the man said. “You whore.”
his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
ack of his neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the
had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish
But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.
First you borrow. Then you beg.
It has its perils and its merits
