“Bwenawa brought my attention to two wooden planks raised about four feet above the ground. On the ledges were lagoon fish sliced open and lying in the sun, the carcasses just visible through an enveloping blizzard of flies. "You see, " said Bwenawa. "The water dries in the sun, leaving the salt. It's kang-kang [tasty]. We call it salt fish.""Ah," I said. "In my country we call it rotten fish.”
“Our town was known for two things--no, three: salted fish, expertly dyed fabrics, and corruption.”
“It was high time, for I now began to be tortured with thirst. The glow of the sun from above, its thousandfold reflection from the waves, the sea-water that fell and dried upon me, caking my very lips with salt, combined to make my throat burn and my brain ache.”
“The fish is my friend too," he said aloud. "I have never seen or heard of such a fish. But I must kill him. I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars.”
“I said breathe. Not do a fish-out of-water imitation.”
“The fish in the creek said nothing. Fish never do. Few people know what fish think about injustice, or anything else.”