Then they all went over to see him laid out on the side of the road silver as a salmon and dark gunmetal shining on his back. He was a handsome beautifully built fish with great live eyes and he breathed slowly and brokenly.
“What is he?”
“A loup,” he said. “That’s a sea bass. They call them bar too. They’re a wonderful fish. This is the biggest one I’ve ever seen.
The waiter, whose name was Andre, came over and put his arms around David and kissed him and then he kissed the girl.
“Madame, it is necessary,” he said. “It is truly necessary. No one ever caught such a fish on such tackle.”
“We better have him weighed,” David said.
They were at the cafe now. The young man had put the tackle away, after the weighing, and washed up and the fish was on a block of ice that had come in the camion from Nimes to ice the mackerel catch. The fish had weighed a little over fifteen pounds. On the ice he was still silver and beautiful but the color on his back had changed to gray. Only his eyes still looked alive. The mackerel fishing boats were coming in now and the women were unloading the shining blue and green and silver mackerel from the boats into baskets and carrying the heavy baskets on their heads to the fish house. It was a very good catch and the town was busy and happy.
“What are we going to do with the big fish?” the girl asked.
“They’re going to take him in and sell him,” the young man said. “He’s too big to cook here and they say it would be wicked to cut him up. Maybe he’ll go right up to Paris. He’ll end in some big restaurant. Or somebody very rich will buy him.”
“He was so beautiful in the water,” she said. “And when Andre held him up. I couldn’t believe him when I saw him out of the window and you with your mob following you.”
“We’ll get a small one for us to eat. They’re really wonderful. A small one ought to be grilled with butter and with herbs. They’re like striped bass at home.”
“I’m excited about the fish,” she said. “Don’t we have wonder ful simple fun?”
They were hungry for lunch and the bottle of white wine was cold and they drank it as they ate the celery remoulade and the
small radishes and the home pickled mushrooms from the big glass jar. The bass was grilled and the grill marks showed on the silver skin and the butter melted on the hot plate. There was sliced lemon to press on the bass and fresh bread from the bakery and the wine cooled their tongues of the heat of the fried potatoes. It was good light, dry, cheerful unknown white wine and the restaurant was proud of it.
“We’re not great conversationalists at meals,” the girl said. “Do I bore you, darling?”
The young man laughed.
“Don’t laugh at me, David.”
“I wasn’t. No. You don’t bore me. I’d be happy looking at you if you never said a word.”
He poured her another small glass of the wine and filled his own.
“I have a big surprise. I didn’t tell you, did I?” the girl said.
“What sort of surprise?”
“Oh it’s very simple but it’s very complicated.”
“Tell me.”
“No. You might like it and maybe you couldn’t stand it.”
“It sounds too dangerous.”
“It’s dangerous,” she said. “But don’t ask me. I’m going up to the room if I may.
The young man paid for the lunch and drank the wine that was left in the bottle. Then he went upstairs. The girl’s clothes were folded on one of the Van Gogh chairs and she was waiting for him in the bed with the sheet over her. Her hair was spread out over the pillow and her eyes were laughing and he lifted the sheet and she said, “Hello, darling. Did you have a nice lunch?”
Afterwards they lay together with his arm under her head and were happy and lazy and he felt her turn her head from side to side and stroke it against his cheek. It felt silky and barely roughened from the sun and the sea. Then with her hair all forward over her face so it touched him as her head moved she started to play with him lightly and exploringly and then with delight and she said, “You do love me, don’t you?”