For fish? Incredible. One does not sit like this watching for
something to become visible. Why? Because then there would be an air of
suspense about the watcher. He would grow nervous after an hour, when the
thing remained still invisible, and finally he would fall into hysterics
and unquestionably shriek.
And these men grow calmer. Then what are they looking at, hour after hour,
under the hot sun? Nothing. They are letting the rhythm of water and sky
lull them into a sleep--a surcease from living. This is a very poetical
thing for a hundred battered-looking men to attempt. Yet life may be as
intimidating to honest, unimaginative ones as to their self-styled
superiors.
There are many types fishing. But all of them look soiled. Idlers,
workers, unhappy ones--they come to forget, to let the agate eye of the
lake stare them into a few hours of oblivion.
But there is something else. Long ago men hunted and fished to keep alive.
They fought with animals and sat with empty stomachs staring at the water,
not in quest of Nirvanas but of fish. So now, after ages and ages have
passed, there is left a vague memory of this in the minds of these
fishermen. This memory makes them still feel a certain thrill in the
business of pursuit.
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