“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,” the old man said. “They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”

The sea was calm that October afternoon. The sun turned the sky yellow and the figures on the small boat became dark silhouettes. The boat sat still just off the beach, and birds perched on the nearby rocks, waiting for their share. A few circled high in the sky where the air was still hot. It looked like an ordinary, good day. No hard work, just the quiet rest of those waiting for the fish.

Progreso, 2007