Because they arrived quite early, even after fishing for a while, the penetrating morning light that pierced the thin mist only started to dissipate, becoming much warmer as the sun shone brightly.
They fished from morning until noon. It wasn't rigorous work, but the anticipation was draining. Often, by the time they snapped out of their focused expectation, their stomachs would be growling with hunger.
They began their journey back to their camp just as the midday sun was at its peak. They had caught their haul over the course of the morning. Even though freshwater fish stay fresh longer, these newly caught fish couldn't be kept until the next day. Thus, Shiller slit their stomachs, removed their innards, and sliced them into chunks of meat ready for cooking, even before starting the journey back.
Natasha looked on, amazed. Mostly, she was astonished that a fisherman would not want to show off his live catch. But Shiller responded, "It's not something worth boasting about. Compared to ice fishing, our haul is quite small. Like Ivan said, the prey during this period is weaker and easier to hook."
Natasha looked down at the only fish she had caught, a trout. It wasn't particularly muscular, and judging from the shape of its belly, it had likely depleted much of its stored fat. It was clear that the taste wouldn't be all that great.
"Well, it seems you prefer challenging fishing." Natasha hesitated for a moment, choosing not to make her insinuation too explicit, as if she harbored some concerns.
While they were talking, Shiller was starting to process the last fish. It was only now that Natasha got the chance to observe his actions closely.
Shiller set a mat on the ice surface, sitting cross-legged on top of it. Holding a fish by its tail, he slapped it down onto the mat, knocked out the fish on its head with the pommel of a kitchen knife with a single strike.
As he started to cut, the fish's muscles reflexively twitched. The process of slitting the gills seemed particularly brutal. As hebrought the knife down, the fish's tail twitched twice, and the fresh blood gushed out. As he twisted the tip of the Western-style kitchen knife back, Shiller slightly flipped the blade. The fish gills were shaved off in one smooth motion.
Then, placing the palm of one hand down on the fish's body, with the knife in the other hand, he carefully cut along the belly. The tip of the knife, standing vertically, was inserted effortlessly, scooping out all of the fish's innards.
Natasha swallowed, struggling to ignore Shiller's hand movements. Even when she had visited expensive and high-end Western private restaurants with her targeted tycoons and had a tour of the kitchen, she had never been interested in the seamless slaughter movements of the head chefs. People and animals are ultimately different.
However, what fascinated her about Shiller's movements was that she could completely imagine him using the same pair of hands and equally swift movements to dissect the chest and abdomen of other equally muscular animals, cleaning out their organs.
Sequentially, a phantom pain that Natasha had never experienced before began to spread from the middle of her chest to her neck, as if the knife had already cut open her skin, and that hand was picking out the organs in her abdomen that could be preserved.
Natasha shook her head vigorously. Shiller had already removed the fish's head and started cutting the fish meat into thin slices. The bass in his hand was the most succulent of all their catches, its flesh slightly pink, while the color of the fat was even paler.
Natasha made another swallowing motion and asked, "What dish are you planning to make with this fish?"
"I think we could swap the luncheon meat in the borscht for this fish," Shiller answered without hesitation. "As you said, anything goes in borscht."
"But I think that would be a bit of a waste since I don't think the other two groups will be able to catch better fish than we have. We need a main course too, don't we?"
"So, what would you like to eat, madam?"
Shiller asked plainly, in a gentlemanly tone. Therefore, Natasha seriously pursed her lips and contemplated for a bit before saying, "Although shuba (Salmon Salad) is good, the bass doesn't seem suitable for this dish. I also like smoked fish in jelly, but we don't seem to have enough time for that."
"Fried fish bread?" Shiller suggested a possibility.
"Oh God, don't tell me you brought flour." Natasha shook her head, saying in almost an unreasonable way, "That's also a time-consuming snack."
"But for you, it's worth the effort."
Natasha was left speechless, so she could only shrug and start cleaning up the fishing gear on the ground. As she picked up the fishing rods, she said, "I'm not sure if we'll come back here in the afternoon for more fishing, so we need to take everything back. And you made a wise decision, we won't have to lug heavy water containers filled with fish."
"Trust me, it's quite wise."
Soon Natasha discovered that Shiller's decision to kill the fish first was even wiser than she thought because when they got back to the camp, Steve said, "I only have two hands, so no matter how strong I am, I can't carry four water containers at once. Half of what Nick and I caught is still left at the original spot, so we must go back."
Kicking a piece of scattered ice with her boot, Natasha said, "Couldn't you have killed some of the fish first?"
"Jesus, ma'am, what nonsense are you talking about!" Nick looked at Natasha incredulously and exclaimed, "You have no idea how many vibrant fish we've caught. How can we kill them before you witness their strength and vitality?"
Natasha reached her limit of frustration, well aware that these two avid fishermen, who only ever had fish on their minds, would not even consider the fact that lunch was going to be delayed due to their activities. From the corner of his eye, Charles noticed her dissatisfaction, trying to reassure her: "The temperature is colder than we expected, so the fire might take a bit longer to get going. Why don't you sit down and get warm, ma'am?"
Natasha plonked herself down onto a nearby fishing stool. Shiller followed shortly, setting his box down. Erik took a curious peek inside and raised an eyebrow, "Have you already prepared the fish?"
Shiller nodded and replied, "I don't have that many catches to boast about. We haven't really caught much, so there's no need to be carrying heavy fish boxes back and forth."
"I'm going to make grilled fish, what about you guys?" Ivan asked from behind Charles, still winding his fishing line. "I caught a robust big one, probably the largest among ours. It's best suited for steaming or grilling, cutting it into fish meat would be wasteful."
"I promised Natasha I'd make her some fish and bread. I've brought along some flour and other seasonings, along with some vegetables. I'll go prepare the dough first. We can decide on the menu when Steve and the others return."
"We should save a few for dinner," said Charles, clearly not focused on the food. His gaze fluttered between Shiller and Natasha, tossing a suggestive look at Erik.
"Let's set one aside for cold smoked fish," Erik put in, looking more interested in the food than anything else. He appeared relaxed, speaking in a peculiar German accent in English, "We just need some partially burnt charcoal, wrap the marinated fish securely, and bury it."
"Or perhaps we could go for some fish sausage," Shiller suggested, "Given the time constraints, we can skip the smoking process. We can have it with some sauce during dinner."
"What about the sausage casing? What are we supposed to use for that? Don't tell me you also brought intestines," Natasha queried, shifting her gaze from the fire to Shiller.
After uttering these words, Natasha stiffened a bit. She really hoped Shiller would not interpret this as some kind of cannibalistic double entendre or encouragement. But to her relief, Shiller, the ever charming conversationalist only chuckled and said, "I guess we'd just have to send a Russian out to procure enough bear intestines."
Ivan gave a snort of laughter, and Natasha visibly exhaled, absent-mindedly stirring the fire. "Hunting any form of bear this season isn't a great choice. They are usually starving, aggressive, and it will be even worse if we encounter a mother bear with cubs."
"Hey look at these beauties!" Nick's excited shout echoed from afar. Everyone turned to look at him as he and Steve walked back, each carrying a water container.
Between the two of them, they had the largest quantity and finest quality of fish; full boxes containing trout, bass, blackfish, American eels, and small squids.
"We thought we might catch the tail end of the salmon," said Nick, using a play on words, "But they were gone as soon as they had spawned. Maybe we missed them by three months."
"Don't be too greedy," Charles advised, surveying their collective haul, "This is more than enough for us all to eat, probably enough for tonight and tomorrow."
"To be fair, ice fishing is actually beneficial to the environment," Steve shrugged nonchalantly, opening the lid of the fish box, "A decrease in fish numbers allows the surviving individuals to share a larger food portion, thereby increasing population numbers for the following year and producing healthier offspring."
"That's a bit redundant to discuss here," Ivan rebutted as he unhooked the last fish he'd caught, "This lake is too small to have a considerable population. Furthermore, dead fish could feed others, at least better than fishing them out and then wasting them."
Steve touched his nose embarrassedly. Americans' wastefulness was well known, and he really had no way to refute that. Seeing his discomfort, Nick changed the subject, asking, "So what's for lunch?"
"The main course we've decided on is grilled fish, the appetizer is cold smoked fish, and a snack of deep-fried fish bread."
"Bloody bread, someone actually brought flour here as well?...Alright, Doctor Shiller is certainly more prepared than anyone else."
"Well, it's for entertaining a lady," teased Charles, raising an eyebrow at Nick after getting no response from Erik. Nick, unlike Erik, picked up on the hint. He scanned Shiller and Natasha with his one notable eye that was showing.
"Nick, has anyone ever told you that you're like a chihuahua sniffer dog?" Natasha snapped, her patience finally worn thin. She jabbed her cooking knife into the ice, warning, "Handle your fish properly, or I'll chop them all up at once."
Nick leaned back as though not daring to provoke Natasha further, but at the same time, elbowed Steve who was too engrossed in their spoils to notice the exchange.
"Alright, let's let our talented chefs shine," Nick stood up clapping his hands, removing his glove and tucking it under his arm, looking around, "But first, we need to pile up a stove for them. Everyone contributing to the work equally, to then enjoy the feast equally."
Natasha rolled her eyes at Nick's self-importance but Nick, unfazed, continued to joke until he finally turned serious to instruct, "Let those of us with knife skills stay here to prepare the ingredients. The rest can go cut some wood in the nearby forest and gather some stones to fuel the fire."
"Let's get started, friends. A hot meal is waiting for us, just like a juicy reward after a successful fishing season."