The tide was in and the wind had blown up. As the boat was thrown about by the sea the two youngsters kept falling down until their arms and legs were covered with black and blue bruises. Droplets of water hung from Old Uncle Seven's face as he grimly worked the oar. When he saw one of his sons crawling on the bow of the boat he took a steel boat hook, hooked it in his son's belt and yanked him up. He said; "This is pretty good weather, it's still fishing weather."

The small black flags attached to the drift net waved back and forth in the wind. They seemed to be signaling to their boat. The two youngsters had just spotted the flags when they started to throw up. It suddenly turned colder, raising goose bumps all over the brother's bodies and forcing them to hunch their shoulders. A gull flying above them started to laugh uproariously as though overcome with joy.

It was as if Old Uncle Seven's foot was glued to the gunwale. He remembered going out to sea once a dozen or more years ago. Then he was still a hardy young man who feared nothing, but the last time that he went to sea had left him with seemingly unending regrets.

It was a winter's morning when he, along with two old men, had gone out to take up the last drift net. They wore padded cotton jackets with a layer of rain gear over them. The waves were very high. Whitecaps broke all around the boat, issuing a them. The waves were very high. Whitecaps broke all around the boat, issuing a sound that seemed like laughter: "Ha, hahaha..." The crew were all accustomed to the sea's cold laughter and sat there as though nothing were amiss ... then they started bringing up the net. It wouldn't be long before that net would be rotting in the corner of some storehouse in any case, for it was the last time it was taken out to sea. They were all lazily going about their work. Suddenly they pulled out a huge creature with black spots all over its body. They were completely unprepared and fumbled around for a time looking for the wooden club. He recalled that this exceptionally large creature scraped itself over the gunwale, rubbing off a few scales as big as five-cent pieces, then it started to flop around violently. It leapt so high that it genuinely startled them. If it hadn't been tangled in the net it would have leapt straight back into the sea! He wrapped his arms around it as if holding a chubby child, but he could tell that this was an old fish. He released it from the net and as he was very close to it, he could see how viciously it looked at him, its teeth biting together so hard they made a sound. When it opened its mouth wide he could smell the oppressive stench. Just as he called to the two older men on the boat, the fish started writhing in his arms. Its twisting made him fall to the deck. Then it began leaping about until it leapt back into the waves ...

That last time at sea had to be considered highly inauspicious.

Old Uncle Seven rowed the boat, still regretting what had happened more than a dozen years ago. Later he figured out the reason for his failure. He knew that the problem was that it had been his "last time." Everyone has a last time for doing anything, but you shouldn't think that this one is that last time. Only then can you keep the strength and determination concentrated in the fingers on your hands. And that way, even the toughest beast needn't think about trying to escape from your arms like that one had.

"Black flags. we're at the drift net!" His sons shouted.

Old Uncle Seven's eyes opened up as round as saucers; " Open the hatch!" he shouted, putting down the oars and standing on the deck with his legs apart.

The net was slowly hauled up. liang fish, flounders, and Spanish mackerel with the net caught in their mouths, swished their snowy-bright tails around. The three of them were overjoyed. Uncle Seven grunted an "Ah, ah ah" sound as he pulled out he fish and muttered to himself: "...the liang fish dies in the "pincers," the flounder dies on the "hook,"---Those things have a mouth like a hook. When it gets hooked on the net it can't get away! Look, this is a black-skinned knife fish,, its a real nasty one, you just touch it and it gets mad as hell ... Watch out for the puffer fish! It's got a fearsome mouth..." Old Uncle Seven was beside himself with joy, and his beard was covered with flashing fish scales. He couldn't even tell the size of the fish anymore, he was so excited by this this first catch that he couldn't focus properly.

The two brothers took out the fish and then lowered the net back into the sea. The youngest son stood with his legs apart, but he didn't dare stand on the bow because he always fell. When he fell, the fish took advantage of the situation and escaped. Uncle Seven was at once anxious and excited as he shouted sharply; "Hey! Hey!"

The net slid up and over the top of the gunwale.as though it were being

produced from the hull of the boat. Uncle Seven was concerned that the boat was moving too fast and overrunning the net He was afraid that the hull would rip the net, so he worked the oar at the stern of the boat for all he was worth. Just then something pitch black slowly protruded out of the water. It was as shiny and smooth as an inflated rubber inner tube, bulging and round. The brothers hollered in alarm when they made out that it was the back of a great fish. When the big fish came out of the water it's white belly flashed It made a gurgling sound and started to jump.

Old Uncle Seven immediately ran up to it, but unfortunately the boat pitched abruptly sending him sprawling. As he scrambled up he shouted to them: "Use your fingers, don't use your arms..." But the two brothers were already wrapping their arms around it and using their fists to pound on its skull. But the time Old Uncle Seven had picked himself up the great fish had already ripped the boy's flesh and angrily leapt back into the surf.

"You should use your fingers." Old Uncle Seven told them in a low, sympathetic voice as he squatted on the deck. He felt greatest pity for them. He thought the boat should have someone on board, it should have Cao Mang! The very first time that Cao Mang went to sea he knew to use his fingers. In a few seconds he would have clubbed the fish's skull with a wooden club.

The boat really should have Cao Mang aboard.