“The great Sisler's father was never poor and he,the father,was playing in the big leagues when he was my age.”
The old man drank his coffee slowly.It was all he would have all day and he knew that he should take it.For a long time now eating had bored him and he never carried a lunch.He had a bottle of water in the bow of the skiff and that was all he needed for the day.
“That's very kind of you,”the old man said.“Should we eat?”
“So do I,”the boy said.“Now I must get your sardines and mine and your fresh baits.He brings our gear himself.He never wants anyone to carry anything.”
“Tell me about the baseball,”The boy asked him.
“Who gave this to you?”
“Wake up old man,”the boy said and put his hand on one of the old man's knees.
“Que va,”the boy said.“ There are many good fishermen and some great ones.But there is only you.”
“There was nothing ever like them.He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
“I've been asking you to,”the boy told him gently.“I have not wished to open the container until you were ready.”“I'm ready now,”the old man said.“ I only needed time to wash.”
“Good luck,”the old man said. He fitted the rope lashings of the oars onto the thole pins and,leaning forward against the thrust of the blades in the water,he began to row out of the harbor in the dark.There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them now the moon was below the hills.