"They must have taken a quarter of him and of the best meat," he said aloud. "I wish it were a dream and that I had never hooked him. I'm sorry about it, fish. It makes everything wrong." He stopped and he did not want to look at the fish now. Drained of blood and awash he looked the colour of the silver backing of a mirror and his stripes still showed.
"I shouldn't have gone out so far, fish," he said. "Neither for you nor for me. I'm sorry, fish."
Now, he said to himself. Look to the lashing on the knife and see if it has been cut. Then get your hand in order because there still is more to come.
"I wish I had a stone for the knife," the old man said after he had checked the lashing on the oar butt. "I should have brought a stone." You should have brought many things, he thought. But you did not bring them, old man. Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.
"You give me much good counsel," he said aloud. "I'm tired of it."
He held the tiller under his arm and soaked both his hands in the water as the skiff drove forward.
"God knows how much that last one took," he said. "But she's much lighter now." He did not want to think of the mutilated under-side of the fish. He knew that each of the jerking bumps of the shark had been meat torn away and that the fish now made a trail for all sharks as wide as a highway through the sea.
Furnace went out again today. Waited most of the night for a different furnace person to show up. Although I did attend a poetry open mic with my son, as well.
My wife, son, and I are spending the night at a hotel because it was so cold in the house. And just to get a break from the stress.
Saint Marty's koan for tonight: a shark highway is better than a dead furnace.
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