Free History of the Rain by Niall Williams Page A

might first appear when we consider that in 1922 Georgina Ballintine landed a 64lb salmon out of the River Tay. The local fishermen, who had been labouring without success on the very same run, attributed the catch to the fact that female essence, as it were, had rubbed off on the bait and this had brought the salmon erect and leaping to her.
    All of this by way of getting to my point that it is a fact drawn from the author’s experience in Ireland that with temperature rising salmon become distinctly more active,

Chapter 8
    That worm had a lot to answer for, Nan says.
    In our house we have videos and a video player and a collection of fairly ancient big cassettes of old films recorded off the TV in the time when that was the coolest thing ever. So, in the movie version of Grandfather & the Worm, black-and-white, William Wyler directing, Sam Goldwyn producing, Grandfather is played by Laurence Olivier aged thirty-five. It’s September 1st, 1939. There’s a big grey sky with dark clouds moving to the Oscar-winning orchestral arrangements of Alfred Newman. The river is fast and there’s a storm coming. We see other fishermen in the minor cast shake their heads and go home. But Laurence walks past them. He’s drawn to it – the sudden pulsing of Arnold Kisch’s bass lets you know A Big Moment is coming.
    Laurence steps off the bank into the river.
    Close-up of the water curving up over the top of his boot, a little unsteadiness as the river floor shifts underfoot, but he wades further out and casts.
    Boom goes the thunder.
    Boom boom goes the score. It’s as if somebody knows that elsewhere Germany’s just starting to invade Poland.
    And then the rain comes lashing down.
    Close-up of Laurence’s face, rainwashed and fierce, equal parts concentration and looneytunes.
    He’s to his waist in the river. We know now he’s probably thinking about Merle Oberon, he wanted Vivien Leigh but she was turned down and is Gone with the Wind, so he’s got Oberon which isn’t a great name for romance seeing as how he’s thinking Oberon was King of the Fairies (Book 349, A Midsummer Night’s Dream , W. Shakespeare, Oxford Classics) and I’m going to have to kiss the King of the Fairies, which is a problem until he remembers fortunately he has played that role and so it’ll sort of be himself he’s loving and, well, he can manage that.
    The sky is that big angry grey-black that’s MGM’s speciality and which they can somehow make look blacker and broodier still. And whoa those violins are playing faster now and look! he’s got a salmon on the line. The rod tenses and bows and the rain-machine guy is told give it your almighty best , or whatever that is in MGM-ese, and you can picture Mervin Olbacher, conductor, leaping up and whipping that baton at those violinists. He’s not a big man but boy he’s put elbow into it. He’s put hair-toss and sweat into it. So it’s rain-music-river, all Full On and up to ten, up to eleven as Margaret Crowe says, when Laurence pulls and sways and hauls this great silver salmon up into the air. Bass drum, bass drum, batons, Mervin. More, more.
    Sweet Jesus, shouts Marty Finucane. You’ve never seen the like.
    Jesus Mary and Joseph, says Jesus Mary and Joseph Carty.
    MGM Props have outdone themselves this time.
    Boys o boys. That’s a Big Fish.
    (‘Big enough, Mr Goldwyn?’ ‘No such thing as too big.’)
    And it lands, splash.
    Sorry, take that again.
    It lands SPLASH back down in the river and the whole of Laurence is tugged forward and he’s in this battle of strength now, both hands on the rod as it gets pulled horizontal, forearms quivering and mouth that twisted grimace Laurence does brilliantly when he’s daring God and man and William Wyler to say he’s not the finest actor that ever was.
    There’s more, there’s a whole tugging and groaning, there’s flashes of lightning and Laurence giving it the full welly, but the studio decided that was enough, and cuts to the salmon