Chapter 10 fish king

"One more thing," said Mrs. Murgatroyd. In the taxi, the husband sitting next to her couldn't help but secretly sighed.No matter how smooth the situation was, there was always "one more thing" to be with Mrs. Murgatroyd, and Edna Murgatroyd's life was never without chatter, nagging complaints and dissatisfaction.In short, she was constantly finding fault all day long. Young Higgins sat silently beside the driver.He is an executive at the headquarters, and the bank selected him for a week's vacation, and the expenses were all paid by the unit, because he was the most promising newcomer in the annual assessment.He works in the foreign exchange department and is a passionate young man.They had only met at Heathrow twelve hours earlier, and the young man's natural enthusiasm had faded under Mrs Murgatroyd's babbling.

Taxi drivers are Creoles.Because they took his car to the hotel, he had been smiling and welcoming a few minutes ago, and now he was silent because of the nagging of the female passenger in the back seat.Although his native language is Creole French, he is perfectly able to understand English.After all, Mauritius was once a British colony for 150 years. Edna Murgatroyd's babble flowed like a spring.She had moments of self-pity, moments of resentment.Murgatroyd looked out the window as Plaisance Airport faded behind them.The road ahead leads to Mahébourg, the former capital of the French island nation.In 1810, they attempted to defend the dilapidated castle against the British fleet.

Murgatroyd stared out the window, fascinated by what he saw.He is determined to make the most of his week-long holiday on this tropical island, the first real adventure of his life.Before leaving, he had read two thick Mauritius travel guidebooks and studied a large-scale map from north to south. They passed through a village and entered the country rich in sugar cane.On the steps of roadside farmhouses, he saw Indians, Chinese, blacks, and mixed-race Creoles living together and living in harmony.Hindu temples, Buddhist monasteries and Catholic churches are just a stone's throw away.He had read in books that Mauritius was a country made up of six ethnic groups and four major religions, but he had never seen such a thing with his own eyes before, at least he didn't expect it to be so harmonious.

They passed more villages, none rich and certainly not neat.However, the villagers all smiled and waved at them.Murgatroyd also waved to the crowd.Suddenly, four skinny chickens flapped their wings and jumped in front of the car, almost hitting them.When he looked back, they were back on the road, scraping in the dust for bits and pieces of food.Around a bend, the car slowed and a Tamil boy emerged from a shack.He was wearing a loose straight-cut dress, standing on the side of the street curb, the hem of the dress was raised to the waist, and the lower body was naked.As the taxi passed by, he began to pee, holding his clothes in one hand and waving at them with the other.Mrs. Murgatroyd snorted.

"Hate it." After she finished speaking, she leaned forward and patted the driver on the shoulder. "Why doesn't he go to the bathroom?" The driver shook his head back and laughed.Then he turned his face to answer her, and he slowed down the car and turned two curves. "Pas de toilette, madame," he said. "What does that mean?" she asked. "It seems to mean that the road is the toilet," Higgins explained. She scoffed. "Hey," said Higgins, "look at the sea." When they drove along the cliff for a while, they saw the blue Indian Ocean on the right hand under the morning sun, and the vision stretched to the sea level.Half a mile from the shoreline, churning surf forms a white line marking the large coral reef that separates Mauritius from the turbulent sea.Inside the atoll they could see the lagoon, its light green water undulating, clear and bright, and the coral groves at a depth of twenty feet were clearly visible.Then, the taxi returned to the middle of the sugar cane field.

Fifty minutes later, they passed through a fishing village called Qingquanwan.The driver pointed ahead, "There are still ten minutes to the hotel." He said. "Thank goodness," said Mrs. Murgatroyd with a sigh of relief, "I can't bear such a bumpy ride any longer." They drove up a driveway lined with manicured lawns and palm trees.Higgins turned around and smiled. "It's a long way from Pounds End." Murgatroyd smiled back. "Yeah," he said.He has good reason to be thankful that he works in Pounds End, a suburb of London.There, he was the bank's branch manager.A nearby light industry factory had just been in operation for six months. At that time, he came up with a whim to understand the internal management and labor conditions of the factory, and proposed to pay weekly wages by check to reduce the risk of being robbed when paying wages.To his amazement, most people at the plant agreed to his proposal, and the result was hundreds of new accounts opened in his branch.This beautiful action attracted the attention of the bank's headquarters. Some people proposed to adopt an incentive mechanism for foreign branches and ordinary employees. In the first year of the implementation of this plan, he won an award. The prize was a one-week holiday in Mauritius fully paid by the bank.

When the taxi finally stopped in front of the high arcades of the Hotel Saint-Jean-Jean, two bellboys ran up and took the luggage from the trunk and the roof rack.Mrs. Murgatroyd immediately got out of the back seat.Although she had only visited the Thames Estuary twice before - usually to her sister's house in Bognor - she immediately began to reprimand the porter with the air of a powerful lord in olden days. . The three of them followed the porter through the arched corridors into the cool domed hall.Mrs. Murgatroyd led the way, her printed dress crumpled from the flight and car.Higgins was neatly dressed in a beige seersucker suit, while Mr Murgatroyd was in a stately gray suit.On the left side of the lobby is the service desk, and an Indian employee greets them with a smile.

Higgins took on the task of introduction: "This is Mr. and Mrs. Murgatroyd. I'm Mr. Higgins." The waiter checked off the reservation list. "Yes, it is," he said. Murgatroyd looked around. The lobby was adorned with rough-hewn local stone, and it looked magnificent.Overhead, dark girders support the roof.The lobby extends to a colonnade beyond, with additional columns holding up the sides to let in cool breezes.From the end of the lobby, you can see the bright and bright tropical sunshine and hear the noise of people in the swimming pool.Halfway up the lobby to the left, a stone staircase leads to the guest rooms on the upper side; another archway on the first floor leads to the suites below.

A young Englishman with blond hair, a bright shirt and light slacks emerged from the room behind the desk. "Good morning," he greeted with a smile, "my name is Paul Jones, and I'm the general manager here." "I'm Higgins," introduced Higgins. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Murgatroyd." "You're very welcome," said Jones. "I'll arrange rooms for you." At this time, a tall and thin man came from the lobby and walked towards them.He was wearing gym shorts that showed his lean calves, and a floral patterned beach shirt fluttered around him.He was barefoot, with a big smile on his face, and a can of beer in one big hand.He stopped not far from Murgatroyd and stared down at him.

"Hello, new here?" he greeted, with a distinctly Australian accent in his voice. Mr. Murgatroyd was a little taken aback. "Oh yes," he said. "What's your name?" asked the Australian, dryly. "Murgatroyd," replied the bank manager, "Roger Murgatroyd." The Australian nodded, taking down the message. "Where are you from?" he asked again. Murgatroyd misunderstood, he thought the man asked "what unit are you from". "From the Midland branch," he said. The Australian raised his beer can and drank it dry, belching: "Who is he?"

"It's Higgins," Murgatroyd said, "from headquarters." The Australian smiled happily.He blinked a few times to get a better look. "Very well," he said, "Murgatroyd in Midland, and Higgins in Headquarters." It wasn't until this time that Paul Jones noticed the Australian. He turned from the service desk, took the tall man by the arm, and led him back to the lobby: "Okay, okay, Mr. Foster, please go back to the lobby." Go to the bar and I'll get the new customer settled..." Foster was politely but firmly pushed back to the lobby. As he left, he waved friendly to the service desk. "Good luck, Murgatroyd," he called. Paul Jones returned to their side. "This man is drunk." Mrs. Murgatroyd looked indifferent and disappointed. "He's on vacation, honey," Murgatroyd said. "That shouldn't be an excuse," said Mrs. Murgatroyd. "Who is he?" "Harry Foster," replied Jones, "from Perth." "He doesn't talk like a Scot," said Mrs Murgatroyd. "It's Perth, Australia," Jones added, "and I'll show you to your room." Murgatroyd looked around happily from the balcony of his second-floor room.Below is a lawn that stretches out to a glistening white beach, dotted with palm trees, swaying in the breeze.In addition, there are more than a dozen circular pavilions covered with thatch, which can provide shade and shelter from the sun.The lagoon is warm, with white waves lapping on the beach.Outside is the turquoise sea water, which becomes blue in the distance.He could see the milky coral reef five hundred yards away in the lagoon. A young man with thick straw-colored hair was surfing a hundred yards away, all red.A gust of sea breeze blew, and he flexibly maintained his balance on the small skateboard, leaning his body against the surfboard, and skimmed the water with ease and skill.Two black-haired, black-eyed, brown-skinned children were yelling and having a water fight in the shallows.A middle-aged European waded out of the water wearing frogman flippers, dragging his mask and snorkel, revealing his round belly, glistening water dripping from him. "Oh my God," he called to a woman in the shade in a South African accent, "I can't believe there are so many fish in there." In the main building to Murgatroyd's right, men and women in loincloths were making their way to the pool bar for a cold drink before lunch. "Let's go swimming," Murgatroyd said. "If you open the box for me, we can go right away," replied his wife. "Let's put it away. Before lunch, we only need swimming equipment." "No," said Mrs. Murgatroyd, "I can't make you go to lunch like a local. Here are your shorts and shirt." After two days, Murgatroyd had settled into the rhythm of life on a tropical vacation, or as far as he was allowed to.He got up early in the morning, as he always did anyway.The difference is that at home, what he usually sees through the curtains is the rain-washed sidewalk, but now he sits on the balcony and watches a red sun rise from the Indian Ocean beyond the coral reef. The water was dark and calm. Suddenly it was a glistening sheet of broken glass.He goes for a morning swim at seven, leaving Edna Murgatroyd reclining on the bed with her hair curled up, complaining constantly about the slow breakfast service - which is actually quite fast. He soaked in warm water for an hour, and on one occasion swam nearly two hundred yards, amazed at his audacity.Swimming wasn't his strong suit, but the more he swam the better.Thankfully, the wife didn't see his adventure as she was convinced the lagoon was haunted by sharks and barracudas.She would never believe that those carnivorous fish can't jump over the coral reef-in fact, the lagoon is as safe as the swimming pool. He joins other vacationers and starts eating breakfast on the terrace by the swimming pool.He chose watermelon, mango, papaya, and porridge, omitting eggs and bacon.At this time, most men wear swimwear and beach shirts, while women wear a pastel cotton slip or shawl over a bikini.Murgatroyd was wearing knee-length track shorts and a tennis shirt, both brought from England.Every day towards ten o'clock, his wife joins him and sits under a grass-roofed pavilion on the beach, sipping drinks and applying sunscreen several times throughout the day, though she rarely lets herself in the sun. Sometimes, she would dip her rosy body into the hotel's circular swimming pool with a shaded bar in the middle, and she would use a fringed shower cap to protect her curly hair, and she would swim a little slowly in the pool. Swim a few times and go ashore quickly. Although Higgins was alone, he soon became acquainted with another group of younger Britons.The Murgatroyds rarely saw him.He considered himself a fashionista and dressed himself up in the hotel boutique.He imitated Hemingway's appearance in the photo, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat.Likewise, he wears a swimsuit shirt every day, and when he shows up at the dinner table, like everyone else, he wears pastel slacks and a safari shirt with breast pocket and epaulettes.After dinner, he often visits casinos or discotheques.Mr. Murgatroyd didn't know what to expect there. Unfortunately, that Mr. Harry Foster didn't have his own humorous discoveries to himself.Most of the guest house's guests are South Africans, Australians and British.Among them, the name "Murgatroyd of the Midlands Branch" stuck, though Higgins tried hard to ditch the "headquarters" label and fit in with the others.Instead, Murgatroyd became an unwittingly popular figure.As he walks effortlessly up the breakfast terrace in panties and rubber-soled shoes, he's greeted with smiles and cheery greetings: "Good morning, Murgatroyd." Sometimes he meets the man who gave him that title.On several occasions, Harry Foster gave way to pass him, looking very pleased with himself.His right hand seems to open only to throw away a can of beer, and close to grab another.The friendly Aussie would grin, raise his free hand in greeting each time he encountered, and exclaim, "Good luck, Murgatroyd." On the third morning, after breakfast, Murgatroyd came out of the sea after swimming, and lay under the grass pavilion, leaning his back on the center post and looking at himself.The sun was already high, like a ball of fire, and it was only past nine-thirty.He looked down at his body, which turned the color of a lobster despite his own caution and his wife's constant advice.He envied those who could get a tan in a short time.The trick, he knew, was to keep the tan going and not allow the body to turn milky after the holidays.He thought that was what he had planned when he was on holiday in Bognor, England.However, the past three vacations have been either rainy or cloudy. His legs protruded from his checkered swimming trunks, thin, hairy legs like elongated gooseberries.The round belly rests on the two legs, and the muscles in the chest have sagged.Sitting and working at a desk all year round made his hips wider and his hair thinner.His teeth were intact and he had good eyesight, though he wore glasses only for reading, mainly company reports and bank accounts. At this time, the roar of the motor came from the water.He looked up and saw a small speedboat speeding along.There was a rope trailing from the stern of the skiff, with a head bouncing on the water at the end.As he watched, the rope suddenly tightened, and the boat came out of the lagoon, a wave splashed, and a water skier appeared.He was all brown and was a guest in the hotel.He skied alone, with his feet in tandem on the board, and he picked up speed behind the boat, creating a trail of foam behind him.The boat's helmsman turned the steering wheel, and the skier drew a great arc on the water, skimming near the beach in front of Murgatroyd.The man's muscles were taut and his legs were tense, bearing the impact of the speedboat's wake, standing proudly like a wooden sculpture.His triumphant laugh echoed across the lagoon as he glides swiftly across the water.Murgatroyd watched, envious of the young man. But he was fifty years old, short and fat, not strong, and did not have such conditions. He only went to the tennis club for recreation in summer afternoons.In four days until Sunday, he will board a plane and leave, never to be here again.He would probably spend another ten years at Pounds End, outside London, before retiring, most likely at Bognor. He looked around and saw a young girl coming from the beach to the left.He couldn't stare at her out of gentlemanly politeness, but he couldn't help looking anyway.She walks barefoot, showing the straight-backed demeanor of a girl on the island.Her skin, unsunscreened, was a deep golden shade.She wore a calico wrap skirt with dark red lace, knotted just below the left hip.The hem of the skirt just covered the buttocks.Murgatroyd surmised that she must have been wearing clothes underneath.Suddenly a gust of wind blew up the cotton wrap skirt, and in the blink of an eye, her young firm breasts and slender waist were exposed.The wind stopped, and the wrap skirt fell again to cover the body. Murgatroyd found her to be a fair-skinned Creole, with dark, well-set eyes, high cheekbones, and shiny dark hair that fell in curls down her back.She turned her head and smiled broadly as she came up parallel to him.Murgatroyd was taken aback. He didn't notice anyone else around.He looked around frantically to see who the girl was smiling at.No one else was around.When he turned back to face the beach again, the girl smiled again, her white teeth gleaming in the morning sun.He was sure they did not know each other, that no one had ever introduced them.Therefore, this smile must be spontaneous.Murgatroyd took off his sunglasses and smiled back at her. "Good morning." He greeted. "Hello, sir," said the girl, and walked forward.Murgatroyd watched her receding back, her long dark hair hanging down to her hips, her butt quivering slightly under the white cotton cloth. "Just give up on that idea," said a voice behind him.Mrs. Murgatroyd came up to him.She was also staring at the girl who had just walked past. "Little bitch." She said and sat down in the shade. After a while he went to see his wife Edna.She must have been fascinated by some historical romance novel by some popular female author again, of which she carried many copies.He turned back to look at the lagoon again, wondering why she was so obsessed with romance novels, but so disgusted with real-life emotions?Their marriage had no basis in love, and even before she declared that she didn't like "that kind of thing" at the newlywed stage, he knew that it was impossible to let "that kind of thing" develop.Since then, for more than twenty years, he has been imprisoned by this loveless marriage.This dreary, monotonous and suffocating state was broken only by occasional quarrels arising from mutual boredom. Once, in the tennis club locker room, he overheard someone telling another that he should have "slapped her hard years ago".At that time, he was so angry that he almost rushed out from the back of the wardrobe to beat them.But he held back, admitting inwardly that the guy might be right.The problem is that he is not the kind of person who can hit someone with his hands, and he suspects that even if he hits, a person like her may not be able to change.His character has always been gentle and generous, just like that when he was young.On the outside, he can manage a bank well, but at home, his gentleness and generosity have degenerated into submissiveness.His inner thoughts oppressed him, so he couldn't help but let out a helpless sigh. Edna watched him over her glasses. "If you catch a cold, go back and take some medicine," she said. Murgatroyd was waiting in the lobby for his wife to emerge from the bathroom on Friday night when Higgins quietly stepped forward. "I have something to tell you...individually." Higgins squeezed out a sentence from the corner of his mouth, with a mysterious look that seemed to attract others. "Okay," said Murgatroyd, "can't we say it here?" "No," grumbled Higgins, who was inspecting a fern. "Your wife will be out any minute. Come with me." He wandered off, pretending nothing had happened, and took a few steps into the garden, and came to a tree, leaned against it and waited.Murgatroyd followed him softly. "What's the matter?" he asked, following Higgins into the shadows of the bushes.Higgins looked through the archway into the bright lobby to make sure that Mrs. Murgatroyd was not following. "Go fishing," he said, "have you ever fished before?" "No, of course not," Murgatroyd said. "Neither have I. But I'd love to go, if only once. Go ahead and try. Listen, there are three Johannesburg businessmen who have booked a boat for tomorrow morning. Right now, they can't go, so we can go." With that boat, half the rent has been paid in advance, because they have given up. What do you think? Let's take this chance?" Hearing this, Murgatroyd was a little surprised. "Why don't you go with two of your companions?" he asked. Higgins shrugged: "They all want to spend their last day with their girlfriends, and those girls don't want to go to sea. Come on, Murgatroyd, let's go try." "What's the rent?" Murgatroyd asked. "Usually a hundred dollars a head," said Higgins, "but with half the rent already paid, fifty dollars a head is enough." "For a few hours? That's twenty-five pounds." "Twenty-six pounds and seventy-fivepence," blurted Higgins.After all, he worked in the foreign exchange department of the bank. Murgatroyd calculated the cost of hiring a taxi to the airport and back to his home in Pounds End, and he still had a little money left.But Mrs. Murgatroyd will definitely use the rest of the money to buy duty-free merchandise and gifts for her sister in Bognor.He shook his head. "Edna won't agree," he said. "Don't tell her." "Not telling her?" He was taken aback by the idea. "Yeah," Higgins urged.As he leaned in, Murgatroyd caught a whiff of plants, "Just do it. She'll blame you afterward, but when is she not blaming? Come to think of it, we'll probably never have this place." Will come again, probably never see the Indian Ocean again, so why not?" "I do not know about this……" "Just a morning, dude, take a boat out to sea. Let the wind blow your hair, and get out the hooks for bonito, tuna, or kingfish. We might catch one, at least when we get back to London." A memorable adventure." Murgatroyd froze.He thought of the young surfer speeding by in the lagoon. "I'll go," he said, "as you say. When shall we go?" He took out his wallet and tore off three ten-pound travelers cheques, leaving only two, which he signed and handed to Higgins. "Leave early tomorrow morning," Higgins said in a low voice, taking the check. "We'll get up at four o'clock and leave here by car at four thirty. Arrive at the port at five o'clock, set out to sea at five forty-five, and try to arrive at seven o'clock." Arrive at the fishing ground before dawn. The best fishing time is around dawn. The guide of the activity accompanied us to the sea, and he knows the way. We will meet in the lobby at 4:30." He strode back down the lobby, toward the bar.Murgatroyd followed, dazed at his rash decision, and seeing his wife waiting impatiently, he accompanied her to dinner. Murgatroyd barely slept that night.Although he has a small alarm clock, he dare not set the time, lest he wake up his wife when the alarm clock goes off, let alone oversleep and let Higgins knock on the door at 4:30.He dozed off a few times in a daze, and saw that the luminous hands of the alarm clock pointed to four o'clock.It was still pitch black outside the window. He tiptoed out of bed and glanced at Mrs. Murgatroyd.She was asleep on her back as usual, snoring and breathing, her hair curled up in a net.He quietly threw his pajamas on the bed, put on his underwear, took his sneakers, shorts and shirt, and walked outside and closed the door gently.In the dark corridor, he put on the rest of his clothes, shivering from the unexpected cold. In the lobby, he met Higgins and his guide, a tall, thin South African named Andrey Killian, who took care of all the sporting activities for the guests.Killian looked at his attire. "Before dawn, it's cold at sea," he said. "After sunrise, it's hot, and the sun scorches you. Didn't you bring long trousers and a long-sleeved windbreaker?" "I didn't expect that," Murgatroyd said, "this, no, I didn't bring it." He dared not go back to his room to get it now. "I have a spare," Killian said, handing him a jumper. "Let's go." They drove for fifteen minutes, through the dark countryside, past sheds, one of which a faint light showed that someone was up.Finally, their car drove down the main road and arrived at a small port called Qingquanwan.It must have been so called because, long ago, a French captain discovered a drinkable spring in this place.The houses in the fishing village were dilapidated and dark, but near the pier Murgatroyd could make out a boat moored there, and some busy figures on board by the light of torches.They parked the car by the wooden pier, and Killian took a thermos of hot coffee from a door glove compartment and handed it over.Coffee is very popular with everyone. The South African got out of the car and walked along the pier to the boat.The air was filled with intermittent voices of people whispering in regional Creole French.It was strange how softly people spoke in the dark before dawn. Ten minutes later, he came back.Now, the eastern sky is pale, and the low-hanging clouds in the sky are slightly shining, and the sea water is also emitting its own light, and the outlines of the docks, fishing boats and people are becoming clearer and clearer. "We can get our gear aboard," Killian said. He pulled a cooler from the back of the car, and Higgins helped him carry it over the pier so they could serve cold beer later.Murgatroyd picked up his lunch box and two other coffee thermoses. This boat is not a new luxury fiberglass yacht, but an old wooden boat with a large cabin.There is a small cabin in the front end, which seems to be full of various control equipment.Near the right-hand hatch is a high chair supported by a pole with soft cushions facing the steering wheel and controls.This part is the cabin.The back of the boat was open, with hardwood benches on either side.There was only one swivel chair in the stern, like the ones you might find in city offices, except that it was fastened to the deck and had straps hanging from it. There were two long poles on either side of the rear deck, both stretched out at the same angle, like thin antennae.At first, Murgatroyd thought it was a fishing rod, but later realized that it was an outrigger, which is used to hold the outer fishing line so that it does not get tangled with the inner fishing line. An old man was sitting on the captain's chair, holding the steering wheel with one hand, quietly watching the final preparations.Killian put the beer crate under one of the wooden stools and motioned for everyone to take their seats.A young boatman, about thirteen or fourteen years old, stretched out his hand to untie the cable behind the boat and threw it on the deck.On the pier next to them, a villager untied the cable from the bow, threw it aboard, and pushed the boat away from the pier.The old man started the engine, and there was the dull roar of machinery beneath their feet.The bow of the boat slowly turned to the lagoon ahead. At this moment, the sun is rising rapidly and is about to rise above the sea level.The sun shines across the water to the west.Murgatroyd could clearly see the cottages by the lagoon and the wisps of smoke that showed housewives already lighting fires for their morning coffee.After a while, the last stars faded, the sky turned egg blue, and the sun flooded the water.A gust of wind came from nowhere, wrinkled the calm water surface, and the sea shimmered under the sunshine.Suddenly, the wind died down, and the water surface became calm again. All that could be seen on the water was the long wake of the stern after leaving the pier.Looking into the distance, Murgatroyd could make out clusters of coral reefs that grew four depths below the surface. "Now," said Killian, "let me introduce you." His voice grew louder as the light increased, "This ship is called Avant, which means 'advance' in French. The ship is old A bit light but rock solid. He's seen good days and caught some big fish. This is Monsieur Patienne the boss and this is his grandson Jean-Paul." The old man turned his head and nodded to the guest, but he didn't speak.He wore a rough blue canvas shirt and trousers, with large, knuckle feet hanging down the leg.His face was swarthy, with thin, withered cheeks like an old walnut, and he wore a battered straw hat on his head.He stared out at the sea, his eyes wrinkled from years of staring at the bright water. "Mr. Patian has been fishing in this sea area for at least sixty years since he was a child." Killian said, "Even he himself doesn't know how long, and others remember I don't know. He is familiar with the water here and the fish here. That's his knack for fishing." Higgins pulled a camera from his shoulder bag. "I want to take a picture," he said. "Wait a minute," Killian said. "Hold on. We're about to cross the reef." Murgatroyd stared at the approaching coral reef ahead.From the hotel balcony, the coral reefs look feather-soft and furry, the waves lapping like milky milk.After approaching, he could hear the waves of the sea shaking the sky, violently beating the corals distributed under the water surface, and the waves were cut to pieces by rows of sharp coral peaks.He couldn't see the gap in the spray line. Old Patien just turned a right rudder where there was no foam, and the Forward was parallel to the line of foaming spray, twenty yards apart.Then he saw the channel, with rows of coral reefs on either side and a narrow channel in the middle.After a while they entered the channel, parallel to the shoreline half a mile to the east.The waves splashed on the left and right sides, and the waves rushed towards them, and the "Forward" was jolted violently. Murgatroyd looked down at the waves rolling on both sides of the boat.Beside the boat, as the spray receded, he could see coral ten feet away, fragile as feathers but razor-sharp to the touch.If a ship or a person collides with it, it is easy to be disembowelled.The boss of the boat didn’t seem to see anything. He sat there, holding the steering wheel with one hand, and resting the other hand on the throttle control lever, staring at the front of the windshield, as if he was receiving what only he knew, from A signal from a lighthouse on the vast horizon.From time to time he turned the rudder or stepped on the gas to keep the Forward out of the way of new threats.Murgatroyd watched them turn the corner again and again. The thrill only lasted a minute, but it felt like a long time, and now it's finally over.On the right side of the fishing boat, the coral continues to extend, but the left side of the boat has no reefs.They have passed the narrow channel.The boss of the ship turned the steering wheel again, and the bow of the "Forward" pointed to the open sea.Immediately they encountered the swell of the Indian Ocean.Murgatroyd knew that such a voyage was not for the faint of heart, and he hoped he would not lose face. "Well, Murgatroyd, you see those nasty coral reefs?" Higgins said. Killian smiled slightly: "Exciting, isn't it? Want coffee?" “经历了这种刺激，我想喝点酒。”希金斯说。 “我们全都准备了，”基里安说，“这里有白兰地。”他打开第二个保温瓶。 船工立即着手准备鱼竿。他从船舱里拿出四根用强化玻璃纤维制成的鱼竿。鱼竿长度约有八英尺，后部的两英尺用软木包着，以便握紧。每一根竿子上面都装有一个硕大的绕线轮，附有八百码尼龙丝线。鱼竿的柄用实心黄铜制成，并开有槽口，以便与船上的插孔相吻合，防止转动。他把每根鱼竿都放进船上的插孔里，用绳子和狗扣加以固定，以免掉到海里去。 一轮红日在海上露出一个弧度，把阳光洒在波涛翻滚的海面上。没多长时间，深色的海水就变成靛蓝色，随着太阳冉冉升起，海水的颜色进一步变淡变绿。 渔船纵横颠簸，穆加特罗伊德努力稳住身体，一边喝着咖啡，一边饶有兴致地看着小男孩船工做准备工作。只见他从一只很大的渔具箱里取出几根长短不一的钢丝当引线，又取出几种不同的鱼饵。有的看上去像是用柔软的橡胶制作的小鱿鱼，做成了鲜亮的粉色或绿色；另有一些红色和白色的公鸡羽毛，以及闪光的勺形或旋转的鱼饵，都设计成可在水中闪烁摆动，用以吸引捕食的鱼；还有许多雪茄形的铅坠，每一个上面都装有一个夹子，可以固定在线上。 男孩用克里奥耳语问了爷爷一个问题，老人咕哝着作了回答。男孩选了两条小鱿鱼、一根羽毛和一只勺形的鱼饵。每一个鱼饵上面都有一段十英寸长的钢丝引线，下面做成一个或三个鱼钩。男孩把鱼饵上的扣子搭在一条较长的引线上，另一端接在一条鱼竿的线上，每一段也都装上铅坠，这样鱼饵就能正好在水面下游动了。 基里安观察着所用的鱼饵。“那个旋转的鱼饵，”他说，“适合用来垂钓零散漫游的梭鱼；鱿鱼和羽毛可以引来鲣鱼、剑鱼，甚至很大的金枪鱼。” 帕蒂安先生突然改变航向，他们抻着脖子想去看个究竟，可是前方的海面上并没有什么，过了一分钟他们才弄清楚老人刚才看到了什么。在远处的海平线上，一群海鸟正在海上俯冲盘旋，远远看去只是一些小小的斑点。 “燕鸥，”基里安说，“它们找到了大群的小鱼，正在潜水捕捉。” “我们是去那里捕小鱼吗？”希金斯问道。 “不，”基里安说，“我们的目标不是小鱼，它们是其他鱼的食物。鸟为我们发来鱼群的信号，而鲣鱼和金枪鱼都是捕食鲱鱼的。” 船老大转过来对孙子点了点头，男孩就把准备好的渔线投进尾波之中。渔线在水沫上激烈跳动，他拉开绕线轮上的一个销子，绕线轮开始自由转动起来，拖力把鱼饵、铅坠和引线远远地拉出去，直至完全消失在尾流之中。男孩继续放线，一直放出去一百多码他才满意地收住线，再次锁定绕线轮。鱼竿的前端稍稍弯曲，线绷紧了，拖动着鱼饵。在远处的碧波里，鱼饵和鱼钩平稳地在海面下追逐，如同一条快速游动的鱼。 船尾固定着两根鱼竿，一根在左，一根在右，另外两根安插在后甲板两边的插孔里。它们的渔线分别夹在大衣钩上，钩子上拴有绳索，与舷外的支架相连。男孩把这两根竿子的鱼饵抛入海中，然后把大衣钩拉到支架的顶端。舷外伸展的架子可以分开内外侧的渔线并使两者平行，如果有鱼上钩，它就会把线从钩口里拉出来，拉力会从绕线轮直接作用于竿子和鱼。 “你们有谁钓过鱼吗？”基里安问道。穆加特罗伊德和希金斯都摇摇头。“那我最好还是讲一下鱼咬钩时的情形吧。到时候再讲就太晚了。请过来看。” 南非人坐在钓鱼的那把椅子上，拿起一根鱼竿。“鱼咬钩时，渔线会突然从绕线轮拉出，绕线轮在旋转时会发出一种很尖锐的声音，这个你们应该是知道的。这个时候，不管是谁坐在这把椅子里，让·保罗或者我，就会把鱼竿交给他，明白吗？” 两个英国人点头答应。 “现在，拿起这根竿子，把竿柄插在两腿中间那个插座里。然后扣上这个狗扣，它的系带连在座椅的框架上。如果竿子脱手，我们也不至于会损失昂贵的鱼竿和渔具了。现在看看这个东西……” 基里安指向从绕线轮上突出的一个黄铜轮子。穆加特罗伊德和希金斯都点点头。 “这是一个滑动离合器，”基里安说，“当设定承受比较轻的拉力时，比如五磅重量，在鱼咬钩时线就会自动放出，绕线轮会转动，发出的咔嚓声快得如同尖叫。在作收线准备时，动作要快，因为放出的渔线越长，你要把它收回来的时间也就越久。你可以这样慢慢向前转动离合控制器，其作用是使绕线轮收紧，直到渔线不再放出。这时，咬钩的鱼就会被船拖着走，而不是拉出更长的线。” “然后你就收线，把鱼拉近。左手握住这里的软木柄，往里面收线。如果真是一条大鱼，用双手握紧，用力向后拉，直至鱼竿竖立起来。然后右手马上抓住绕线轮继续收线，同时在船尾把鱼竿朝下放。这样，收线时就容易了。再练习一次。双手握紧，向后拉竿，一边收进渔线，一边朝船尾下放鱼竿。最终你会惊喜地看到，你的猎物在船尾的泡沫中出现。然后，那个男孩会叉住鱼，把它弄到船上来。” “滑动离合器和绕线轮铜壳上的那些标志是什么意思？”希金斯问道。 “它们标明渔线的最大拉力限度，”基里安说，“这些渔线的拉力限度是一百三十磅，湿线拉力要减去百分之十。为安全起见，绕线轮做上了标记，以便在这些标记相互对应时，也就是在渔线另一端的拉力达到一百磅的时候，滑动离合器将只会放出渔线。但要长时间地拖住一百磅的物体，别说把它拖过来，即使一直拖着，人的胳膊也会受不了的。因此，我们就不考虑这个问题了。” “但是，如果我们真的钓到了大鱼呢？”希金斯坚持这样问下去。 “那样的话，”基里安说，“唯一能做的就是把鱼拖累，把它拖垮。这会是一场拼搏和较量。你只有让它拖走线，把线收进来，再让它顶着压力拖走线，再收线，就这样反复放线和收线，直到鱼筋疲力尽再也不能拖线为止。但如果真的遇上一条大鱼，我们还是有办法对付它的。” 就在他说话的时候，“前进号”在三十分钟内驶过三海里，进入了上下翻飞的燕鸥群中。帕蒂安先生减小油门，渔船开始在他们身下看不见的鱼群上方巡航。小鸟不知疲倦地翩翩起舞，在离海面二十英尺的低空盘旋，头朝下、双翅平直，直到它们锐利的眼睛发现汹涌浪峰上的某个亮点，然后它们就会降下来、翅膀后缩，尖尖的喙朝下，一头扎进涌浪里。 须臾间，一只鸟就从水中出来，嘴里衔着一条拼命挣扎的银色小鱼，它随即把这鱼吞进自己细细的咽喉里。它们就是这样，生命不息，捕食不止。 “我说，穆加特罗伊德，”希金斯说，“我们最好确定一下谁先钓第一条鱼，我们抛钱币来决定吧。” 他从衣服口袋里掏出一枚毛里求斯的卢比硬币。他们分别掷了一下，结果希金斯赢了。不一会儿，内侧的一根鱼竿被猛烈地拉弯，渔线咝咝响着放了出去。绕线轮转动起来，先是发出呜呜声，然后是吱吱的尖叫声。 “我的。”希金斯欢快地喊道，随之跳进转椅里。让·保罗把鱼竿递给了他。绕线轮还在转动出线，但这会儿慢了下来。希金斯把竿柄朝下插进插口里，扣上狗扣和绳索，开始关上滑动离合器，几乎是同时，出线停止了。鱼竿的尖梢弯曲着。希金斯左手握竿，右手去收线。竿子更弯了，但收线在继续。 “我感觉到它在拖线。”希金斯喘着粗气说。他继续收线，这时候，渔线收进来时已经没有拖力了，让·保罗在船尾探出身，用手捏住渔线，把一条僵硬的银色海鱼扔到船上。 “鲣鱼，大概有四磅重。”基里安说。 小男孩船工拿起一把钢丝钳子，把鱼钩从鲣鱼嘴里摘了下来。穆加特罗伊德看到那条鱼银白的肚子上长着和鲭鱼类似的蓝黑色条纹。希金斯有些失望。大群的燕鸥在船尾俯冲，它们现在已经穿过了鲱鱼群。这时刚过八点钟，渔船的甲板上暖洋洋的，令人感到舒适。帕蒂安先生以一个舒缓的弧度把“前进”号调转回来，朝着鱼群及标志着它们的位置、正在俯冲的燕鸥驶过去，他的孙子则把鱼钩和鱼饵重新抛入海中，开始下一轮。 “或许我们可以用它来做晚餐的菜肴。”希金斯说。基里安遗憾地摇了摇头。 “鲣鱼是作鱼饵用的，当地人只用它做汤，但味道不怎么样。”他说。 他们在鱼群上方开始第二轮垂钓。鱼儿第二次咬钩了。穆加特罗伊德拿起鱼竿，感到一阵惊喜。这可是他第一次出海钓鱼，也许也是最后一次。当他握住软木柄时，能够感觉到渔线下方两百英尺处鱼儿的震颤，仿佛它就在他身边。他慢慢向前转动离合器，最后，松出的渔线静止了，鱼竿的尖梢朝海面弯曲。他左臂肌肉使力，惊奇地感受到回拖所需要的力度。 他绷紧左臂的肌肉，右手去转动绕线轮。绕线轮转动起来了，但他要用上前臂的全力。另一端的拖力大得让他吃惊。也许是一条大鱼，他心里想，甚至是一条巨型鱼。这真令人激动。他不清楚在尾流下面的海水里挣扎的是一条多大的鱼。如果不是什么大家伙，只是希金斯钓到的那样的小鱼，那可就见鬼了。他继续慢慢转动绕线轮，感觉胸口都在绞痛。当那条鱼离船边只有二十码时，它似乎不再挣扎了，渔线很容易就收了进来。他以为鱼儿已经脱钩了，但其实它还在那里。接近船尾时，它拼命挣扎了一下，然后就停止了。让·保罗用渔叉把它叉上船。又是一条鲣鱼，但更大一些，约有十磅。 “很不错。”希金斯激动地说。穆加特罗伊德点点头，露出了微笑——回到庞德斯恩德那边就有故事可讲了。在上面驾驶台把持舵盘的老人帕蒂安，看到几英里外的一片深蓝色海水，就调整航向朝那里驶去。老人看着孙子从鲣鱼嘴里摘下鱼钩，对这个孩子咕哝了一句话。男孩解下引线和鱼饵，把它们放回渔具箱里。他把鱼竿安放在插孔上，线头上那只小小的钢制龙虾扣在自由地晃动着。然后，他走过去接过舵轮。爷爷对他说了些什么，指向挡风玻璃的前面。男孩点了点头。 “我们不用那根鱼竿了吗？”希金斯问道。 “帕蒂安先生一定另有主意，”基里安说，“就看他的吧，他心里有数。” 老人轻松地下到颠簸不定的甲板上，走到他们站立的地方，一声不响地盘腿坐到排水口旁边，选了那条小的鲣鱼，开始把它制作成鱼饵。这条小鱼死后就像一块木头一般僵硬地躺着，弯月形的尾鳍上翘，嘴半张，小小的黑眼睛一片空洞。 帕蒂安先生从渔具箱中取出一个单倒刺的大鱼钩，钩杆上连接着一条二十英寸长的钢丝和一条十二英寸像织针那样的尖头钢条。他把钢条的尖头插进鲣鱼的肛门，直至带血的尖头从鱼嘴伸出。在钢条的另一端，他接上一根钢丝引线，用钳子把钢针连同引线一起穿过鱼腹拔出来，让引线就露在鱼嘴外面。 老人把钩柄塞进鱼肚子深处，这样留在鱼饵外面的就只有鱼钩的弯头和锋利的倒钩了。这部分在鲣鱼的尾部僵硬地朝下突出，钩尖向前。他把引线的其余部分从鱼嘴里拉出绷紧了。 他取出一支更小的钢针，差不多只有妇女用来织补袜子的针那么大，穿上一条一码长的双股棉线。死鲣鱼的单条背鳍和两条腹鳍都平垂着。老人把棉线从背鳍的主脊中穿过，拍打了几下，然后把钢针从鱼头后面的肌肉部位穿过去。他把棉线抽紧后，鱼的背鳍竖了起来，这是一排能在水中保持稳定的脊刺和膜皮。他用同样的方法让两条腹鳍也伸直了，最后老人把鱼嘴缝合起来，针脚细密匀称。 完成这一番制作后，那鲣鱼看上去就像活的一般。它身上三片鱼鳍的伸展角度完全对称，能防止翻滚或旋转。垂直的尾巴在快速前进时能保持方向，紧闭的嘴巴能避免产生水流和水泡。只有从抿紧的双唇里伸出来的钢丝和悬垂在尾部的鱼钩，才显露出这是一个诱饵的真相。最后，老渔民把从鲣鱼嘴里伸出来的一段引线与从鱼竿尖端垂下的引线，用一只小小的龙虾扣连了起来，这才把这个新鱼饵投向大海。鲣鱼两眼圆睁，在尾波上跳了两下，就被铅坠拖了下去，开始它在水下的最后一次航程。他让它拖出去两百英尺长的渔线，尾随着其他鱼饵，然后他把鱼竿重新固定好，回到舵手的位子上。他们身边的海水已经从蓝灰色变成明亮的蓝绿色。 十分钟后，希金斯的机会来了，鱼又咬钩了，这次咬到的是旋转的鱼饵。他用力拖住，足足用了十分钟的时间绕线才把鱼拖过来。不管被他钩住的是一条什么鱼，反正它一直拼命挣扎。大家从它拖拽的劲头来看，都以为是一条较大的金枪鱼，可是拉上船来时，却是一条一码长的又瘦又长的鱼，身体前段和鱼鳍呈金黄色。 “剑鱼，”基里安说，“干得不错。这些家伙很会拼命，吃起来味道很好的。我们请圣詹冉宾馆的厨师把它烹调一下当晚餐吧。” 希金斯兴奋得满面红光。“我感觉好像是拖住一辆失控的卡车。”他喘着粗气说。 男孩重新调整好鱼饵，又把它投入到尾流之中。 此刻海面汹涌起来，波涛一浪高过一浪。穆加特罗伊德抓住甲板前部木遮篷的一根柱子，以便看得清楚一些。在翻滚的海浪中，“前进”号在剧烈颠簸。在浪谷里，他们看到四面八方全是巨大的水墙，奔腾的浪涛在阳光的照耀下隐藏着可怕的能量；在浪峰上，他们看到几海里远处一排排海浪翻滚着白色的浪花，西边的海平线上则是毛里求斯岛模糊的轮廓。 巨浪从东方滚滚而来，一波接着一波，就像一队队高大的绿色卫兵在朝海岛不停地前进，只有在碰到礁石时被击得粉碎，发出雷鸣般的响声。他为自己没有晕船而感到惊奇，以前在从多佛尔乘坐渡轮去布洛涅时，他曾感到恶心难受。不过那是一条大船在海上乘风破浪，乘客呼吸着混合了油味、烹调味、快餐味、酒味等气味的空气。这条小小的“前进”号无意与大海抗争，只是在随波逐流。 穆加特罗伊德盯着海水，几近惊恐之中又有了一种敬畏的感觉。人们乘坐小船出海大概都有这种感觉吧。一艘船舶停靠在一个漂亮港口的平静水面上，会显得威严高傲，昂贵强壮，为人们所羡慕，也彰显出它主人的富有。然而到了海上，它就要与臭气熏天的拖网渔船和锈迹斑斑的货船相伴，成为一个遍体焊缝和螺栓的可怜的小东西，像是一只脆弱的蚕茧，以其绵绵之躯与难以想象的力量抗争，像是巨人手掌上一件易碎的玩具。虽然身边有四个人相伴，但穆加特罗伊德感觉到了自己的微不足道——这条渔船的渺小，以及大海使他感受到的孤独。那些航海、航空的人，那些跨越雪原和荒漠的人，都知道这种感觉。一切是那样的无边无际，那样的残酷无情，然而，最令人敬畏的是大海，因为大海在涌动。 刚过九点钟，帕蒂安先生口中喃喃自语。“Ya quelque chose，”他说，“Nous suit.” “他说什么？”希金斯问道。 “他说那边有什么东西，”基里安说，“什么东西在跟随着我们。” 希金斯望向翻腾的海水，但除了海水什么也没有。“他是怎么知道的？”他问道。 基里安耸耸肩：“这是本能，就像你知道一行数字出错了一样。” 老人关小油门降低船速。“前进”号慢了下来，直到几乎停止不前。随着主机动力的减小，船身的颠簸加剧了。希金斯满口的唾沫，他咽了好几次。这时候是九点一刻，其中一根竿子开始猛烈抖动，渔线开始放出，不是剧烈地，而是轻快地，绕线轮咔嚓咔嚓地转动起来，发出轻踢足球般的咯咯声。 “是你的。”基里安对穆加特罗伊德说，他从横档的插口上把竿子用劲拔出来，放在钓鱼的座位上。穆加特罗伊德从阴凉处出来，坐在椅子上。他在鱼竿的把柄上扣上一只狗扣作为标记，用左手紧紧地握住软木把。绕线轮是大号的美国奔乐牌，模样活像一只啤酒桶，此时它仍在轻快地转动。他开始关上滑动离合器的控制器。 他的胳膊承受的力量在增加，鱼竿弯成了弓形，但渔线仍在放出。 “快拉紧，”基里安说，“不然它会把线全部拖走。” 银行经理绷紧胳膊的肱二头肌，继续关紧离合器。鱼竿的尖端持续下垂弯曲，直至与他的眼睛平行，放线的速度减慢了，接着又恢复，继续不停地放出去。基里安低头去看离合器，内侧和外侧的刻度几乎就要相反了。 “这家伙的拖力达到了八十磅，”他说，“必须再关紧一点。” 穆加特罗伊德的胳膊开始作痛，握住软木柄的手指有些僵硬。他继续转动离合器的控制把手，直到两个标记正好对应。 “别再转了，”基里安说，“现在有一百磅了，到极限了。用双手握紧竿子，稳住。” 穆加特罗伊德稍微松了一口气，他把另一只手也搭在鱼竿上，双手一起握紧了，用那双橡胶底帆布鞋鞋底蹬住船尾挡板，撑住大腿和小腿，把身体靠在椅背上。没有发生什么意外。鱼竿的把柄在他两腿中间呈垂直状，尖头垂向船尾。渔线在慢慢地、稳稳地继续拖出。在他的眼皮底下，留在绕线轮上的渔线变得越来越少。 “天哪，”基里安说，“是一个大家伙呢。它的拖力超过了一百磅，它拖线就好像从盒子里抽取纸巾那样。稳住，伙计。” 激动中，他的南非口音更加明显了。穆加特罗伊德再次撑紧双腿，捏紧手指，绷紧手腕、前臂和二头肌，弓起肩，低下头，努力稳住。以前从来没有什么人要求他顶住一百磅的拉力。过了一会儿，绕线轮终于停止转动。下面是一条什么鱼呀，居然拖走了六百码的渔线。 “我们最好把你拴起来。”基里安说。他把安全带穿过穆加特罗伊德的两条胳膊，扣在他的肩头上，再用两条带子系住腰围，另一条宽带子从大腿中间兜了上去。这五条网带都扣在肚子上的一个中心插孔里。基里安把带子都扣紧了一些，好让他的两条腿轻松点，但肩头前面的网带勒进了棉纱网球衫里。穆加特罗伊德第一次体验到海上太阳的灼人，赤裸的大腿上部开始刺痛。 老人帕蒂安转过身来，用一只手操控着舵盘。从开始时他就一直在观察渔线的放出。他突然说了一声：“枪鱼。” “你真幸运，”基里安说，“你好像钩住了一条枪鱼。” “这鱼好吗？”希金斯问道，他的脸色发白了。 “它是垂钓鱼类之王，”基里安说，“许多富人年复一年来到这里，花费了大把钱来玩钓鱼，可是从来没能钓到枪鱼。不过你要当心，它会跟你拼命搏斗，恐怕你一生中从来没有经历过这样的挑战。” 虽然渔线已经停止放出，鱼在跟着船游动，但它还是在拖拽。鱼竿的尖端弯向了尾流。这条鱼的拉力还有七十到九十磅。 在穆加特罗伊德努力稳住的时候，另外四个人都默默注视着。他紧握鱼竿，过了五分钟，汗水从额头和面颊冒出来，汗珠滚落到他的下巴上。慢慢地，鱼竿的尖梢抬了起来，因为那鱼加快了速度，以便减轻嘴上的拉力。基里安在穆加特罗伊德的身边弯下腰来，开始指点他，就像飞行教官对待首次单独放飞的学员那样。 “现在收线，”他说，“慢慢地、稳定地，把离合器的承受力降低到八十磅，这是为你着想，而不是为了鱼。当它要挣扎时，就让它挣扎好了，你把离合器再锁回到一百磅。它挣扎的时候，千万不要收线，不然它会挣断你的渔线，就像挣断一条棉线一样。如果它朝船游过来，就尽快收线。决不能让渔线松弛，否则，它就会拼命吐出鱼钩。” 穆加特罗伊德按吩咐的去做。在鱼儿再次拼命挣扎之前，他设法收进了五十码渔线。它这次挣扎时用的力量很大，几乎把鱼竿从他手中拉走。穆加特罗伊德及时用另一只手抓住竿柄，用双手捏紧了。那条鱼又把渔线拖出一百码才停下来，继续跟在船后游着。 “到目前为止，它已经拖走了六百五十码线，”基里安说，“你总共只有八百码线。” “那我该怎么办呢？”穆加特罗伊德咬着牙问道。鱼竿松弛了，他又开始收线。 “祈祷吧，”基里安说，“在拉力超过一百多磅时，你是挺不住的。所以，如果它把绕线轮里的线全都拖出来后，它就会把渔线挣断。” “天气越来越热了。”穆加特罗伊德说。 基里安看了看他的短裤和衬衫。“你在外边会被烤焦的，”他说，“等一下。” 他脱下自己那套运动服的裤子，依次把两只裤腿塞进安全带里面，盖在穆加特罗伊德的大腿上。然后他尽可能把这两个裤腿往上拉，由于网带的阻碍，无法盖住穆加特罗伊德的腰部，但至少能把大腿小腿都遮盖住，这马上减弱了太阳曝晒的伤害。基里安从船舱里取来一件备用的衣服，那是一件散发着汗臭味和鱼腥味的长袖运动衫。 “我要把它从你头上套下去，”他告诉穆加特罗伊德，“可是要往下拉，就必须把网带解开一会儿，但愿这条枪鱼这时候不会挣扎逃命。” 他们很幸运。基里安解开双肩上的带扣，把运动衫套进去后拉到腰部，然后重新扣上肩上的带子。鱼一直随着船游动，渔线绷紧，但拉力不是很大。套上运动衫后，穆加特罗伊德胳膊上的刺痛没那么强烈了。基里安转过身去。老人帕蒂安从他的座位上递过来他那顶宽边草帽。基里安把它戴在了穆加特罗伊德的头上。一片阴凉遮住他的眼睛，使他感觉更加轻松了一点，但他的脸已经晒红烤焦了。阳光从海面的反射比直射更加灼人。 穆加特罗伊德趁着枪鱼现在顺从的机会，继续收线。他已经收进了一百码渔线，每收进一码，都使他捏在绕线轮上的手指发痛，因为在鱼冲撞的时候，渔线上依然有四十磅的拉力。就这样，在三十秒钟内，他顶着一百磅的拉力，用滑溜溜的绕线轮收进整整一百码的渔线。纵横交错的安全带勒进他的皮肉里。这时候是上午十点钟。 在接下去的一个小时里，他开始尝到疼痛的滋味。他的手指僵硬，开始一阵阵抽搐。他的手腕拉伤了，从前臂到肩头都在痉挛。肱二头肌紧缩，肩膀发出咯咯的响声。即使隔着运动服和套衫，无情的阳光还是穿透进来，又在炙烤他的皮肤了。在这段时间里，有三次他抓住机会拉住鱼，把渔线收进了一百码；鱼也挣扎了三次，又把渔线拖了出去。 “我是再也收不回来了。”他咬着牙说。 基里安站在他身边，双手捧着一罐开了盖的冰镇啤酒。他也是光着两条腿，但多年的日晒让他的皮肤变得黑黝黝的。他似乎不怕太阳的烤灼。 “挺住，伙计。这是一场搏斗。你凭的是渔具和计谋，它凭的是力量。然后就是耐力的较量，你与它之间。” 刚过十一点钟，那条枪鱼第一次跃出水面，尾鳍在空中挣扎了几回。穆加特罗伊德趁机把距离拉到了五百码。一时间，渔船冲上一排涌浪的浪峰。在下面的尾流里，那鱼从一道绿色的水幕边穿了出来。穆加特罗伊德的嘴巴张大了。枪鱼上颚的针状嘴喙直刺天空，短短的下颌向下张开着。眼睛的上方后部是脊冠鳍，如同公鸡的红冠，伸展挺立。接着，出现了它那闪闪发光的身躯，当它钻出来的那片海浪退下去时，枪鱼似乎用它那弯月形的尾鳍立在了那里。它庞大的身体在颤抖，就像是在用尾巴行走。在它站立的瞬间，它的眼睛掠过白浪翻滚的海面凝视着他们。然后它的身体后倾，撞到涌上来的一排巨浪之中消失了，深深地潜入了它那寒冷黑暗的世界里。老人帕蒂安第一个开口说话，打破了沉寂。 “C'est l'Empereur.”他说。 基里安转过身去面对着他：“Vous etes sur·” 老人只是点点头。 “他说什么？”希金斯问道。 穆加特罗伊德紧盯着枪鱼消失的地方。然后，他又开始慢慢地、稳定地收线。 “渔民们知道这条鱼在附近水域出没，”基里安说，“如果是同一条鱼，我想老人是绝不会搞错的。它是一条蓝枪鱼，估计比世界纪录的一千一百磅还要大。这意味着，它肯定是既老练又狡猾。人们称它为'鱼王'。它是渔民们的一个传说。” “但他们怎么能确定是那条鱼呢？”希金斯说，“它们看上去都是一个样子。” “这条鱼被钩住过两次，”基里安说，“而且两次它都挣断渔线逃掉了。第二次钩住是在黑河外，它已经靠近了渔船。人们看到第一个鱼钩还挂在它的嘴上。它在最后时刻挣断渔线，带着第二个鱼钩逃走了。每次被钩住，它都会几番跃出水面用尾鳍划水掠过海浪，所以人们都看清楚了。有人甚至还用相机拍下了它跃在半空中的姿势，因此它是一条有名气的大鱼。相隔五百码，我认不出它，但帕蒂安有多年的经验，眼神如塘鹅一般锐利，他是不会看错的。” 中午时分，穆加特罗伊德看上去又老又疲惫。他弓身坐着，紧握鱼竿，独自承受着痛苦，内心感觉到他一生中从没有过的坚定。两只手掌上的水泡已经磨破在流水，被汗水湿透的安全网带深深地陷在了受太阳曝晒的肩膀里面。他低着头，用力收线。 有时候，线收进来比较容易，好像鱼也在休息。渔线上的拉力松弛时，他有一种轻松快乐的感觉，这种感觉很强烈，是他后来都无法形容的。当鱼竿被拉弯，浑身疼痛的肌肉再度收紧去与枪鱼拼搏时，那种痛楚则难以想象。 刚过正午，基里安在他身边弯下腰来，又递给他一罐啤酒：“我说老兄，你都快弯成钩子了。整整三个小时，你也累了。没必要拼命的。如果需要帮手，或者想歇一会儿，就说一声。” 穆加特