“No,”the old man said.“ But we have.Haven't we?”“Yes,”the boy said.“Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then we'll take the stuff home.”
“Far out to come in when the wind shifts.I want to be out before it is light.”
“A pot of yellow rice with fish.Do you want some?”
“You bought me a beer,”the old man said.“You are already a man.”
The boy did not know whether yesterday's paper was a fiction too.But the old man brought it out from under the bed.
“Santiago,”the boy said to him as they climbed the bank from where the skiff was hauled up.“I could go with you again.We've made some money.”
“No,I will eat at home.Do you want me to make the fire?”