EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALApril 14, 1999
Calle Conde de Barajas, Seville
Opportunist
A man and his dog sit together on the banks of the Guadalquivir. The
modern Puente del Alamillo, or harp bridge cuts parallelograms of gradating
orange-red out of the powdery sky. The silhouetted harp strings recede in their dark grey.
The stripes in between jump forward, like clay pushing through a wire cutter.
He sits on a plastic crate with a long, flexible pole, casting off,
casting off, casting off, patient for the chance to catch and prize. The matted fox
terrier squats on its haunches, focussed on the water. The indolent river laps at the pads
and toenails of skinny paws.
The line tugs, and something flops out there, splashing at the surface.
He pulls the line in, reeling, and a loaf-sized, diamond-shaped fish is dry-docked on the
gravelly bank. "Too small". He unhooks the suffocating creature and attempts a
toss. But the fish slips from him and jumps sideways, landing at the water’s edge.
The terrier makes hay. Concentration and preparation have met with
opportunity and he grabs the flopping fish in his teeth and drags it a little ways from
the plastic crate. The fish is too big and rather slippery. The terrier braces it with his
foot and stands there, frozen, mouth open, salivating, cold and wet, eyes reaching for a
glimpse of the master’s approval. "How am I going to get this over to somewhere
so I can take it apart and have a taste?"
It’s too late. Master is poking terrier with his cane. "Let
go. I said let go! Put that fish back in the water right now."
The fish is coaxed with the terrier’s paw. It wriggles in the
lapping water, and the dog stands back with the insistence of the prodding cane, with
shame and disappointment. The grey fish takes the opening and ducks in with a receding
wave, swimming with the river’s disinclined current, letting the clay-cutting harp
get smaller and smaller behind it.
The man resumes his cast. The terrier returns to position, watching the
line for signs of life.
