now?
It was during my conversation
with Ernestine
that I decided to
write this book.
A book that Coleman
could never have written himself.
The story of his mother and father,
of Walter and Ernestine,
of Steena Paulsson
and of Faunia Farley.
Who ran from
a world of privilege
just as Coleman had run
from a world bound by race
And finally, there was
one more thing I had to do.
Beautiful spot.
It's peaceful.
Long as I can keep it secret.
Only now I know.
- You're the writer, aren't you?
- That I am.
Any luck?
Not much.
What do you think about out here
when the fish aren't biting?
I was thinking if I had a son,
he'd be out here with me now, fishing.
That's what I was thinking about
when you walked out here.
What kind of books you write?
I write about people like you.
Their problems.
You live at
Mike Dumouchel's place, right?
The cabin on the lake.
What's the name
of one of your books?
The Human Stain.
- Can I get it?
- It's not finished.
I'll send you a copy.
You know, I started ice fishing
after my wife left me.
All you need is warm clothes
and the right equipment.
Like this auger.
You drill
a hole through the ice.
This'll cut through
just about anything.
Then you drop your line with
your favorite lure right through.
Any flash down there,
fish are attracted, even in the dark.
And it's way dark down there.
And if I had a son
little Les, a son of my own,
I reckon I'd be telling him
all this stuff instead of you.
- It's cold out here.
- You better believe it.
I should be going.
Yeah, well, you know your
ice fishing now, don't you?
- You can put it in your book.
- I will.
And you know my secret place.
You know everything now,
don't you, Mr. Zuckerman?
But you won't tell, will you?
And, hey!
The book.
Send me one.
It's in the mail.