Something’s wrong. The one who owns that rope with the bone hook—has he finally come down to kill me? I wriggle out from my nest, ready to meet him. It’s night again. Last night I waited for him. I expected sandal clacks on the ladder, curses, rough hands, and a hurl through bitter air into a bracing sea, then ice in my mouth as I drowned. Eventually my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. I slept the whole day in my straw nest, dreaming the worst. I peer through the dark now. But I see no one except Queen. The fisherman isn’t coming to kill me. Queen shoves dried fruits toward me. A large quantity—surely more than my share. The spine of the sea bass lies in the middle of the cage, stripped bare. I look in Queen’s eyes and I’m almost sure she’s offering the extra fruit in gratitude—a trade of sorts. She thinks last night’s fish came from me. And it did, sort of. But it was really the fisherman’s, whoever he is. I don’t waste time over niceties; I simply eat the fruit.
