40 ALBACORA 



Lou reached into a cabinet and produced a deck of 

 cards. "Let's try a little gin rummy," he said. "That'll 

 make the waiting easier." 



"Fine," I said. But during the game I had to keep 

 looking out through a porthole. Birds were following 

 us in — hundreds of birds — hoping perhaps that we 

 would dump some food into the water. They swarmed 

 through the sky around us and, over the pulsing of the 

 engine, their raucous cries came, harsh and clear. 



"Lou," I said, quietly, "how do the birds know that 

 the boys are cleaning up? Before we even throw the old 

 bait overboard they follow us in droves." 



Lou looked up from his cards. "What?" he said. 



"The birds, Lou. They make me feel as though we're 

 a kind of garbage truck. Aren't they bothering you?" 



Lou shrugged his shoulders and smiled across the 

 table at me, a smile full of warmth and love and 

 friendliness. "Gin," Lou said. 



