Зима тревоги нашей

           Theyonlyhadflounder.IboughtfourniceonesfromJoeLoganandstoodbywhilehefilletedthemforme,hisknifeslippingalongthespineaseasilyasitwouldthroughwater.Inthespringthereisonesuresubject—whenwilltheweakfishcome?Weusedtosay,"Whenlilacsbloomtheweakfishcoome,"butyoucan’tdependonit.Seemstomethatallmylifetheweakshavenotarrivedorhavejustleft.Andwhatbeautifulfishtheyarewhenyougetone,slenderastrout,clean,silveras—silver.Theysmellgood.Well,theyweren’trunning.JoeLoganhadn’ttakenasingleone.

           "Me,Ilikeblowfish,"Joesaid."Funnything,whenyoucallthemblowfishnobodywilltouchthem,butcallthemseachickenandcustomersfightforthem."

           "How’syourdaughter,Joe?"

           "Oh,sheseemstogetbetterandthenshefadesoff.It’skillingme."

           "Toobad.I’msorry."

           "Iftherewasanythingtodo—"

           "Iknow—poorkid.Here’sabag.Justdropthefloundersinit.Givehermylove,Joe."

           Helookedmelongintheeyesasthoughhehopedtodrawsomethingoutofme,somemedicine."I’lldothat,Eth,"hesaid."I’lltellher."

           Backofthebreakwaterthecountydredgerwasworking,itsgiantscrewaugeringupmudandshellsandthepumpspushingthejunkthroughpipeonpontoonsandflingingitbehindtheblack-tarredbulkheadsontheshore.Itsrunninglightswereonanditsridinglightstooandtworedballswerehoistedtoshowthatitwasworking.