8 A Nighttime Fishing Trip
When we awoke, the room was almost completely shrouded in darkness. The sounds of nature seemed to have faded, and we realized that the sun was setting, giving way to the marvelous spectacle of the last sub-tropical glimmers.
I felt I had regained most of my strength, and I wanted to enjoy, right there with you by my side, the spectacle that only paradise could offer me.
The warm twilight air enveloped us, filling us with an otherworldly peace.
The sounds of the city were now a distant memory, and I dared not think about returning to the so-called civilized world.
You had never broached this subject, and on the rare occasions when you’d tried, I’d silenced you with a kiss.
As we were heading toward the beach bar, we saw the island boutique was open.
We went in to browse and lingered, looking at the clothes and swimsuits hanging on the walls.
Large wooden baskets held ethnic necklaces and jewelry made of wood and coral.
Climbing a small spiral staircase, we reached a room adorned with fishing nets in which hand-embroidered sarongs were tangled, and shelves overflowing with colorful, locally made books.
I already knew I wouldn’t leave without snagging a souvenir.
I settled on a simple rubber necklace with a wooden clownfish pendant.
You looked at me with delight as you held up a T-shirt bearing Rihiveli’s signature motto on the front: “No news, No shoes.”
It was already dark when we reluctantly left the boutique. We were starting to feel a little peckish, so we decided to continue our walk toward the restaurant.
That evening, the menu featured Italian dishes, and from the way you were looking at me, I could tell you couldn’t wait to savor again what you were clearly missing.
I decided that for once I wouldn’t stress you out, letting you eat whatever you wanted.
After all, you deserved it; you made me feel like a princess in every situation, and I couldn’t remind you every day of what was bad for you.
At the end of the day, you were a doctor and knew perfectly well when not to overdo it.
Dinner was delicious, and I convinced you to have a little wine under the pretext that it would be good for both of us.
In reality, I wanted to see you more relaxed, and that evening in particular, I felt the need to have a shoulder by my side with whom I could find the fun side even in serious matters.
We chose tiramisu for dessert and fed each other with a single teaspoon until we finished the last bite with a very sweet kiss.
I felt euphoric and still didn’t realize the wine was to blame.
As we got up from the table, we greeted the waitstaff with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.
The staff working at the resort were disarmingly charming, and I agreed that they couldn’t have worked in Italy while maintaining their savoir-faire.
An evening waiting to be created lay ahead of us.
Sleep was a distant memory, and the wine had done its best to warm our spirits…
perhaps a little too much. On our way to the bar, we were stopped by an activity coordinator.
It wasn’t common for the island staff to engage us; they knew we liked to improvise our days on the spot, but that evening, it seemed, they had a special surprise in store.
Before explaining the idea to us, he asked if we were free of any commitments.
We answered “yes” in unison—or rather, the wine did it for us.
Our host briefly explained that two spots had opened up for a night fishing trip.
The sparkle in my eyes was enough to convince you that such an experience would do us both good.
Avoiding a return to the bungalow—where we might have ended up staying the night and throwing the key out the window—we boarded a yacht equipped for deep-sea fishing.
We spent about half an hour immersed in total darkness.
During the trip, I hadn’t even tried to lean over the side of the boat for fear that a shark’s sharp jaws might suddenly grab me and drag me down into the depths.
I sat in silence, gazing at the black expanse of the sea, and when you asked me how I was doing, I forced myself to smile at you so I wouldn’t have to confess my childish fears.
I had never been on a night fishing trip before, and up until that moment, even the thought of what we were about to do hadn’t given me any thrill at all. The yacht came to a stop.
As I looked around, I realized I had no points of reference, and to keep from panicking, I immediately turned my gaze to the stars.
I still felt disoriented, though, and couldn’t understand why the constellations seemed somehow different from the ones I knew.
I had the distinct feeling that I was lost in the world.
My daydreaming came to an end when the crew handed us two fishing rods already baited.
Our task would be to catch a few small fish that would serve to attract the large cetaceans in that stretch of sea.
It was my first time fishing from a boat on the open sea.
Noticing my hesitation, you hurried to cast the hook into the darkness, keeping a finger on the line to sense the slightest vibration.
I was about to get to work, trying to imitate you, when I saw your first catch swaying before my eyes: it was a yellow fish with black stripes that hadn’t put up the slightest resistance as you reeled it in.
Shortly afterward, I too was brandishing my trophy, but it wasn’t what I’d hoped for.
As I reeled in the line, I found myself face-to-face with a rather feisty lobster that wouldn’t serve my purpose—and was also difficult to unhook.
I started screaming in fright, causing a sailor to rush over; he managed with great difficulty to free the crustacean, risking getting his fingers pinched in the process.
You, however, had seen fit to stand back and enjoy the show.
I thought to myself, “He who laughs last laughs best,” without joining in your laughter.
The other guests on the yacht had been luckier, and shortly afterward there were enough fish to begin hunting for large cetaceans.
A crew member dumped most of the fish they’d caught earlier back into the sea—fish that were meant to attract the large predators.
I noticed that some fish that were still alive had been placed in a bucket filled with saltwater.
I was beginning to understand the technique that would be used—one I’d also employed at times to catch mullet near the mouths of rivers flowing into the sea.
The live bait was hooked through the back so that it wouldn’t die and could continue to swim; this way, the predator wouldn’t suspect what its prey was actually hiding.
To fish safely, you had to secure the fishing rod inside a sturdy tube anchored to the ground, sit in a small seat equipped with a safety belt, and hold the rod firmly with both hands.
It was unthinkable to go deep-sea fishing while standing up and hoping not to perform an unplanned water-skiing stunt in an attempt to reel in a predator that could easily weigh a metric ton.
I made you sit down in the chair first, and your protests were to no avail—I easily silenced them by asking you to do it if you loved me.
“You know I’d do anything to prove my love to you,” you whispered as you sat down, not at all convinced by what you’d jokingly called the “electric chair.”
I knew you didn’t much like to show off, and I enjoyed playing on that side of your personality.
You gripped the rod with both hands while I wrapped my arms around your shoulders and kissed your neck just to tease you. After a moment, I let go, aware that fishing generally requires patience and silence, and I didn’t want you to give up because of my flirtatious antics.
I began pacing the deck of the boat impatiently, but that might have bothered you too, so I sat down wearily on the edge of the yacht.
The apparent calm was shattered by your excited grunts when the line gave a violent jerk and the reel began spinning wildly.
I knew I shouldn’t have to teach you anything, but I was itching to shout at you to let the line out, or else it would snap.
The crew promptly started the engines, ready to play along with the predator’s whims.
For the first five minutes, the reel spun at lightning speed, then suddenly stopped: it was time to reel in the line, and you slowly began to wind it in.
The silence was oppressive; for all we knew, the cetacean could have been right beneath the boat.
A sudden vortex made our hearts skip a beat, signaling that we were about to see our prey: a massive blue marlin surfaced about 50 meters away from us before diving back into the depths of the ocean.
The engines roared as we set off in pursuit.
We followed the marlin’s wake with surgical precision; it seemed to have no intention of taking a selfie with us. At one point, the chase stopped, and an unreal silence returned. We barely had time to catch our breath before the line seemed to reel back in, and it all started over.
Almost two hours had passed, and I don’t know who was more exhausted—you or the marlin—but that last run must have worn the big fish out, because you managed to reel in almost all the line.
The time had come to harpoon the prey, and the crew began to prepare themselves along the sides of the boat.
Another ten interminable minutes passed before we saw the fish’s silhouette break the surface.
I started to tremble and cry at the sight of the poor, exhausted animal lying on its side in an obvious state of exhaustion.
Without saying a word to you, I ran down the steps leading to the lower deck of the yacht.
To calm myself down, I began to look around.
The interior of the boat was elegantly furnished, and five berths lined a small corridor.
I opened the first door and threw myself onto the bed, sobbing, while cheerful voices came from the deck; to avoid hearing them, I buried my head under the pillow.
I hadn’t heard you come into the cabin, and I jumped when two hands began massaging my back.
You knew it was a surefire way to calm me down, and you were certain I’d recognize your touch among a thousand others.
I turned, my face streaked with tears, while my lips, curled into a smile, welcomed that surging river of salt water.