EL CAMINANTE Y EL PESCADOR (ENSAYO)/THE WAYFARER AND THE FISHERMAN (ESSAY)

 

        La tarde estaba fresca, pese a que un tímido sol de marzo pugnaba por abrirse camino entre la maraña de nubes.

        Eran las primeras horas de la tarde, pero la playa estaba solitaria, incluso había menos gaviotas que de costumbre. Algo que agradecí en mi interior. Era una buena forma de relajarme y poder pensar, para mí no era el mejor de los días la verdad.

       Caminaba lentamente por la blanda arena, disfrutaba al hundir mis pies en ella. De pronto reparé que, en unas rocas del final de la playa, algo se movía.

        Me fui acercando despacio, hasta distinguir que era un pescador, que sostenía una larga caña entre sus manos. Estaba solo, llevaba puesto un chaleco

reflectante con bolsillos, un pantalón de pana calzaba botas de goma de media caña y llevaba en la cabeza un viejo gorro de paja, algo roído en una de las alas laterales.

      Cuando estuve mucho más cerca observé que me miraba con el ceño fruncido, como si le molestase mi presencia.

            Blandió la caña con fuerza como si fuese un látigo. Plomada y cebo salieron despedidos a una distancia considerable, dio tres vueltas a la manivela del carrete, recogiendo un poco del nylon. Hecho esto la posó en un artilugio metálico que tenía anclado entre dos rocas.

           Se frotó las manos e introdujo la izquierda en el bolsillo contrario del chaleco. Extrajo del mismo un paquete de cigarrillos, lo volteó y dio con maestría un pequeño golpe con el que saco un cigarro que introdujo con pasmosa habilidad en su boca, devolviendo el paquete a su lugar. Miró a lo alto de la caña, se agachó y sin sacar la caña de su soporte, dio un par de giros más a la manivela, con lo que el hilo se tensó.

         Se sentó después sobre la roca próxima, estiró la pierna derecha y sacó del bolsillo del pantalón de ese lado un encendedor, Junto ambas manos y mientras manipulaba el encendedor con una, formo un cuenco con la otra para que la brisa no apagase la llama. Un segundo después una bocanada de humo, salía de su boca y su nariz al mismo tiempo.

     Yo me encontraba a menos de diez metros, observaba con atención todos sus movimientos y deseaba que su lance tuviese éxito.

     Le salude con unas buenas tardes, a lo que me contestó con un seco, buenas. Sin saber porque le pregunté qué tal se daba la cosa, a lo que me contestó: -Mal, ni picada.

      De pronto se levantó como impulsado por un resorte, lo hizo con tanto ímpetu que el cigarrillo salió disparado rocas abajo, hasta ir a estrellarse al mar.

     Tomo con ambas manos la caña y dio unos fuertes tirones, mientras empezaba a recoger a toda prisa la tanza, de vez en cuando paraba y movía hacia si la caña, que se arqueaba de tal forma que parecía que iba a partirse en dos.

     Me miró y con una mezcla de orgullo me dijo: - Este es bueno, muy bueno y tira el condenado, hay que cansarlo. Seguidamente me espetó: - ¿Puede hacerme un

favor? Me pregunté a mí mismo, si no querría que me metiese en el agua a cogerlo, pero no,  antes de que pudiese responder, me ordenó que echase mano a un salobre que tenía al lado suyo y que cuando el pez llegase a la orilla le metiese la red por debajo.

          Me subí a una roca próxima al agua para poder ver mejor, sosteniendo en mis manos el ganapán. Cuando ya se veía el pez hice lo que me había dicho, tras dos intentos fallidos, logré atraparlo. Estaba tan absorto con la operación que ni cuenta me daba que me estaba mojando los zapatos y la parte baja del pantalón.

         Lo saqué a la arena y vi que era un "soberbio" sargo. El pescador me dijo que le calculaba dos kilos y medio. No sé qué cara habré puesto, ya que me reafirmó: - No se crea, los hay más grandes.

            Me dio las gracias y me dijo que no solo le había dado suerte, sino que sin mi ayuda no hubiese sido posible sacarlo del agua.

            De la cara de huraño del principio no quedaba nada, antes bien parecía todo lo contrario, se me antojaba un emocionado bonachón. Por mi parte yo también me sentí satisfecho conmigo mismo. Mi preocupación se había disipado, al menos de momento. Nos estrechamos las manos. Él siguió a lo suyo y yo me fui por el mismo lugar que había venido.

José Moore

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The afternoon was cool, despite the fact that a timid March sun struggled to make its way through the tangle of clouds.

        It was the early afternoon, but the beach was lonely, there were even fewer seagulls than

usual. Something that I was grateful for inside. It was a good way to relax and be able to think, for me it was not the best of days to be honest.

       I walked slowly on the soft sand, enjoying sinking my feet into it. Suddenly I noticed that, on some rocks at the end of the beach, something was moving.

        I approached slowly, until I saw that it was a fisherman, holding a long rod in his hands. He was alone, wearing a reflective vest with pockets, corduroy trousers, wearing half-calf rubber boots, and wearing an old straw hat on his head, somewhat gnawed at one of the side wings.

      When I was much closer, I observed that he was looking at me with a frown, as if he were bothered by my presence.

            He brandished the cane forcefully as if it were a whip. Plumbada and bait were thrown at a considerable distance, he turned the crank of the reel three times, picking up a little of the nylon. Once this was done, he placed it on a metal contraption that he had anchored between two rocks.

           He rubbed his hands together and put his left hand into the opposite pocket of his waistcoat. He took a pack of cigarettes from it, turned it over and masterfully gave a small blow with which he took out a cigar that he inserted with astonishing skill into his mouth, returning the package to its place. He looked at the top of the rod, bent down, and without removing the rod from its holder, he made a couple more turns of the crank, so that the thread tightened.

         Then he sat down on the nearby rock, stretched out his right leg and took a lighter from the pocket of his pants on that side. He put both hands together and while he manipulated the lighter with one, he formed a bowl with the other so that the breeze would not extinguish the flame. A second later a puff of smoke came out of his mouth and nose at the same time.

     I was less than ten meters away, I was watching his every move carefully, and I wished his throw to be successful.

     I greeted him with a good afternoon, to which he replied with a dry, good. Without knowing why I asked him how things were going, to which he replied: "Bad, not even chopped.

      Suddenly he got up as if driven by a spring, he did it with such impetus that the cigarette shot down the rocks, until it crashed into the sea.

     He took the reed with both hands and gave a few strong tugs, while he began to pick up the cane in a hurry, from time to time he stopped and moved the cane towards him, which arched in such a way that it seemed that it was going to break in two.

     He looked at me and with a mixture of pride said: - This is good, very good and the condemned man throws away, we have to tire him out. Then he blurted out: "Can you do me a favor?" I asked myself if I would not like me to go into the water to catch it, but no, before I could answer, he ordered me to take hold of a brackish fish that he had next to him and that when the fish reached the shore I should put the net under it.

          I climbed a rock near the water to be able to see better, holding the ganapán in my hands. When the fish was already visible I did as he had told me, after two failed attempts, I managed to catch it. I was so absorbed with the operation that I didn't even realize that I was getting my shoes and the bottom of my pants wet.

         I took it out to the arena and saw that it was a "superb" bream. The fisherman told me that he estimated two and a half kilos for him. I don't know what face I have made, as he reaffirmed me: - Don't believe it, there are bigger ones.

            He thanked me and told me that not only had I given him luck, but that without my help it would not have been possible to get him out of the water.

            Nothing was left of the sullen face at the beginning, rather he seemed quite the opposite, he seemed to me to be an excited good-natured. For my part, I also felt satisfied with myself. My concern had dissipated, at least for the moment. We shake hands. He went about his business and I went the same way I had come.

 

José Moore