They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the old man and he was not angry.Others,of the older fishermen,looked at him and were sad.But they did not show it and they spoke politely about the current and the depths they had drifted their lines at and the steady good weather and of what they had seen.The successful fishermen of that day were already in and had butchered their marlin out and carried them laid full across two planks,with two men staggering at the end of each plank,to the fish house where they waited for the ice truck to carry them to the market in Havana.Those who had caught sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of the cove where they were hoisted on a block and tackle,their livers removed, their fins cut off and their hides skinned out and their flesh cut into strips for salting.
“I remember everything from when we first went together.”
“I'll get the cast net and go for sardines.Will you sit in the sun in the doorway?”
“Where are you going?”the boy asked.
“The Yankees cannot lose.”
“Five and you nearly were killed when I brought the fish in too green and he nearly tore the boat to pieces.Can you remember?”
“Have faith in the Yankees my son.Think of the great DiMaggio.”