Once we sat on a river bank, clutching fishing rods in our hands like holding falling lighthouses. We glimpsed at a frangible wooden hut on the other side of river. Grabbing fish before me she said to go see what’s there.
A blind quiescent old man lived there all alone whose only son was consumed by river. With sodden eyes she gave her fish to him.
After life abandoned her I started visiting that old man. I always gave him two fishes; mine and my wife’s.