Most of the light came from a window in the roof. the window a tall thin man stood at a wooden table,holding a red fish in one hand and a knife in the other.He looked at me with eyes that told me nothing.
I went over to him and looked down at the fish he was holding.
"Fungus?" I asked.
He nodded slowly. "White fungus." He put the fish on the table. The edge of the fin on its back was white.
"White fungus," he said, "isn't so bad. I'll cut it off and this fishwill be fine. What can I do for you, mister?"
I played with a cigarette and smiled at him.
"Like people," I said. "The fish, I mean. They get things wrong with them."
He held the fish against the wood and cut away the white edges of its fins. The fish was still.