BOTCHAN
all they caught were goruki; of sea-bream there was not a sign.
“This is a day of bumper crop of Russian literature,” Red Shirt said, and Clown answered:
“When one as skilled as you gets nothing but goruki, it’s natural for me to get nothing else.”
The boatman told me that this small-sized fish goruki has too many tiny bones and tastes too poor to be fit for eating, but they could be used for fertilising. So Red Shirt and Clown were fishing fertilisers with vim and vigor. As for me, one goruki was enough and I laid down myself on the bottom, and looked up at the sky. This was far more dandy than fishing.
Then the two began whispering. I could not hear well, nor did I care to. I was looking up at the sky and thinking about Kiyo. If I had enough of money, I thought, and came with Kiyo to such a picturesque place, how joyous it would be. No matter how picturesque the scene might be, it would be flat in the company of Clown or of his
–100–
