The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1903-10-08
THE FISHER.

! A splash of yellow light fell from the
doorway of the cafe Of St Maurin into
the still. blue darkness of the little
quay. where a couple of pickering
lamps only served to make the gloom
more profound. The moon had not
risen, and the pale radiance of the stars
showed the long. slow swell OF oily
sea. Against the wall OF the quay lay a
I tiny sailing yacht. Further out mid
way between the horns of the harbor a
/ fishing boat with wide spread sails that
! seemed hardly to eaten the faint even
\ ing air drifted like a shadow through
| the night.
In the cafe half dozen men. fishers
of this little port, lounged idly over
their glasses. Old Antoine, the inn
J keeper drowSed as usual in his corner
chair. Jean Modeste,. his grandson, sat
with torn net across his knees and his
I black head bent. The rest slipped their
coarse wine. and talked to each other
spasmodically of the weather or the
prospects of a good catch.
Suddenly Jean Modesto, looking up
from the tear in the net. made with his
free hand the sign of the cross. The
| others looked at him with curious, hall
frightened eyes He was staring
through the open doorway at the sea.
There was an instant of heavy silence.
The glasses ceased to clink, and only old
Antoine snored softly in his corner.
Jean Modeste's eyes fell again to his
net.
1.-THE Fisherl" he said. in a low tone of
explanation.
Everyone, except the sleeping innkeep-
er. turned at once to the door. Between
the horns of the bay the one wide sail
was drifting lazily nearer. Again there
was silence in the cafe, an odd, I'M
wholesome stiffness. heavy with ill omen
and expectation of evil to come.
Presently, big Jules Bontemps took q
draught of his wine and set the glass
down noisily on the table at which he
sat.
For my part he said. al don't be-
lieve in this Fisher-therei Every sail
you see near S. Maurin, it's the same
thing with you all-the Fisher! I'm a
stranger-I-thank the good God there's
no Fisher in this port of Nice-no!
Now, will any of you tell me, my friends
who this Fisher of yours is, and what
he seeks?'
The question was addressed generally
to the whole company present but no.
body answered. Instead, they all looked
at Jean Modesto as he bent over his
nek-
who he is"-he spoke meditatively.
"Ah. for that-no one can tell you.
What he. seeks-that's another matter.
They do say
He broke off and glanced again
was drifting very slowly toward the
land.
Well. what do they say?p Bontemps
asked. impatiently.
nat.
They say" he answered. in the same
low. unwilling tone, that he fishes for
the souls of men,
Bontemps stared for a second. Then
he flung back his rough black head
with a great laugh.
THE souls of meni All. my faith.
that's goodl Are you Christians. then.
in this harbor of S. Maurin ?"
AS good as any in the port of Nice"
Jean Modesto replied, with touch of
heat.
Bontemps laughed again.
mo Offense, my friend. But come,
it's absurd. you know, It's moonshine
that's what it is. This Fisher of
yours
Jean Modesto cut through his speech,
and lifted a finger from his net to
point through the door.
Laugil-if you please.
Bontemps was silent. The shadowy
sail had drifted very near. Again still
ness fell upon the little group, broken
only by the old mans heavy breath
ing.
Taught you pleaser' Jean Mo-
will laugh with you What if we can
not tell you who the Fisher is? We
know his work well enough Did he
not follow my brothers boat the Marie
blanche, the last voyage ever she took?
Never a man came back to tell the tale
but the Fisher sailed behind them out
OF 5 Maurin bay. That 1 saw-with
these eyeS-yeS."
Bontemps did not answer. A kind of
breathlessness had fallen upon the rest
Jean Modesto shifted the net across
his knee and spoke once more.
9ou ask what the Fisher seeks. he
said "Well-in the port of Nice he
may have other business for what
know. But here, when he sails in the
bay, he seeks mans SOUL
Again there was silence. Through the
doorway they could see the black shad-
ow OF the sail almost touching the
quay. The strange fishing boat was
very near. The tall mast seemed to
touch the stars, the sails were like the
wings of an immense bat stretched be-
tween them and the luminous blue of
the clear night sky.
In the cafe no one moved or breath
ed. Jean Modeste's hands lay idle on
his net Bontemps sat motionless,
with his fingers stretched out to take
up his unfinished glass of wine. For
some reason he did not take 1t. His
eyes, too. We're fixed upon the shadowy
sail hanging about the quay
Then. silently as it had come, the
boat heeIed over, and tackled seward.
A light wind caught the huge sail, and
swept it before it out into the BAY
The still, dark, floating thing became
in a moment alive, buoyant, incredibly
light and swift. white flicker of foam
tore at her bows as She headed for the
sea
The men in the cafe watched with a
deep. unacknowledged sense of relief.
Still, for a while no one spoke The
little grimy, ill-smelling place was ex-
traordinarily silent; it seemed as though
something within it's walls had ceased
it held the emptiness of a room in
which a piece of machinery had just
run down
Bontemps was the first to speak
''Well-there," he said, drawing a
quick breath, your Fishers gone. He
knows how to sail his ship-I'll say
that for him, whoever he is. But what
did he seek Ell? What fish was he after,
your Fisher of souls?''
No one answered, and Bontemps
! chuckled a little, quietly. Jean Modesto
to all his height as he turned from the