“The great Sisler's father was never poor and he,the father,was playing in the big leagues when he was my age.”
The old man opened his eyes and for a moment he was coming back from a long way away.Then he smiled.
“I do not like for him to waken me.It is as though I were inferior.”
“I know.”
“I must give him something more than the belly meat then.He is very thoughtful for us.”
“And the best fisherman is you.”
“I know.It was a great mistake.He might have gone with us.Then we would have that for all of our lives.”
“He sent two beers.”
“I have,”the old man said getting up and taking the newspaper and folding it.Then he started to fold the blanket.“Keep the blanket around you,”the boy said.You'll not fish without eating while I'm alive.
They had coffee from condensed milk cans at an early morning place that served fishermen.
“I think they are equal.”
The boy had brought them in a two-decker metal container from the Terrace.The two sets of knives and forks and spoons were in his pocket with a paper-napkin wrapped around each set.
“Do you want coffee?”the boy asked.
“There was nothing ever like them.He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
“That means nothing.The great DiMaggio is himself again.”
“Very well,Manolin,”the old man said.“ I feel confident today.”