ALBACORA 95 



When we arrived at the taxidermy shop we saw 

 mounted fish by the dozen. "Pfluger's Mortuary," I an- 

 nounced, and the name stuck. Inside Al was watching 

 Luis Rivas. Before long, Rivas was holding us spell- 

 bound with the first fish dissection we had ever seen, and 

 before much longer we found ourselves dissecting right 

 along with him. Rivas had a basic tool, which looked 

 like a huge wooden caliper, and first he measured key 

 lengths on the fish's body. 



"What's that for?" Lou wanted to know. 



Rivas looked up. "To discover what kind of fish this 

 is." 



"Why, it's a white marlin," Lou said. "That's as 

 plain as day." 



"Maybe," Rivas said, "but how many varieties of 

 marlin are there?" 



"Oh, blue, black, white, striped, silver . . ." Lou 

 counted off. 



"Nobody knows," Luis Rivas interrupted. "Actually, 

 the only way we can classify fish as accurately as we 

 classify land animals is by first making exact notations. 

 How far are the eyes set apart? What is the thickness 

 of the eyeball? Points of that sort." 



Lou nodded, and although Rivas' measuring lasted 

 more than two hours, none of us who watched him felt 

 even a trace of boredom. "Now," Rivas suggested when 

 he was finished, "suppose you people get to work with 



me." 



"In these clothes?" I said. Catching a fish was one 



