Picaro was at the dock by dawn and Oyster was already there, ready and waiting to put Picaro to work. The old man was to the point and took no dawdling. The boy received a swift smack to the back of the head for any slowness. Yet Oyster was kind and honest. He never cheated the boy, and that day Picaro learned how to bait a hook. He even cast out his first line, though unsuccessfully.

  When Oyster caught the first fish of the day, Picaro helped him haul in the catch. The boy was left panting from the fight the fish gave them. To the boy, it looked like the biggest fish he had ever seen. The idea of so much food made his mouth water, and they caught two more that day. When they got back to shore, the boy's hands were cut in places from handling the lines.

  “Big one’s for selling. Small one’s dinner,” said Oyster, and chuckled as he tossed one of the smaller fish to Picaro. The boy looked at it as if it were gold. “Good work today. You listen well. Come back anytime you’re hungry. Long as you work, you’ll eat, even if we don’t catch anything.”

  Picaro went back every day for a month. An unspoken understanding began to grow between them. It was hard work, but peaceful. Oyster was one of the few people Picaro enjoyed being around. He mostly sat there, and when he did speak it was matter of factly. He corrected Picaro bluntly when he did something wrong, but that was all. He was never harsh, and didn’t pry into the boy’s past, which Picaro appreciated. He expected the boy to work, but he always kept him fed. When the fish didn’t bite, Oyster would bring the skip in early and Picaro would dig for oysters along the beach. Picaro learned that's how the old man had got his name. He was one of the few who was willing to dig for oysters, and it stuck.

  Though he never said it, Picaro grew to think of the fisherman as his old uncle Oyster, and when no one was around it made him smile. One morning, they sat in the slow current. There were no clouds, but a brisk breeze picked up around them. Oyster raised his head to the sky as if conversing with it secretly. “Looks to me a squall’s coming,” said the fisherman.

  Picaro looked up. All seemed bright and clear, there were no clouds threatening rain. “How can you tell?”

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  “Wind will always let you know. Feel that bite? Cold's coming in. When it meets the warmth from the south, clouds will brew. We may need to ship in early today. It’s good to know these things in case you ever find yourself at sea,” said Oyster.

  Picaro nodded. “I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said. They sat there a while in silence. "How do you know all this?" he said at last.

  “My father taught me all this before he passed,” said Oyster at length, and then trailed off.

  Picaro glanced at the old fisherman. The man’s eyes looked like they were looking afar off in some distant memory. The boy was unsure what to do until finally Oyster spoke again.

  “He was a fisherman, too. Taught me everything I know, for true. Lost my mother when I was small,” Oyster met Picaro’s eyes, and the old man offered a small and knowing smile. “But he kept the food on the table. I used to go out and help him, else I wouldn’t have anyplace else to go. Besides, what else is there to do in the squall, anyway?” Oyster rasped a dry chuckle.

  “Yeah, not much,” said Picaro, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat.

  “Get out of here if ye can lad, or else you’ll be just like me, stuck on this seat for the rest of yer life. I used to dream of the High Seas. Oh yes, adventures in distant lands. But then my father passed and I couldn’t think of any other way to honor him but to continue his work. Fishing’s in me blood, y'see. His father was a fisherman, and his father before him. But fishing's not all there is. There’s a whole world out there, waiting to be known. Go see it, if ye can. That’s my advice to you. See it and live it, ‘cause no matter where ye come from, you can end up wherever you wish to go if you take the chance.” Oyster was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I’m just an old man talking.” He chuckled again, then coughed.

  “It's alright,” said Picaro. “I know what you mean.”

  “Do ya? Well, that’s good, ‘cause I’m not sure I do meself sometimes.” That made Picaro smile.

  When the squall came, as surely it did, Oyster bade them take the boat back to port and he had Picaro dig up a couple of small oysters until the rain came. He gave Picaro a hunk of bread for his trouble. All the while, the boy turned over what Oyster had said in his mind. The old man was like him in many ways, the boy realized, and the thought was comforting to some degree.

  How it started:

  

  
• Samuel O. Ludescher