was sharp and it went through the line quickly.
The big fish had not moved. He did not know yet that he was free. I stood up and as I did the boat rocked against him. He started to move away. I tossed the severed line over the side. The fish saw the movement and began to edge away from the boat. He slanted downward, his fins barely moving. He became a long shadow and then a small shadow and was gone.
The iron hook in his jaw and the line would be eaten away in time by the sea, which ate everything. I sat back and for a while watched Mando sleeping. Then I picked up the oars and began to row.
The morning was clear and there was no wind. I headed back, up the coast toward the Mission of Santa Barbara. In one part of me I was glad the marlin had come between us and the ocean.
Mando was still asleep when we rounded Santa Cruz. It was midmorning. I gave him a kick in the shins and he came awake, staring about as if he had no idea where he was, on land or on the sea. But in one glance he saw that the big fish had gone.
He jumped to his feet. "What happened? Qué pasa? My pez espada. Where is he?"
The line I had cut lay at his feet beside his knife. Mando glanced at the line, at his knife, then at me.
"He is gone," I said. "He left while you were asleep."
Mando picked up the line I had cut and looked at it. "The line did not fray. It did not break from the fish's strength. The line was cut." He picked up his blade. "It was cut with a sharp knife. Like this one. I did not know that the pez espada carries a knife."
"They do not carry knives. Only people carry knives," I said. "When did we hook the fish?"
"Yesterday, in the morning."
"Then he was with us for almost a day," I said. "How would you like to be with a boat for almost a day at the end of a line—with an iron hook in your mouth? Would you like that, Señor fisherman? How would you like half a day? Or perhaps an hour would suit you better."
"I am not a fish."
"If you were, amigo, would you like an iron hook in your mouth?"
"You talk foolish talk," Mando said. "People are not fish."
"But fish also bleed. How would you like the blood for an afternoon and a night and a morning. How would the sangre taste, brother Mando?"
"No tiene nada en la cabeza, " Mando said, put his knife back in its sheath, and stretched out to sleep again. "Next time I fish among fishermen," he said with great disgust.
"I have enough in my head," I answered, "to know that you are a poor sailor and when I go anywhere again it will be alone."
"I am still here," he said, looking at me through half-closed eyes. "I am still a sailor."
"About to fall asleep."
"I am still here," I repeat. "We have lost more than a day, but the weather is good. We have enough food. Let us continue what we have begun."
I nodded my head, yet I was afraid of the wind and the wild seas I had seen. I was afraid all over—in my stomach and in my head.
Chapter 7
W E WERE now near the southern tip of Santa Cruz Island, not far from where we had started. Night was coming and I thought it best to wait and leave early in the morning before the wind came.
There was a small headland near us. I had noticed yesterday afternoon that there was a good anchorage beyond it. It was in a cove protected from waves and wind.
"Take an oar," I said to Mando. " Vámanos !"
"I thought I was the captain," he replied.
I shoved an oar into his hand and we began to row toward the cove. As we rounded the promontory, I saw close off our bow a large whaling ship. On each side of the ship floated a dead whale. Fires were going on deck and a cloud of oily smoke drifted toward us.
The smoke was so thick it was hard to see, but gradually I made out on the ship's stern, printed in gold letters, the name Boston Boy. We were now within shouting distance of the ship.
Quietly I said to Mando, "The ship is the one that lost its longboat in the storm. Do as I say and do not talk. Push with your oar while I pull with mine and we will circle
The big fish had not moved. He did not know yet that he was free. I stood up and as I did the boat rocked against him. He started to move away. I tossed the severed line over the side. The fish saw the movement and began to edge away from the boat. He slanted downward, his fins barely moving. He became a long shadow and then a small shadow and was gone.
The iron hook in his jaw and the line would be eaten away in time by the sea, which ate everything. I sat back and for a while watched Mando sleeping. Then I picked up the oars and began to row.
The morning was clear and there was no wind. I headed back, up the coast toward the Mission of Santa Barbara. In one part of me I was glad the marlin had come between us and the ocean.
Mando was still asleep when we rounded Santa Cruz. It was midmorning. I gave him a kick in the shins and he came awake, staring about as if he had no idea where he was, on land or on the sea. But in one glance he saw that the big fish had gone.
He jumped to his feet. "What happened? Qué pasa? My pez espada. Where is he?"
The line I had cut lay at his feet beside his knife. Mando glanced at the line, at his knife, then at me.
"He is gone," I said. "He left while you were asleep."
Mando picked up the line I had cut and looked at it. "The line did not fray. It did not break from the fish's strength. The line was cut." He picked up his blade. "It was cut with a sharp knife. Like this one. I did not know that the pez espada carries a knife."
"They do not carry knives. Only people carry knives," I said. "When did we hook the fish?"
"Yesterday, in the morning."
"Then he was with us for almost a day," I said. "How would you like to be with a boat for almost a day at the end of a line—with an iron hook in your mouth? Would you like that, Señor fisherman? How would you like half a day? Or perhaps an hour would suit you better."
"I am not a fish."
"If you were, amigo, would you like an iron hook in your mouth?"
"You talk foolish talk," Mando said. "People are not fish."
"But fish also bleed. How would you like the blood for an afternoon and a night and a morning. How would the sangre taste, brother Mando?"
"No tiene nada en la cabeza, " Mando said, put his knife back in its sheath, and stretched out to sleep again. "Next time I fish among fishermen," he said with great disgust.
"I have enough in my head," I answered, "to know that you are a poor sailor and when I go anywhere again it will be alone."
"I am still here," he said, looking at me through half-closed eyes. "I am still a sailor."
"About to fall asleep."
"I am still here," I repeat. "We have lost more than a day, but the weather is good. We have enough food. Let us continue what we have begun."
I nodded my head, yet I was afraid of the wind and the wild seas I had seen. I was afraid all over—in my stomach and in my head.
Chapter 7
W E WERE now near the southern tip of Santa Cruz Island, not far from where we had started. Night was coming and I thought it best to wait and leave early in the morning before the wind came.
There was a small headland near us. I had noticed yesterday afternoon that there was a good anchorage beyond it. It was in a cove protected from waves and wind.
"Take an oar," I said to Mando. " Vámanos !"
"I thought I was the captain," he replied.
I shoved an oar into his hand and we began to row toward the cove. As we rounded the promontory, I saw close off our bow a large whaling ship. On each side of the ship floated a dead whale. Fires were going on deck and a cloud of oily smoke drifted toward us.
The smoke was so thick it was hard to see, but gradually I made out on the ship's stern, printed in gold letters, the name Boston Boy. We were now within shouting distance of the ship.
Quietly I said to Mando, "The ship is the one that lost its longboat in the storm. Do as I say and do not talk. Push with your oar while I pull with mine and we will circle
Similar Books
And Sons
David Gilbert
The White Vixen
David Tindell
The Bar Code Tattoo
Suzanne Weyn
How to Paint a Cat (Cats and Curios Mystery)
Rebecca M. Hale
Sketch
Laramie Briscoe
Iron Lake
William Kent Krueger
Silk and Steel (Siren Publishing Classic)
Lindsay Townsend
The QB: The Making of Modern Quarterbacks
Bruce Feldman
Immortal Warrior
Lisa Hendrix
Flashback
Michael Palmer