Blood-drenched Beard

Jeremias laughs and shakes his head as if he shouldn’t talk about it but reveals that the school of croakers was rounded up out at sea by a large industrial trawler in an illegal maneuver during the closed season. The local fishermen found out, put several boats in the water, and sailed out to the trawler. There were threats of violence, the trawler’s crew got scared, and when everyone had calmed down, they struck an agreement. Most of the fish brought in were already dead. The trawler kept five tons, and the fishermen of Garopaba took the rest. When they arrived, it looked as if they had caught those sixty-four tons of croakers with their own nets. The story, he says, just proves that our days are numbered. It’s not worth it anymore to buy a ton of nylon and pay someone to hand-sew a net. The industrial nets are cheaper. This net I’m mending here is two and a half miles long. It’ll take me another three days to finish. In the past the women used to stay at home making nets. Those days are over too. They don’t think it’s their job. The younger generation doesn’t even know how. Ever been to Laguna? The women there still make nets. It’s a pleasure to watch. They’re so fast you don’t even see the needle. It’s all over here. Soon there’ll be universities and the young folks are going to get degrees and move away as soon as they can. Not to mention the climate. It’s a mess. They all sit around arguing about whether the climate’s changing, but us fishermen know for a fact that it is. In the old days we knew that in October we’d have calm seas, southerly winds, blue skies. It’ll be October soon, and you’ll see the mess. It won’t change anything for me. I’m getting on in years. That dog of yours likes the water, doesn’t she? She goes out swimming with you. I’ve seen her.

She does. She was hit by a car and lost a lot of movement in her paws. I taught her to swim, and now she’s almost recovered.

Is that so? Well, I’ll be. Never seen anything like it.

She sees her master swimming all the time: I’d say she got it from me.

Must be a family thing.

They exchange a smile.

Sure you don’t know who gave you that black eye?

I couldn’t see. I think it was the kids who hang around on the rocks.

If you find out or if it happens again, you let me know.

Okay.

I know everyone.

Thanks.

He gets up and stretches.

See you later, Jeremias. I was going to go for a swim, but it’s a bit late now. I’m going to have lunch and go to work. Have a good day.

Jeremias nods without taking his eyes off the net and his needle. He works there from dawn to dusk for three days, sitting in the same position, mending his net with his back to the sea, and on the fourth day the net disappears.

He works his last few afternoon shifts at the pool, unable to hide the fact that his head is elsewhere. The vigilance with which he usually instructs and corrects his students gives way to a glum lack of focus. Spatula, Saucepan’s partner, puts in a rare appearance and tells him that if he has to pretend he’s working, he’s better off leaving once and for all.

One morning the skeletal, long-nosed postman hands him an envelope that isn’t an electricity or phone bill. The first personal correspondence he has received since he’s been there is from Jasmim. Inside the envelope is a letter* written in large handwriting and a photograph that she took of the two of them in Ferrugem. They are sitting at a table in Bar do Zado at sunset. She is wearing a white halter top with a yellow-flower print and hoop earrings. He studies her curls tumbling down over her shoulders, the piercing in her left ear, her black skin with its golden sheen, her flared nostrils, small eyes, and fleshy mouth glistening with lip gloss. There is a certain seriousness in her gaze. Her lips are parted, showing the tips of her white teeth, but her smile is small, as if she were more surprised than happy. He isn’t wearing a shirt and has messy hair, a long beard, and a broad smile that stretches from ear to ear. At first he thinks she has sent him a picture of herself with another guy, but it can only be him.