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myself. But is a thing they call a man of great knowledge. And that is what he is, in truth. Don’t matter how you see him there. He is a bright fellow. One o’ the brightest you will ever meet. Sometimes he will straighten out and you will see him here in the market dress nicely in his shirt and trousers and a shine-up shoes. And if he come here three or four days straight like that, people will come and ask him for advice—to read letters and write letters and things like that. Because as simple as you see him now, that man went away to study doctor. And he pass all the white man exam and was supposed to come back home. But then he make a bad, bad choice. Instead o’ coming home, he say he want to stay a little longer. Why? To specialize. Now, some people say is pride cause him to fall. And I agree. Because when a little man get opportunity to reach far, he must be grateful and know when he suppose to stop. But who knows? He must be see them white boys specializing and say he must reach there too. But puss and dog ain’t have the same luck. A man must know when to satisfy. He couldn’t satisfy. He go on and on till he burn out his brain. And it ain’t lie or joke I telling you. Is my brother.”
    Estrella glanced across her shoulder out of instinct, looking for proof in other eyes. Was he telling her the truth? In the stall beside him, another butcher peered at her and raised his brows.
    “You have to watch how you approach him,” warned Asif. “He don’t mean no harm, but is a mad fellow after all. But mark me—if he catch you with the nub, is like somebody beat you with a pickax stick.”
    On knees and elbows now, Estrella made her way along the aisle. Although she was in many ways mature, she was still an adolescent, young enough to make decisions on a dare. Through her dress, which had begun to cling with perspiration, the butchers watched her body shifting shape, marveling at the way her muscles bunched then breathed into a slither, the rhythmic crest and falling of her curves.
    At the end of the aisle, she slipped beneath the burlap skirting of an empty stall and scouted up and down the broader corridor that striped the selling floor in two.
    Her position made her think about the stories she’d heard from men who’d hunted savage boars along the high volcanic slopes. The boars were most dangerous when cornered. So stealth—not bravery—was the best approach.
    Which is why I like to fish, she thought. With fish you always have the upper hand. If he going to overpower you, you let him go.
    She was shocked by this admission. Her chin was pressing on her folded arms, and she turned her head so that her arms were flat against her face. What did it mean that all her thoughts of fishing hadn’t frozen into hate?
    You have to harden your heart, she told herself. Otherwise, you might go back. And things ain’t looking too bright. A day ain’t pass and look at you. Flat on you face. Bamboozled by a fellow who ain’t have all his brain. People taking you for joke. If you know what you was doing, you would reach Seville already. But you ain’t really know what you doing. You ain’t have no blasted use. When you see that man come out the sea, you shoulda run and shut you mouth.
    Her mind began to squall with all the things that had occurred because she’d spoken to the diver. Thoughts leaped up and disappeared like waves. Trying to explain herself to Big Tuck and her grandmother. Dreaming of escape at night. Scaling fish alone. Sleeping in the old canoe. Hearing people whispering. The cliff. The bus. The reservation. Her own grandmother asking her to leave. And what was her grandmother thinking now? And what had she been thinking then? Did she really think she’d cursed the fish?
    You can’t curse anything, Estrella thought. Only God and the orishas could do that. Everybody know that. If is one thing I sure of, is that. Maybe all o’ this is punishment. ’Cause I was thinking like a liar and a thief and