ALBACORA 153 



"Have you young children?" I asked the Mayor. 



"Yes," the Mayor said, "and grandchildren, too." 



I limped into the galley, opened the icebox and 

 searched. Halfway between the remaining knockwurst 

 and the steaks were several boxes of chocolate bars. I 

 gave a handful to the Mayor and another to the major. 

 They thanked me. We talked for a few minutes, then 

 the Mayor rose. 



"Now we shall let you all go to sleep," the Mayor 

 said. "Start early tomorrow and you will catch your 

 albacora," he added. 



I hobbled up to the deck to see them off, and as the 

 gentlemen were leaving, I heard Mario and Gus talking 

 in the bow. Mario heard my steps. 



''Mariana/' he called, "albacora. Grande albacora." 



"I hope so, Mario," I answered. Then I went to bed, 

 convinced that the prediction was not based on anything 

 but concern for my morale. 



At four o'clock the next morning, a long column of 

 lights began gliding past the Explorer. The commercial 

 fishermen of Pisagua were going down to the sea. We 

 were all tired, but the Explorer got underway a short 

 time later. Early sunlight was coming up over the rim 

 of the Andes. As we sailed out of the harbor, the curving 

 shoreline was tinted pink. Luis Rivas pointed it out to 

 me. "What does that remind you of?" he asked. 



