I was the
fish, he
thought,
with
everything
he has
against
only my
will and
my
intelligence.
He settled
comfortably
against
the wood
and took
his
suffering
as it came
and the
fish swam
steadily
and the
boat moved
slowly
through
the dark
water.
There was
a small
sea rising
with the
wind
coming up
from the
east and
at noon
the old
man’s left
hand was
uncramped.
“Bad news
for you,
fish,” he
said and
shifted
the line
over the
sacks that
covered
