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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