It was a man, a living man, a black Indian fisherman, a poor devil who no doubt had come to gather what he could before harvest time. I saw the bottom of his dinghy, moored a few feet above his head.
Pero me equivocaba, no teníamos que habérnoslas con esos monstruos del océano. Era un hombre, un hombre vivo, un indio, un negro, un pescador, un pobre diablo, sin duda, que venía a la rebusca antes de la cosecha.