ALBACORA 47 



up to the wharf. Unfortunately, the crane is not an ele- 

 vator service for tired ladies. 



"C'mon, Genie," Jo Manning called down from the 

 dock. The Explorer bumped to a stop. "Come up here 

 and face your public." 



I was aching all over and I said nothing. I began 

 climbing a perpendicular ladder in the sea wall, 

 remembering with each rung that I was old enough to 

 be a grandmother. In fact, I aged ten years with every 

 step. Near the top, I felt a hand come to my aid. I looked 

 up and saw that it belonged to Luis Rivas. He had ar- 

 rived just a few hours earlier. 



"Did you get specimens for me?" he asked eagerly. 

 "Did you and Lou bring in any billfish?" 



"Wait and see," I told him. "Watch the crane." 



Rivas' eyes went wide as my 318-pound marlin came 

 into view. By the time he had seen all the five marlin 

 his eyes were bigger than saucers. 



"No albacora, Luis," I said. "I'm sorry." 



"We saw a big one, Rivas," Lou said, "but that was 

 early in the morning. He sounded, and after that there 

 were only marlin and whales." 



"Are you apologizing?" Rivas said, surprised. 



"Well, we saw Bosco but he sounded," I said. "We 

 didn't even come close to catching him." 



"Don't you know what you have here?" Rivas said. 

 "Why, I'll be measuring and categorizing and working 

 over these fish until two o'clock in the morning!" 



