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Authors: Louis A. Meyer
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sailed maybe fifteen miles up the coast. Then, as evening was about to fall, we headed into a nice little cove to dig some more clams. Both of us are heartily sick of them and think longingly of the simple meal we had at Arun's humble home, but we must eat something. We did not finish all of them but instead wrapped a goodly number in wet seaweed so as to have something with which to bait our hooks when we sailed away on the morrow. I climbed for more coconuts, as well, and we stashed some extra ones in the boat for later use. We also took the time to prepare the
Star
for the night, stretching our canvas across the lowered boom of the sail, making a very acceptable tent within the boat's hull.
We then took our sturdy little craft out into the gentle surf and threw out the anchor—yes, the badmash had one aboard, bless him. Hey, maybe the sod has earned some karma points, who knows? And then, as full night was upon us, Ravi and I, wrapped in each other's arms and lying on the hard hull of the
Eastern Star,
were rocked gently to sleep.
I yank the thrashing fish into the boat and, by God, it's a good one! About eighteen inches long, all blue and silver stripes and flashing teeth. I pick up a club that—given the amount of dried fish scales that cling to it—has been put to this use many times before, and deliver the fish a hearty
thwhack
on his head, which stops his thrashing and sends him off to wherever fishies go when they leave their water world.
"Poor fishy soul now with Brahma," whispers Ravi, appalled once again by the slaughter.
As the fish's movements subside, I whip out my shiv and open up his belly and spill out his guts.
"Ha! Now that's a good-looking liver," I crow, reaching into the mess and pulling out the bright red organ. I slap it down on the thwart and slice it neatly in half. I choose a piece and hold it over my mouth as if it is a crimson oyster and then let it slip down my throat.
Ummm...
"Your turn, Ravi, do it now," I order. "It's good for you, and the
Eastern Star
must have a fit First Mate."
"To eat insides of poor creature that still quivers." Ravi shudders, shaking his head. "Hopes for garden slug in next life fading fast ... Maybe spider ... or lowly ant..." I hold the morsel over his open mouth and then drop it. He gags, but he chews and gets it down. Amazing what a little hunger will do for deciding what one will, or will not, eat.
I fillet the fish and lay pieces of the flesh on the gunwale to dry and to cook there in the fierce rays of the sun. We shall eat them later, when they turn white, and I'll wager they will be quite delicious ... A dash of pepper and lemon would be nice, but dipped in the sea for salt, they will be just fine, and hey, this ain't exactly Buckingham Palace, now, is it?
Neptune smiles upon us and we have great good luck in fishing this day, bagging five more of the silver darlings. I unravel a length of my rope and use a strand to thread through the gills of each new arrival and tie the whole stringer over the side so that the fish will stay alive till we go to market.
We have further luck when I put the carcass of the first fish on an especially long, heavy hook and heave it over the side. Late in the afternoon, that line goes rigid and I swear the side of the
Star
heels over under the pressure of whatever is on the other end of that line. After much struggle, the blunt head of a shark appears alongside, the hook gleaming in his toothy mouth.
"Look, lad, in that cove there—it's another small town. Let's head in there and see if we can sell our catch."
Ravi puts over the tiller, I tighten the sail, and we head in, the unfortunate shark trailing meekly behind.
Good ladies and gentlemens of this lovely town, please to listen to playing of happy tunes by Sangeeta, my beloved but hideously ugly sister. Pity us, good people, and please to place alms in our poor bowl so that we might eat. Lord Krishna will bless you, yes, and thank you, good lady, thank
Star
for the night, stretching our canvas across the lowered boom of the sail, making a very acceptable tent within the boat's hull.
We then took our sturdy little craft out into the gentle surf and threw out the anchor—yes, the badmash had one aboard, bless him. Hey, maybe the sod has earned some karma points, who knows? And then, as full night was upon us, Ravi and I, wrapped in each other's arms and lying on the hard hull of the
Eastern Star,
were rocked gently to sleep.
I yank the thrashing fish into the boat and, by God, it's a good one! About eighteen inches long, all blue and silver stripes and flashing teeth. I pick up a club that—given the amount of dried fish scales that cling to it—has been put to this use many times before, and deliver the fish a hearty
thwhack
on his head, which stops his thrashing and sends him off to wherever fishies go when they leave their water world.
"Poor fishy soul now with Brahma," whispers Ravi, appalled once again by the slaughter.
As the fish's movements subside, I whip out my shiv and open up his belly and spill out his guts.
"Ha! Now that's a good-looking liver," I crow, reaching into the mess and pulling out the bright red organ. I slap it down on the thwart and slice it neatly in half. I choose a piece and hold it over my mouth as if it is a crimson oyster and then let it slip down my throat.
Ummm...
"Your turn, Ravi, do it now," I order. "It's good for you, and the
Eastern Star
must have a fit First Mate."
"To eat insides of poor creature that still quivers." Ravi shudders, shaking his head. "Hopes for garden slug in next life fading fast ... Maybe spider ... or lowly ant..." I hold the morsel over his open mouth and then drop it. He gags, but he chews and gets it down. Amazing what a little hunger will do for deciding what one will, or will not, eat.
I fillet the fish and lay pieces of the flesh on the gunwale to dry and to cook there in the fierce rays of the sun. We shall eat them later, when they turn white, and I'll wager they will be quite delicious ... A dash of pepper and lemon would be nice, but dipped in the sea for salt, they will be just fine, and hey, this ain't exactly Buckingham Palace, now, is it?
Neptune smiles upon us and we have great good luck in fishing this day, bagging five more of the silver darlings. I unravel a length of my rope and use a strand to thread through the gills of each new arrival and tie the whole stringer over the side so that the fish will stay alive till we go to market.
We have further luck when I put the carcass of the first fish on an especially long, heavy hook and heave it over the side. Late in the afternoon, that line goes rigid and I swear the side of the
Star
heels over under the pressure of whatever is on the other end of that line. After much struggle, the blunt head of a shark appears alongside, the hook gleaming in his toothy mouth.
"Look, lad, in that cove there—it's another small town. Let's head in there and see if we can sell our catch."
Ravi puts over the tiller, I tighten the sail, and we head in, the unfortunate shark trailing meekly behind.
Good ladies and gentlemens of this lovely town, please to listen to playing of happy tunes by Sangeeta, my beloved but hideously ugly sister. Pity us, good people, and please to place alms in our poor bowl so that we might eat. Lord Krishna will bless you, yes, and thank you, good lady, thank
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