One of the themes I explore in my latest book is luck. Luck and superstition. I put it right there on page one so that you, dear reader, have plenty of time to think about it by the time you've read the book.
Eighty-four days is a long time to go without catching a fish if you are trying to earn a living as a fisherman. For that matter, it's a long time to be dry, period. I should know, having gone long stretches when I was not able to write, and barely able to lift my hand to refill my glass, much less to put words on the page. And the question I have often asked myself during these times when I am alone for days with nothing but sea and sky and hope and the fear of being too hopeful as my companions, is whether I will be able to catch the big fish that demonstrates for all of the naysayers on the dock that I still have it. That disproves that I am the unluckiest man in Cuba, or anywhere. But the endeavor will take all of my strength and possibly my life. I have not once stopped and asked myself if it is worth it. Instead I push forward. I will always push forward, like the sleek marlin whose life I had to sacrifice to make mine whole again.
"What a fish!"
Next time: more about deep sea fishing, life in Cuba, the biological reasons for the pointed snout of the marlin, and an interview with a Cuban cigar maker. Thank you.