Lost River

by David James Duncan

I dreamed the people who fished the river never knew want, seldom knew confusion, & with the salmon's self-sacrifice to guide them they could always find love. I dreamed I obeyed the river so gratefully the name of every rapid, fall & riffle engraved itself on my tongue, & the salmon came back to us again & again, & I never once doubted they would bless my family's table forever.



I dreamed Big & Little Dalles & Methow & Priest Rapids & Lodgepole & Entiat Rapids. I dreamed Coulee Bend & Kettle Falls & Beautiful Celilo. I dreamed Chalwash Chilni & Picture Rocks Bay & Spanish Castle & Victoria & Beacon Rocks. I dreamed Black Canyon & Deschutes & Klickitat Canyons & Rocky Reach & Ribbon Cliff. I dreamed I fished by the peach groves of the place called Penawawa, drunk on the river's sweetness within the fruit.



I dreamed I fell asleep to the sound of water, & when I woke a cloud had enveloped the minds of the ruling pharoahs, & they had attacked the river as if its song & flow were curses. I dreamed 227 dams clogged the river & all that I knew was submerged.



I dreamed the salmon young lost strength & direction in the slackwaters, couldn't reach the sea, & when they no longer brought the ocean back to us we grew as lost as they. I dreamed my people stood shoulder to shoulder in casinos the way we'd once stood by the river, our fists full of quarters, our minds full of broken hope & smoke.

I dreamed I asked why the salmon had to die & the pharoahs told me, "So wheat can ride the slackwater in barges." I dreamed I tried to reason, telling them of wheat shipped by railroad, & they laughed & marched off to conduct business hard to distinguish from war.

I dreamed I led the last salmon people out into the wheat fields, & in a golden light we launched our dories, & we went fishing in the stubble. I dreamed I cast the Spey of a Nez Perce named Levi, & the beauty of hidden salmon gleamed in the field & sky, & our fishing became prayer. But still the pharoahs ruled the water. I dreamed the one who reads even lost rivers then said, "It is finished," & the last salmon floated by as a cloud above us.

I dream I am an old man, & old Levi and the farmer whose fields we sailed sit with me at Penawawa beside a river finally freed. I dream we hold rods in one hand, sweet peaches in the other, & our lines run true as prayer into the shine. But whether the salmon come, whether they bring the lost ocean back to us, my dreams, like the river, refuse to say.