In all my life, I never saw a storm like that. I was a fisherman, and had been since I was a boy.
To me it seemed there sat, in the back of my mind, a certain resignation - to a squandered youth, a stagnant life, a death hardly noted, let alone mourned - and this was never something I particularly lamented. There was no need - I was a fisherman. Being remembered was for rich men, and lucky ones. No one ever taught me that, but I had learned it well in time, and hence, I had learned not to aim for much at all. Now, with decades gone, with knuckles swollen to near disfigurement, sunken eyes and heavy shoulders, I knew I was not a lucky man.
To catch fish here is easy, and always has been, if you know where to go. My father was a fisherman, and his father before him and his father before his. No need to venture far out, catch enough to feed your family and stay out of debt. His words, which i followed to the letter. To be true, I was frugal, and content to stay exactly where I was, so long as everything was more or less okay. I never needed to be rich when I had the sea, and her steady, calm waves - she would give me all the wealth and luck i needed.
That day, I set off with a sensation in my fingertips I still can’t really describe. Anticipation? Dread? I’m not sure, but either way, it was electric, and I left with my heart pounding in my chest and my shoulders hunched, tense. In hindsight, the memory is hazy and dreamlike - It was as though I had been going through my morning by sheer instinct - observing, yes, but certainly not taking it in beyond the moment in which i saw it. One thought, coherent enough for me to remember, save for later - ‘I don’t remember the last time I felt this much at all!’
And it was true. I didn’t. To me, life was a series of routines and a story of endurance, against time, against hardship, against the boredom and apathy that had left men better than me pissheads and retreatists, stumbling around on the promenade when no one else was around, unable to smell their own stench, too out of it to notice the grime, the shit, the blood that had become so much part of them, they’d be unrecognisable without it.
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