The boy did not go down.He had been there before and one of the fishermen was looking after the skiff for him.
Inside the shack he leaned the mast against the wall.In the dark he found a water bottle and took a drink.Then he lay down on the bed.He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and then over his back and legs and he slept face down on the newspapers with his arms out straight and the palms of his hands up.
He could feel he was inside the current now and he could see the lights of the beach colonies along the shore.He knew where he was now and it was nothing to get home.
He went into the Terrace and asked for a can of coffee.
“Tiburon,”the waiter said,“Eshark.”He was meaning to explain what had happened.
“Thanks,”the boy said.
“I'll bring the food and the papers,”the boy said.“Rest well,old man.I will bring stuff from the drugstore for your hands.”
“Maybe three.Maybe more.”
“Did they search for me?”
“I know how to care for them. In the night I spat something strange and felt something in my chest was broken.”
“Don't sit up.”the boy said.“Drink this.”He poured some of the coffee in a glass.
“Now we fish together again.”