Captain Shark-Killer 87 



Havana 



I had known for a long time that sharks were prevalent in Cuban waters, and 

 I thought a shark industry might be feasible here. But I soon learned that, 

 through a curious mixture of sharks and politics, the government had given a 

 mysterious Cuban named Dominguez exclusive rights to shark hunting in Cuban 

 waters. Dominguez' job was to exterminate the sharks, especially those around 

 Havana, so that political enemies of the regime would not have such a con- 

 venient way to dispose of their victims. A kind of Murder, Inc., that specialized 

 in liquidating politicians, was reportedly using the sharks, if not as assassins or 

 corpus delicti removers, at least as a cover-up. It seemed that when a politician 

 disappeared, the inevitable verdict was: sharks. But it was never made clear 

 whether the victim's killers were two-legged sharks. 



In years past, sharks had been used effectively, I was told, to snatch prisoners 

 trying to escape from Morro Castle, the grim old fortress that guarded Havana 

 harbor. Accompanied by the old keeper of the Havana harbor lighthouse, I 

 went out to the ruins of the castle to see if I could find any basis for this tale. 



After exploring a while, we came to a long, dark stairway that led up to a 

 little room which had in the center of its floor a round hole open to the sea, 

 about 200 feet below. Leading from the hole was a chute that ended in mid-air 

 quite a way above the sea. When the castle was used as a prison many years 

 ago, garbage was thrown down this chute, and naturally, hordes of sharks gath- 

 ered there to gorge themselves on the refuse. 



"Amigo," I asked the old keeper, "what is there to the tale that prisoners in 

 Morro Castle were permitted to escape through the garbage chute? " 



He paused a moment to light his pipe. Then, looking down the hole in the 

 floor, he replied, ''''Quien sabe? Who knows whether there is truth in the story? 

 There are many tales." 



As far as I could see, the plunge into the sea from that height would be 

 enough to kill a man. If he survived the fall, though, he would have little chance 

 of surviving the sharks. 



Several times a day, garbage scows would leave Havana to dump garbage 

 about 4 or 5 miles off shore. Sharks would suddenly appear, and so would shark- 

 catchers, who were poaching on Dominguez' private concession. 



I went out on several of these shark hunts. I once asked my host how he was 

 able to get away with catching sharks when Dominguez had exclusive rights. 



"Ha!" he laughed. "He cannot be everywhere, and sharks are in all places, 

 no?" 



Sharks did seem to be in all places around Cuba, and so did the poachers. 

 The poacher lay in wait in his small boat amid the freshly dumped refuse until 

 a shark appeared near him. The harpoon flashed, the shark was pulled alongside 

 the boat and then the fisherman slashed the shark across the back with a long, 

 keen knife. If he was lucky, he severed the backbone and paralyzed the shark. 

 Next, he sliced off the shark's fins. 



That was all he took of the shark; the rest was left to the other sharks. The 

 fisherman could get a dollar a string for fins from Chinese merchants, and 

 didn't bother with anything else. (Dominguez, though, went into the shark 

 business, processing both hides and oil.) 



On one of the poacher hunts, I saw a startling example of the keenness of the 



