ALBACORA 149 



"Ooop!" Lou shouted. "Careful!" 



I knew then that Rivas would have to go through the 

 hazing at least once again. I felt like putting a dash of 

 arsenic in with the knockwurst and sauerkraut which I 

 was recklessly throwing together in a big pot. (This had 

 become the quickest, the easiest and most appreciated 

 dish on our menu.) 



By eight o'clock it had grown dark, and supper was 

 ready. I shouted and the men came filing up to the 

 table. Rivas was first. 



"Well," I asked Luis anxiously. "Did you boat him?" 



He nodded quickly. "I practically worked him to 

 death!" 



"As I was telling you, Rivas," Walt said, "you've got 

 a real touch with a rod. A fish like that would have 

 floored a lot of old hands. You took it in stride." The 

 men moved into their places at the table. 



"What I can't understand," Rivas said, "is how that 

 fish could keep on falling away from us and always 

 at just the right second." 



"Maybe he was hooked a couple of times before and 

 he got away," I suggested. 



"No," Rivas said seriously. "Marlin are not intel- 

 ligent in that way. They don't really have memories. 

 It must have been something else." 



"Must have been," Lou said. 



"What the hell is this?" Walt Gorman asked, point- 

 ing to the plate I had set before him. 



