He walked off, bare-footed on the coral rocks, to the ice house where the baits were stored.
The old man drank his coffee slowly. It was all he would have all day and he knew that he should take it. For a long time now eating had bored him and he never carried a lunch. He had a bottle of water in the bow of the skiff and that was all he needed for the day.
The boy was back now with the sardines and the two baits wrapped in a newspaper and they went down the trail to the skiff, feeling the pebbled sand under their feet, and lifted the skiff and slid her into the water.
"Good luck old man."
"Good luck," the old man said.
He fitted the rope lashings of the oars onto the thole pins and, leaning forward against the thrust of the blades in the water, he began to row out of the harbour in the dark.
There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them now the moon was below the hills.
Sometimes someone would speak in a boat.
But most of the boats were silent except for the dip of the oars.
They spread apart after they were out of the mouth of the harbour and each one headed for the part of the ocean where he hoped to find fish.