The Young Man and the Sea

I woke up 2 hours before sunrise. On those days it was easy because the excitement would take me right when my eyes opened. She kept sleeping on her side, and the thin covers only partially covered her beautiful body. It almost made me stay in bed. I slid close to her and let her warmth heal me for a moment. I kissed her on her cheek and understood I’d probably never see her again. Then I got out of bed, showered, and drank coffee until my head started to clear. I dressed light as it was already warm outside. During this time of year, it would never be cold, especially so close to the sea. Only up in the mountains. And I was glad I made it out of the mountains. I chugged down the last of the coffee quickly, opened the door, and was gone in the night. 

It was a quick walk from my bungalow to the beach, and I walked in darkness. There was no moon, but the stars were bright and filled the sky. I still felt tired when I got to the old man's barrack, but alert when I started to hear the waves crashing against the rocks. It made my stomach feel light. The ocean hid in vast blackness. The beach was filled with fishing boats, and only now the fishermen started to come out of their barracks. The old man liked to be one of the first to rise. And so it was today. When I reached the sand, he was standing on the boat, fixing rope. He was short and thin. The sun had gone deep through his skin, and it was so dark brown I was sure he was impossible to whiten ever again. He had small, dark eyes and a friendly, wrinkled smile. He moved catlike. He was fast and agile, and he stood on the edge of the boat and greeted me quietly, then came down without wasted movement and shook my hand.

‘Good morning,’ he said quietly. Not because he risked waking anyone, but because at this hour it was how you were supposed to talk. I had to go to the bathroom before we left, and there was an empty café he sent me to, right at the beach. I used that bathroom, sandy and wet, and when I came back, there were five more fishermen all standing at the beach. He waved me to them urgently, and I hurried back. They started pushing the fishing boats into the water. I joined in, and they were heavy, and the varnished white wood on them felt cold. The fishermen didn’t acknowledge me helping. After the first boat hit the water, one man held it by a rope, and another one picked up wooden logs from the beach and placed them in front of the second boat. We then pushed it into the water. I realized there was a young couple standing at the beach beside us. They were apparently going fishing as well. They looked horribly English. They didn’t belong there. She looked like she was a lawyer, and he looked like he worked for a bank. They looked nervous and out of place. They wouldn’t get the idea of helping with the boats. But I didn’t judge them. It was too early in the morning to judge anyone. Finally, there were four boats in the water, and I helped push every single one. The last one seemed to be my fisherman’s as he was standing closest to it, where the previous owners used to stand when they pushed their boat into the water. His boat was the furthest from the water, and we had to push the strongest and adjust the wood twice. Finally now, one of the other fishermen gave me a smile in acknowledgment of my help. The English-looking couple still looked anchored with that uncomfortable look and their big backpacks. They were very well prepared with their bucket hats and filled bags, and I was sure she also packed sunscreen for both of them, along with sandwiches and water. And they were wearing rash guards. I wore shorts and an old T-shirt and had nothing besides a water bottle with me. Before I knew it, the fisherman told me to jump in the boat, and he made it clear to be fast. So I climbed in, and it wobbled on the water as I entered. I heard the damp sound of my foot hitting the bottom of the wooden boat from the water right below. I turned and saw the English couple somehow also got into one of the boats. The other ones were empty, without tourists, and already on the water. I turned back, and the fisherman hopped on and balanced on the sides of the boat to its stern. He smiled at me. 

‘Here we go.’, he laughed in a smoky old man kind of laugh. 

‘Let’s go.’, I said, and he threw on the diesel motor. I liked the smell after it started to grumble. The boat slowly turned with the bow toward the smooth, dark, open water, and there was no light anywhere. He let the motor go, and we were on our way. We made quick meters, and the coast quickly turned small in the distance. We would stay parallel to the coast for another twenty minutes, and the waves were small, so we wouldn’t smash when cutting through them. The water was completely dark, but every time we cut the waves in front of us, it was like there were blue sparks coming from the water. I wondered what it was or where it came from. But it didn’t matter. I just had to wait until sunrise. The boat was nothing but a long, thin canoe with two thick wooden logs on both sides that were attached through the canoe in the middle for extra stability. Without them, we would have sunk a long time ago. We started leaving the coast and sailing out, and the small lights from the town started to drift off into darkness. The waves grew in size. We didn’t talk, and the motor was loud. The only other sound was the splashing of the water when we cut another wave. And there we cut another one, but this one was bigger. It lifted the bow out of the water and sent it crashing down between the waves. I got bathed in the splash and inhaled deeply. I heard the laughing of the fisherman. He knew those waters. It was not very cold, not even out at sea, but with the sun gone and the speed up, I felt cold going against the wind. I knew I only had to wait until sunrise, and the sun would bring the heat. However, there was not even any orange yet on the horizon. Still nothing but complete darkness. We kept going, and the waves started rising, and we crashed down a few more times, bathing me each time. The fisherman would always laugh. But not to make me feel bad. It was a laugh filled with a lifetime of understanding. When you are out at sea, going fast, and you don’t talk, and there is nothing to do besides hold on and stare out into the horizon, waiting for it to turn light, you get the chance to think. And I thought about the girl that I left sleeping in my bed and if she’d still be there once I got back. She was a cute one. Not a great one. She was a pretty one. But she had been traveling for too long. And the modern world had her mind. She did like me a bit too much. Too much, too fast. But we had a fine time together. I took her to restaurants and I liked talking to her. And I made very good love with her. Once I remembered the lovemaking, I hoped she would still be there once I got back. But I think she had caught on that I wouldn’t save her from the streets. That’s where she belonged. It wasn’t a bad case of for the streets, but she was no wife. I’d like to bring back fish for her to cook, but I’d also like her not to be there when I got back. I could do with a new girl right about now. Three days with one girl was too much under my current circumstances. Then I thought about making love with her again. Then the bow got lifted out of the water, and I felt the weightlessness and the anticipation of the crash, and white water, still dark in the night, got tossed in the air and came down right at me as we crashed between the big wave and wiggled. This time the fisherman didn’t laugh so loud. This one was big even for him. I turned to him. 

‘You, O.K?’, he asked. I nodded. I wanted to ask how much longer, but I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t made for it. I turned around and saw the darkness had been broken by bits of orange light against the horizon. It was like a thin veil, thickening slowly toward daylight. We cruised right against it. I calmed, sat, and waited. I was very wet and cold. 

It would have been another twenty minutes, and I saw a wooden structure that looked like a small lounge with a roof on the open water. I pointed it out to the fisherman, but I realized the other boats were standing close. When the motor slowed, I understood that was the marking for the fishing spot. I smiled at the fisherman, and he smiled back. 

‘Mahi Mahi!’, He meant the fish. ‘They are here.’, he said. 

He let the boat turn with the motor on the lowest level, lightly cruising on the water. He started cutting mackerel on the boat. He bit his teeth while he cut. He looked around him quickly as if someone was looking, then took the fishing rod and prepared the hook with the mackerel. He went twice through the meat with the hook. Then he opened the line and let it drop into the water. He let a lot of line out, and we were trolling the bait. He closed the fishing reel and handed me the fishing rod. I immediately felt the hit. It was heavy and sudden, and it pulled strong and was alive. 

‘Fish.’, I said, surprised, and pulled the rod up. ‘Fish!’, I said louder and started reeling. He put so much pressure on that I thought the rod would be pulled from my hands, and I sunk my fingers into the cushions of the rod and around it. ‘Slow. Slow!', the fisherman said, but I did not feel like that. I reeled in until the rod went down, then pulled the rod up and started reeling again. 

‘Like this. Like this. Good!’

PLOW! The fish jumped and shook its head and reflected grey and blue. It was a shadow, so fast, gone back into the water as it emerged. It was a really big fish. It was bright out now. ‘Ah no.’, the fisherman mumbled, and the fish jumped again and shook its head back and forth with the hook in its mouth. Then I had to reel quickly as he landed again into the water, and the tension was gone, and it felt like he freed himself. Or was he gone? I reeled and reeled, and there was no resistance, and then he struck hard again and pulled the nose down and strained my arms. 

‘No. No!', he said again, and I did not know what he was talking about until I looked up and followed the white fishing line until it dove under the water some fifteen meters in front and saw the other boat cutting it. 

‘Give me!’ the fisherman said, and I did not want to give him my fish, but I realized what was about to happen and figured he’d have the best chance to save it. He screamed something to the other boat in Indonesian, and they screamed back. I didn’t understand the words, but I knew what they were saying. He tried to save it, but I knew, and the other boat knew, and the fish knew, and he didn’t jump anymore. He dove deep as the other boat crossed the line and cut it. He was gone. The fisherman reeled in quickly, and there was no resistance at all. I waited and said nothing and still hoped he would somehow bite again until there was nothing but a cut-up line he reeled in. 

‘He is gone.’ I said. 

‘Gone.’ he said. 

‘He was big.’

 ‘Yes. Good fish.’, he said. It was a beautiful fish. But I felt excited now. The fisherman started attaching a new hook to the line, and as I watched, he pointed his finger out behind me. Without looking up, he said: ‘Look. Sunrise.’

I turned and saw the beautiful fireball, already half-emerged, rising from the ocean’s edge. It must have started rising as I fought the fish. It was warm right away. I calmed for a moment before the fisherman handed me the rod again, and the bait dove into the blue water and deep below. I let the line go until he said stop, and we were trolling again. 

It took about forty-five seconds, and they were filled with anticipation, doubt, adrenaline, and the fight for life and death between you and the fish. And that feeling was what made fishing such a pleasure. You knew you were where the fish were. And they had already shown themselves, and it was just time to wait. And you waited, and with every second, the anticipation rose and doubt at the same time. You thought they would bite, but then again, what if they didn’t? What if that was my only chance? What if I lost the one big fish, and now there won’t be any more? The last one had already bit at this point. And we were trolling, and there was still no bite, and maybe there wouldn’t be anymore, and my heart was beating, and I felt him there, in the water, deep below, awakened by the sun, hungry, angry, ready. 

‘FISH!’, I screamed as the nose of the rod bent violently into the water. 

‘Mahi Mahi!’ the old man was yelling. He hit hard and pulled three times, and I struggled to hold on. Then I fought for control and pulled the nose of the rod up, following the rising sun. And I reeled until the nose was almost in the water, then pulled up again, and there was a lot of pressure on the line. The waves weren’t small and kept hitting us from the side. He dove, and I opened the drag slowly, and the line started hissing as he steadily pushed it off, diving from side to side. 

‘Get him tired!’, the old man said. He kept pulling steadily, and I kept reeling to bring back meters. He came back easier this time, and I closed the drag further. He kept pulling, but the violence wasn’t there anymore. 

‘Steady. Slowly.’, the fisherman said. I kept the nose of the rod high and reeled steadily. Suddenly the water opened, and he jumped. He reflected blue and green and hit the water with a splash. The line loosened, and I reeled faster until I found the pressure again. I got him closer to the boat, and he went from side to side close to the surface. I could see him now. He was a pretty one. I didn’t feel his power anymore. It seemed like he had given up. He was exhausted. And I still had my power, and there was nothing he could do. He was very close now, and he understood what would be his fate. He wasn’t fighting anymore. Panic took him, and he started splashing and jumping, but he was too close, and the line was too tight, and I reeled him in. The old man grabbed the line directly in front of him, and he splashed and shook and fought and begged, and he heaved him into the boat, and it was over for him. He hit the wood hard with his fin. He protested and shook. The old man grabbed him strong around the gills and pulled the hook out of his mouth and let him drop down in the little pit separating the stern from the middle of the boat. I put the rod down, and the fish pitifully flopped around in the pit, and I looked at the fish and then at the fisherman, who was already preparing the hook with a fresh piece of mackerel. The fish kept shaking. 

‘Do you have a knife?’, I asked. The old man didn’t understand. ‘Knife?’ I asked. He nodded. 

‘We have to cut him,’ I said. ‘It’s ok.’ the old man said. I looked down at the fish, lying on the wooden floor, staring up at me with those round, unintelligent eyes. He lay still now, but his gills still moved, looking for water, looking for life. It was the old man’s boat. It was his fishing rods. It was his work and his life. And I was only a guest. I guess that was his way of doing things. And still, I didn’t like to leave fish to suffocate. They shouldn’t suffer unnecessarily. The fish couldn’t accept it yet, and his fin started hitting the floor again. 

‘It’s better to cut so they don’t suffer.’ I told the fisherman. I wasn’t sure if he understood. But he looked at me like he did. He fixed the new hook and gave me the rod. I looked back down at the fish, and his gills were not moving anymore. It was over at last, I thought. No sense losing any more thought over it. I let the bait drop back, and the ocean took it, and no ten seconds in, the next one took the bait.

‘FISH!’ I screamed, and fought again. When I reeled him in, the old man grabbed him, removed the hook, held the fish out over the water, grabbed his knife, let it glide behind the fish’s gills, and cut forward, opening his throat. Blood poured out and down his hands, and he dropped him down in the pit. He flopped a bit down there but was dead in seconds. It was a good death, and I was glad the old man and I had come to a silent agreement. For the next hour, I hit one after the other. It was a frenzy. The pit filled with fish and blood. And it was very satisfying. The old man was happy. He told me it was good fishing today, and it made me glad he was happy with me. The sun had risen fast, and it was hot now, and I took my shirt off. My shorts and my shirt were wet, smelled like fish, and were covered with bloodstains. I started cutting the fish’s throats, and the pit had filled. Then I let the bait drop in the water, and it disappeared in the darkness. We were trolling, and the sun came down hard. The old man grabbed a waterproof bag, opened it, and took out cigarettes. He didn’t offer, but I knew he didn’t have much. We kept trolling slowly, and I asked the old man: ‘You fish every day?’ 

‘Every day.’, he said. 

‘And what do you do with the fish?’, I asked. 

‘Eat.’

‘All of it?’, I asked. 

‘It’s all we eat.’, he said, ‘I have family. I have children. And brother and cousin. We eat.’

‘How many kids do you have?’, I asked and watched him look up at the sun and smoke. 

‘Five.’, he said, and he sounded proud and concerned at once. 

‘Congratulations.’, I said. 

‘Difficult brother.’, he said, ‘It’s difficult.’

‘I understand.’, I said. 

He kept smoking, and the fish didn’t bite. It had been longer than with any other fish. I wasn’t too concerned, as we caught so many already. 

‘You have a wife?’, I asked. 

‘Yes.’, he said. 

‘You have?’, he asked. 

‘Oh no.’, I said. 

‘Why not?’, he asked. 

‘I don’t like to have only one.’, I said. 

‘Oh. This is problem.’ 

‘You are right.’, I said. The old man laughed and tossed his cigarette in the water. 

We trolled longer, and it got very hot. I looked down into the pit, and the fish were laying on top of each other. I was fishing all my life. But I did feel bad for the first fish. I did not feel bad for the others. We had tricked them. And they bit. They thought they’d get an easy meal. For once, a meal without a fight. A hunt or battle. But all they got was death. It felt fair. They got tricked, and we were the smarter ones. And that’s it. Besides, the way they were biting on the bait, they had no mercy for their prey. Little did they know how quickly they themselves would be prey. I felt like this sea belonged to us humans. We went here and took from it what we needed. But I knew that wasn’t true. I felt how strong the sea was. I felt the waves, and I knew how deep it went down right below my feet. I was a guest on this ocean, and as long as the ocean allowed me to be here, I would be safe. But the ocean could change its mind quickly. I wondered why nothing was biting and got up to stretch my legs. Then a fish hit the rod so hard I got pulled to one side and over the railing, and without thinking, my legs dug into the corner of the boat, and all the muscles in my body tensed, holding on to the rod bending over the railing and into the water while pushing myself back into the boat. It got close for a moment, but I found stability before the wave hit the side of the boat, and I tumbled again and sat down. 

‘Big Mahi-Mahi!’, he yelled, and he watched. It was a big one, all right. Just before the rod would’ve slipped out of my hand, I managed to give line, and he went far. I kept the nose of the rod high and tightened the line. He still took it, but it would be more difficult for him now. I tried to reel, but as soon as he felt resistance, he fought again. And he fought stronger. He pulled harder than any other fish. And all the other ones usually fought hard at first but quickly got tired, and it stopped being a fight and became nothing but a light struggle. At some point, the fish stops fighting to win, and they only fight not to lose. And of course, that is what kills them. It must be a horror to be as exhausted as they would be, seeing the shape of the boat get closer and closer, then lifted out of the water and killed. But this one wasn’t fighting like he was scared; he was fighting like he was angry. And I could picture his big eyes down there in the blue ocean contoured in hate. He pulled, and I felt his hate. He hated me. 

‘Relax!’, he yelled, ‘Nose up!’, he said. And I realized it was almost down in the water again and pulled it up. The fish felt it, and he struggled again. I closed the line and started reeling some more. He didn’t like it, and I felt his hate, and he dove deep and pulled strong. The rod bent completely, and I did get worried about it. How much would it be able to hold? It wasn’t a new one. Not at all. No question the old man had been using it for years. Countless fish, countless fights. No one can fight forever. Not me, not the fish, the old man, and definitely not the rod. Maybe that was it. I thought I heard it crack, and I gave line, and he took it. The rod came back slightly. ‘Good! Good!’, he said. Even though it was hot, there was a wind that started growing, and it blew into the waves, and those waves hit against us. And the droplets from the waves crashing against the side of the boat got tossed up and onto my face, and I tasted the salt, and it felt cold on my face. The sea had become rough. And the damn fish wouldn’t get tired. Then he hit, hit, and hit again, and I felt my arms becoming tired, and the adrenaline felt heavy in my stomach. He pulled the nose of the rod underwater, and I had to give more line, and he took it gratefully and was now further out than ever before. I felt the force of the sea. I was in a losing battle. I had no choice; I could only give him more and more line. And he kept taking it. I had never felt so much power from a fish before, and I knew if I didn’t stay focused, he’d either break the line, the rod, or my will. ‘But my will he wouldn’t break.’, I thought, as my arms had become very painful and heavy and filled with blood. And he had been fighting for the last twenty minutes. I would let him take more line. That’s all I could do. At some point, he would get tired. He had to get tired. I just had to get tired after him. ‘Enough!’, I thought and pulled the rod up and started reeling. He bent the rod to the edge, and there was tremendous power behind it. 

‘Calm!’, the old man said. But I didn’t feel calm. Now I felt anger. He would not win. I could not let the fish win. Violently he pulled the rod down again and took the line, and I closed the line and reeled again. He felt heavy, and he felt strong, and I could barely move the reel. Again he hit; again I reeled. It was a game of inches, but I was winning back ground. The old man lit another cigarette, and the waves started growing. The boat tumbled back and forth, and the waves crashed against the side. The old man was calm, but the sea was rough, and the fish was violent. And I was tired. I reeled again, then got up for more leverage. Then a wave hit the boat, and I tumbled, and fell back on my ass. I kept the rod, and I kept reeling. He wasn’t deep anymore; he was close to the surface, further out. Then the sun reflected silver-green as he broke the surface and jumped. He was gigantic. He was far out, and it looked like he was almost as long as the boat itself. He was the most beautiful fish I had ever seen, and I would never forget that view of him in the air. When he hit the water, he didn’t splash; he dove in. The line was loose, and I feared I had lost him, and I reeled quickly. Then he hit violently again and put all his power and majesty into the line, and the rod bent down, and I felt his hate, and he felt mine, and the line broke, and he was gone. 

He was gone. 

Just like that. 

There was no more power on that line. 

The old man saw, and he didn’t say a thing, and he smoked in tiredness, and I just sat there with the white line floating on the surface. Nothing on the other end. That’s one that got away.

‘Big Mahi-Mahi.’, the old man said. 

‘Ya.’, I said. 

‘Sometimes they get away.’, he said. 

‘Ya.’, I said. I was defeated all right. 

We kept fishing for a little bit, and the old man started throwing his line in as well for the first time. At first, my heart kept beating. As I knew what was in this water. And I was sure he’d bite again. But nothing bit. For a long time, then a longer time. And at some point, I realized nothing would be biting anymore. We kept fishing for at least another forty-five minutes afterward. As you do. But we both knew that was it. At some point, you just know. And at that point, there is no way anything will ever bite again. But you still have to keep going. Otherwise, it’s giving up. 

Finally, the old man said: ‘We should go back.’, First I kept quiet, then I agreed. 

I pulled the line out slowly, as there was always the thought the fish might still bite in the very last second. But it never would. I knew that when I started thinking like that, it was truly over. He was gone. And that’s that. We turned, and we were going fast again toward land. The waves were much bigger than at night, and we crashed heavily many times, and everything was wet. This time I knew how long it would take, but I just sat and watched the land come closer. Far away in the distance. The endless sea was then suddenly interrupted by a black spot in the water, and I knew immediately what it was. I turned to the old man and pointed it out. 

He squinted his eyes, slowed the motor, and looked out at the round, dark thing in the water, moving back and forth in the waves. We drove up slowly, and as it is on the open waters, whatever you thought you had seen quickly changes to something else, and so it was this time. From a part of a sunken ship still over water, it became just trash, and then as we were close enough to see what it really was, I realised my first instinct was correct. It was a very small, one-man fishing boat. I turned to the old man, but he didn’t look at me, maneuvering our boat close. 

He then got up and looked at it. It was no more than a carved-out piece of wood, made to serve as a boat. Almost completely submerged, with only a small part over water, it still stayed afloat. I saw holes in the wood. The old man grabbed the wood and moved it back and forth and spoke disappointed in Indonesian. He leaned back in the boat. 

‘What is it?’, I asked him. ‘No good.’,  he said, ‘Broken.’ 

‘Who owned it?’, I asked. Someone must have. We were very far out, and it went down very deep here. Who would take a boat so small out all the way here? And if they were not on the boat, where were they? He sat back down and wanted to go. 

‘You sure you don’t need it?’, I asked. He thought, then got back up and said: ‘Help me.’ 

I got up, and we both leaned out of the boat as waves kept hitting us, and we grabbed that little, broken nutshell. 

‘One. Two. Three!’, he said, and we started lifting. The front came up easily until most of it was out of the water, and the weight was hanging in the air. It became too heavy, and we had to let go. Another wave hit, and I fell back down as the old man kept standing. 

‘Again.’, he said, and I grabbed it again, and so did he, and we pulled, and again the front came out easily, and then it became hard, and I ignored my dead arms and the grip slipping out of my hands and kept pulling, and so did he, and we got it up in the air and pulled and dragged it in, trying not to fall in the water on the other side. The old man turned to me and thanked me, and there was excitement in his eyes. He then fixed the little nutshell to the boat, and we kept going again. The wood was damaged everywhere with a lot of holes. 

‘I will fix and give my son.’, he said. 

‘Good.’, I said. 

‘He can play close to the beach.’, 

‘What do you think happened here?’, I asked. He shrugged his shoulders. 

‘Do you think someone is still out here?’, I asked. 

The old man looked out at the sea and shook his head. I knew he was right. I looked inside the nutshell. There were little ponds of water, and in them a bunch of little fish. As the boat crashed and moved in the waves, that water came out at the bottom or the sides, and the fish had less and less. Finally, there was just a little bit of water left, and all the fish tried their best to stay in the pond and not to suffocate. But with every wave, that little pond moved up, then down, always leaving some fish out of it. I felt bad for them. I turned to the old man. 

‘There are little fish here. Let me throw them out.’

He barely heard me with the motor so loud and us going at high speed. 

‘We will be there soon.’, he said. That was the way it would be. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t make it till then. But that would be out of my control. For the next hour, I sat and watched the little fish desperately trying to stay in the mini pond. Some were always excluded from the water. The first ones died quickly and started drying up against the moist wood. The others kept fighting. I kept looking at that one fish, however. Silver-green. Like the one that got away, just much smaller. And he kept fighting to stay in the pond. And when the pond moved up, he did his best to stay with it. And when it moved too fast, he flopped on the wood until the pond came back, and he could breathe again. Finally, the beach came closer and closer, and then we landed. I jumped out, and it felt good being back. I was very tired now and thirsty. And I was very wet and full of blood. Everything smelled like fish. The old man’s brother came out of his hut when he saw us and helped unload. I believe I had seen him in the morning as well, but I couldn’t tell for sure. The old man went inside his hut to grab plastic bags for the fish. When he left, I immediately took the plastic spatula he had for digging water overboard, and I dug into the pond of the nutshell boat. The stupid fish were afraid and swam all over, but I caught as many as I could and tossed them back into the ocean. They had survived at last. The old man came back. We had caught thirteen Mahi-Mahi in total. I gave him twelve and kept one for me. The old man pointed to the café where I had gone to the toilet in the morning and told me they’d cook the fish for me. I shook his hand and thanked him. He told me I’d done good. I lost the really big fish and didn’t feel that way. But it was over, and that was good. Walking on the hot sand to the café, I felt really tired, but it was nice to have the ground under me not move anymore. It was a family café right at the beach. The sea reflecting wildly blue. It was the mother and her grown son there. No one else. I showed them the fish, and they knew immediately. They were very friendly. The son asked me what I wanted to drink, and I ordered a Bintang. 

‘How will you cook it?’, I asked as the mother was already butchering the fish in the kitchen. 

‘Grill.’, the son said and walked me out to the beach. It was an old, broken grill, and he had already prepared a fire. I sat down and looked out at the water. I thought there were thirteen fish less swimming in that water today. And one that stayed in. And there probably was the dead body of a fisherman somewhere in those depths as well. But from here, you didn’t know anything about those horrors. The sea looked lovely and calm. The beer tasted good, and I felt how my skin had become salty and tan. I thought about the nice girl in my bed and how she most likely was gone. Just then, I saw blonde hair and long legs in flip-flops with a mussel anklet quietly walking in. She looked beautiful, innocent, and strong. 

I smiled at her, then looked out at the sea, nibbling on my beer. I heard her ask the mother for a drink, then she came to sit down two chairs away, beside me. 

One more sip of the beer, then I turned over, and she smiled. 

There was a new fish on the line.