he said. “What did you catch?”
“One the first day. One the second and two the third.”
“Very good.”
“Now we fish together again.”
“No. I am not lucky. I am not lucky
anymore.”
“The hell with luck,” the boy said. “I’ll
bring the luck with me.”
“What will your family say?”
“I do not care. I caught
two yesterday. But we will fish together now for I still have much to
learn.”
“We must get a good killing lance and always
have it on board. You can make the blade from a spring leaf from an old Ford.
We can grind it in Guanabacoa. It should be sharp and not tempered so it will
break. My knife broke.”
“I’ll get another knife and have the spring
ground.”
How many days of heavy brisa have we?”
“Maybe three. Maybe more.”
“I will have everything in order,” the boy
said. “You get your hands well old man.”
“I know how to care for them. In the night I
spat something strange and felt something in my chest was broken.”
“Get that well too,” the boy said. “Lie
down, old man, and I will bring you your clean shirt. And
something to eat.”
“Bring any of the papers of the time that I
was gone,” the old man said.
“You must get well fast for there is much
that I can learn and you can teach me everything. How much did you suffer?”
“Plenty,” the old man said.
“I’ll bring the food and the papers,” the
boy said. “Rest well, old man. I will bring stuff from the drugstore for your
hands.”
“Don’t forget to tell Pedrico the head is
his.”
“No. I will remember.”
As the boy went out the door and down the
worn coral rock road he was crying again.
That afternoon there was a party of tourists
at the Terrace and looking down in the water among the empty beer cans and dead
barracudas a woman saw a great long white spine with a huge tail at the end
that lifted and swung with the tide while the east wind blew a heavy steady sea
outside the entrance to the harbour.
“What’s that?” she asked a waiter and
pointed to the long backbone of the great fish that was now just garbage
waiting to go out with the tide.
“Tiburon,” the waiter said. “Shark.” He was meaning to explain what had happened.
“I didn’t know sharks had such handsome,
beautifully formed tails.”
“I didn’t either,” her male companion said.
Up the road, in his shack, the old man was
sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by
him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.
The
End
“One the first day. One the second and two the third.”
“Very good.”
“Now we fish together again.”
“No. I am not lucky. I am not lucky
anymore.”
“The hell with luck,” the boy said. “I’ll
bring the luck with me.”
“What will your family say?”
“I do not care. I caught
two yesterday. But we will fish together now for I still have much to
learn.”
“We must get a good killing lance and always
have it on board. You can make the blade from a spring leaf from an old Ford.
We can grind it in Guanabacoa. It should be sharp and not tempered so it will
break. My knife broke.”
“I’ll get another knife and have the spring
ground.”
How many days of heavy brisa have we?”
“Maybe three. Maybe more.”
“I will have everything in order,” the boy
said. “You get your hands well old man.”
“I know how to care for them. In the night I
spat something strange and felt something in my chest was broken.”
“Get that well too,” the boy said. “Lie
down, old man, and I will bring you your clean shirt. And
something to eat.”
“Bring any of the papers of the time that I
was gone,” the old man said.
“You must get well fast for there is much
that I can learn and you can teach me everything. How much did you suffer?”
“Plenty,” the old man said.
“I’ll bring the food and the papers,” the
boy said. “Rest well, old man. I will bring stuff from the drugstore for your
hands.”
“Don’t forget to tell Pedrico the head is
his.”
“No. I will remember.”
As the boy went out the door and down the
worn coral rock road he was crying again.
That afternoon there was a party of tourists
at the Terrace and looking down in the water among the empty beer cans and dead
barracudas a woman saw a great long white spine with a huge tail at the end
that lifted and swung with the tide while the east wind blew a heavy steady sea
outside the entrance to the harbour.
“What’s that?” she asked a waiter and
pointed to the long backbone of the great fish that was now just garbage
waiting to go out with the tide.
“Tiburon,” the waiter said. “Shark.” He was meaning to explain what had happened.
“I didn’t know sharks had such handsome,
beautifully formed tails.”
“I didn’t either,” her male companion said.
Up the road, in his shack, the old man was
sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by
him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.
The
End
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