ALBACORA 119 



"You mean you didn't get a single albacora all that 

 time I was stuck at the hotel?" 



"Jo Manning got a nice one," Lou said. 



"What's the matter with you?" I said. "Ten days and 

 not a single albacora. The only way you'll ever get 

 Bosco is with a net." 



"Do you think we could swing around, Walt," Lou 

 said, "and put Genie back on the dock?" 



Walt laughed and turned slightly northward on the 

 course to Pisagua. At once the rugged coastline stretched 

 as far as I could see along our starboard side. In the 

 pale, early sunlight, the Andes Mountains seemed to be 

 a chain of massive elephants, trunks entwined with tails 

 as they marched on in an unending procession from one 

 horizon to the other. The sun drew from the elephant's 

 sides long streaks of blues and grays and reds, just as 

 the sun does on the Painted Desert in Arizona. 



"Look," I said eagerly to Lou, "all the colors of an 

 artist's palette are out there." 



Lou shook his head, but Mario, standing nearby, over- 

 heard me. "It will bring buena suerte," he said. "Luck. 

 Soon grande albacora." 



"That's fine, Mario," I said carelessly. "Bring on the 

 grandest, toughest albacora in the ocean. Bring on 

 Bosco." 



"You today, Senora?" 



"Maybe," I answered, with a sidelong glance at Lou. 



Lou glowered at me and headed for the cabin. I 

 leaned toward the port side of the boat and fingered the 



