 (1) – Jan 8, 2000
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
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Abstract

FICTION The View from the Cattails' Bank_ Ralph Price AT THE ???--we're talking fourteen, fifteen years ago--there were rumors bouncing around that this kid was performing acts of white magic. Not a week went by without a phone call from someone wanting to know what we knew about a kid who performed miracles with fish. Lapsa Mackelroy knew sinners and saints--all sorts of doodle-doddle--bleeding paintings, crying statues and the like. I called her--asked her out for dinner, but she wouldn't have it. I could hear the cats on her shoulders whining like wind as she opened yet another can of aromatic cat food, mashing the mish for them with a fork. Do they appreciate it? I imagine her bending over to put the cat food on the floor. For a moment the kimono opens. Don't even think it. Yes, she had heard of Roy Floyd, the child who commanded the fishes--in fact, had a clipping, an opinion of lazy skepticism from the editor of a local weekly. She'd considered looking into it herself. Maybe do some sketches and photos. She'd come along if I'd pay the hotel bill for Einstein and Duffy. They hated to be left at

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2000

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