Spyder Web

16

‘Cerveza, señor?’ Ponce Sebastian asked, offering a cold beverage to the heavyset man in the fighting chair.

‘Sure, Ponce,’ the man replied, trading an empty bottle for a full one.

Ponce Sebastian was a short, wiry man and the captain of his own fishing boat. This boat, the Alazna, was also his home. Ponce chartered his boat out for day trips to tourists. Today, this overweight American from Alabama wanted to fish for sea bass. It was only nine in the morning and the man was already on his third beer. Ponce didn’t mind; the man had paid in advance.

The reel on the man’s rod jerked and began to spin. Then it stopped. The tourist wiped the sheen of perspiration off his brow and looked at the reel. As the boat bobbed with the next wave, it spun again, then stopped.

‘Hey, Ponce, I think we got something on the line.’

Ponce walked over just as the reel began to spin. It turned slowly, nothing like a large fish fighting for its life. Again, it stopped.

‘That’s the third time it’s done that.’

‘If that’s a fish, señor, it’s got no cojones. We must have snagged something. Let’s reel it in.’

The tourist put one hand on the rod while the other turned the reel. Judging by the way he tested the line as he drew it in, Ponce knew the man had some experience fishing. The man also wasn’t afraid to work. Some of the tourists he had carried barely lifted a finger while at sea, leaving him to land the fish and take their picture with it.

‘You’re right, Ponce.Whatever it is, it sure ain’t swimming.’

The tourist wiped his brow and resumed his task of reeling in the line. Ponce watched the thin wake that broke where the heavy nylon line sliced the water’s surface. Gradually, a dark form began to rise from the depths. The line started to slacken and the tourist was turning the reel as fast as he could. The black form emerged from the sea twenty feet behind the fishing boat. Both men stared, trying to divine what they’d brought up from the sea.

‘Ponce, I think it’s a body.’

‘I think you’re right. Help me pull it in.’

The tourist continued to work the reel, slowly now to ease the black form closer to the aft of the boat. Using a pole that resembled a long shepherd’s crook, Ponce hooked the body and pulled it against the hull.

‘Let me handle that hook, Ponce. You pull him up on the jump deck.’

Ponce opened the aft gate and stepped onto the jump deck while the tourist strained to keep the body in place.

‘On three, señor,’ Ponce instructed.

On the third count, both men heaved and the full weight of what they had caught became apparent.With a single burst of strength, they struggled the lifeless form through the gate and onto the deck.

‘Señor, I don’t think you should look. This person may have been in the water awhile.’

‘Don’t worry about me, Ponce, I’ve been to war.There’s not a lot I haven’t seen.’

Ponce carefully rolled the body onto its side. The body was rigid, like a mannequin. Both men looked at the diver’s face, which, though ashen, was still intact.

‘I don’t think this guy’s been dead too long, Ponce.’

‘Señor, I apologize, but we have to return to port. If you like, I will refund your money.’

‘No way, Ponce. You promised me a fishing trip I’d never forget and you delivered. Hell, no one back home is going to believe this.’