The Forrest City times. [volume] (Forrest City, Ark.) 1871-1919, 1903-07-24
The Fisher

A SPLASH of yellow light fell from
~ the doorway of the cafe of S.
Maurin into the still, blue darkness of
the little quay, where a couple Of flick
ering 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
an oily sea. Against the wall OF the
quay lay tiny sailing yacht Further
out. midway between the horns Of the
harbor, fishing-boat with widespread
sails that seemed hardly TO catch the
faint evening air drifted like a shadow
through the night
In the cafe half q dozen men. fishers
OF this little port. lounged idly over
their glasses. Old Antoine, the inn
keeper. drowsed as usual in his corner
chair Jean Modesto. his grandson. sat
with a torn net across his knee and his
black head bent The rest slipped their
coarse wine. and talked TO each other
spasmodically of the weather OF the
prospects of good catch.
Suddenly Jean Modesto, looking up
his free hand the sign OF the Cross. The
Others looked at him with curious, half
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 cor
ner.
otnta fzll -
net.
THE Fisher" he said, in a low tone
OF explanation.
Everyone, except the sleeping inn
keeper. turned at once to the door. Be-
tween the horns of the bay the one
wide sail was drifting lazily nearer.
Again there was silence In the cafe an
odd. unwholesome stiffness, heavy with
ill-omen and expectation of evil to
come
Presently big Jules Bontemps took a
draught OF his wine and set the glass
down noisily on the table at which he
sat
For my part" he said. II don't be-
lieve In this Fisher-there' Every sail
you see near S. MauriH. it's the same
thing with you all-the Fisher, I'm a
stranger-I-thankt 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 locke ed
at Jean Modesto as he bent over his
net
Who he is" he spoke. meditative-
~. "Ah. for that-no one can tell you
What he seeks--that's another matter
They do say"
He broke of. and glanced again
through the open door The black sail
was drifting very slowly towards the
land
We'll. what do they say" Bontemps
asked, impatiently.
The young man turned again to his
net.
They say" he answered. in the same
low, unwilling tone. that he fishes for
the souls of men"
Bontemps stared for second. Then
he flung back his rough black head with
a great laugh.
THE souls Of men, All. my faith.
that's good, Are you Christians, then
in this harbor CT s. Maurin?"
AS good as any in the port of Nice"
Jean Modesto replied. with a touch Of
heat
Bontemps laughed again.
NO offense. my friend. But come rs
absurd. yos 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.
There" he said, lis the Fisher
Laugh-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 breathing.
Taught you please." Jean Modesto
said again. None of us here will laugh
with you. What If we cannot tell YOU
who the Fisher is? We know his work
well enough Die he not follow my
brothers boat, the Marie Blanche, the