The shark came in a rush and the old man hit him as he shut his jaws.He hit him solidly and from as high up as he could raise the club.This time he felt the bone at the base of the brain and he hit him again in the same place while the shark tore the meat loose sluggishly and slid down from the fish.

“I'd like to buy some if there's any place they sell it,”he said.

“Don't be silly,”he said aloud.“And keep awake and steer.You may have much luck yet.”

But in the dark now and no glow showing and no lights and only the wind and the steady pull of the sail he felt that perhaps he was already dead.He put his two hands together and felt the palms.They were not dead and he could bring the pain of life by simply opening and closing them.He leaned his back against the stern and he knew he was not dead.His shoulders told him.

But by midnight he fought and this time he knew the fight was useless.They came in a pack and he could only see the lines in the water that their fins made and their phosphorescence as they threw themselves on the fish.He clubbed at heads and heard the jaws chop and the shaking of the skiff as they took hold below.He clubbed desperately at what he could only feel and hear and he felt something seize the club and it was gone.