“I have mine left from today.I put them in salt in the box.”
The old man looked at him with his sunburned, confident loving eyes.
“The month when the great fish come,”the old man said.“ Anyone can be a fisherman in May.”
“He does not like to work too far out.”
“Let us take the stuff home,”the boy said.“ So I can get the cast net and go after the sardines.”
“Have faith in the Yankees my son.Think of the great DiMaggio.”
“Two,”the boy said.
“I'll get the cast net and go for sardines.Will you sit in the sun in the doorway?”
They picked up the gear from the boat.The old man carried the mast on his shoulder and the boy carried the wooden box with the coiled,hard-braided brown lines,the gaff and the harpoon with its shaft.The box with the baits was under the stern of the skiff along with the club that was used to subdue the big fish when they were brought alongside.No one would steal from the old man but it was better to take the sail and the heavy lines home as the dew was bad for them and,though he was quite sure no local people would steal from him,the old man thought that a gaff and a harpoon were needless temptations to leave in a boat.
“Be careful or you will fear even the Reds of Cincinnati and the White Sox of Chicago.”
“Do you think we should buy a terminal of the lottery with an eighty-five?Tomorrow is the eighty-fifth day.”