Academic journal article TriQuarterly


Academic journal article TriQuarterly


Article excerpt

They sauntered at shoreline where the breakers fell, pensive husband and glamorous wife. Today, Sartre had it right: hell was other people who preyed on their life.

Distant objects relieved the eye: four fishing boats by the peach- colored horizon, gulls in the sky and, suddenly, trucks on the beach.

A turning winch raised a net bulging with fish, the sea's produce, and dumped for transport the ill-fated thrashing creatures, a silvery sluice

of never-ending energy, flowing west into the insatiable guts of mankind. "They know they're caught," she gasped, in her best movie voice, and he, resigned,

steered her from what was more heartless, the workers heaving aside inedible sea robins, their corpses-to-be an artless mosaic on the strand: waste as incredible

to tender souls as extinction of species or triage in the traffic and brute neglect of displaced persons, gypsies, refugees - fish out of water fishermen reject.

"Why don't you put them back? …

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