—for L.D.

I talk to a Portuguese fisherman. It turns out he's a fisherman but not Portuguese. He is Basque. We speak Portuguese. To be exact, I speak Portuguese and he replies in Basque which I do not understand. A Portuguese fisherman stands beside us, translating from Basque to Portuguese, periodically from Basque to English, then to Portuguese and back to Basque. I ask about fish. Learn that the Basque is actually not a fisherman. He rents fishermen — most of whom are Portuguese (some Basque) — his boats. They pay him in fish or Portuguese promissory notes (occasionally Basque coins). The Basque man knows little about fish. It is becoming apparent to me that I should have spoken only to the Portuguese fisherman who is translating, as opposed to the Basque man who is not only a non-fisherman but does not speak any of the languages I do. This has taken about fifteen minutes. The tide is beginning to come in. People in the motel spoke all day about the approaching storm. First drops hit the Portuguese fisherman's face. The Basque boat owner rests his eyes on the dark-gray sea. There's a strong smell of fish in the air.


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