“I'll give him the belly meat of a big fish,”the old man said.“ Has he done this for us more than once?”
“Good luck old man.”
“The great Sisler's father was never poor and he,the father,was playing in the big leagues when he was my age.”
“That means nothing.The great DiMaggio is himself again.”
“I must thank him.”
“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,”the old man said.“ They say his father was a fisherman.Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”
“We'll put the gear in the boat and then get some.”
“I know.You told me.”
“I think they are equal.”
“Good luck,”the old man said. He fitted the rope lashings of the oars onto the thole pins and,leaning forward against the thrust of the blades in the water,he began to row out of the harbor in the dark.There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them now the moon was below the hills.
“I do not like for him to waken me.It is as though I were inferior.”
“Your stew is excellent,”the old man said.
“They have other men on the team.”
“He sent two beers.”
“I know.But this is in bottles,Hatuey beer,and I take back the bottles.”
“Age is my alarm clock,”the old man said.“ Why do old men wake so early?Is it to have one longer day?”