
Captain Ricardo is a soft-spoken guy. He has these deep-blue eyes you’d think were made to search over the waves and somehow way beneath them. He’s been fishing since he was fifteen – he’s now forty-six so you do the math – and he loves/hates the sea in that peculiar way too many seamen do.
But this is not about Ricardo or men like him; nor is it about how his soft-spoken demeanor translates into desperation when the going gets rough – bad weather, one of the boys gets hurt on deck, no fish today, folks, no fish today.
This is about Finding Nemo. While sailing off
“How can they even watch that?”, said Ricardo without taking his eyes off his plate of fresh mahi-mahi. “Don’t they know those kinds of movies make us look like criminals?”
“Oh, it’s only a movie,” said the Chief Mate.
“It makes us look like fish murderers that don’t care at all for fish. It teaches children that.”
“It’s not like Bambie did wonders for hunters?”, I added.
“That kinda hunting is playing. This is not playing. This is our life. We’re not criminals.”
The steward served coffee. “Everything okay, Cap?”
“Everything’s great. My regards to the cook.”
