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Norberto looked over at his brother as he stirred the stew. The priest appeared wan and tired in the yellow light of the bare overhead bulb. His shoulders were more and more rounded every year. Adolfo had long ago decided that doing good must be a draining experience. Taking on the sorrows and pain of others without being able to pour out your own-except to God. That required the kind of constitution Adolfo did not have. It also required a kind of faith Adolfo did not have. If you were suffering on earth you took action on earth. You didn't ask God for the strength to endure. You asked God for the strength to make things right.

"Tell me, Adolfo," Norberto asked without turning. "What you said a moment ago-was it true?"

"I'm sorry?" Adolfo said. "Was what true?"

"Do I need to be good enough for you and me?"

Adolfo shrugged. "No. Not as far as I'm concerned."

"What about as far as God is concerned?" Norberto asked. "Would He say that you are good?"

Adolfo draped his wet socks over the line. "I wouldn't know. You'll have to ask Him."

"Unfortunately, He doesn't always answer me, Dolfo." Norberto turned now. "That's why I'm asking you."

Adolfo wiped his hands on his pants. "There is nothing on my conscience, if that's what you mean."

"Nothing?"

"No. Why are you really asking me this? Should I be worried about something?"

Norberto took a mug from the shelf and ladled stew into it. He brought it over to the table and pointed. "Eat."

Adolfo walked over. He picked up the stew and sipped it. "Hot. And very good." As he sipped more he continued to watch his brother. Norberto was acting strangely.

"Did you catch anything tonight?" Norberto asked.

"Quite a bit," Adolfo replied.

"You don't smell of fish," Norberto said.

Adolfo chewed on a thick chunk of lamb. He pointed to the clothesline. "I changed."

"Your clothes don't smell of fish either," Norberto said. He looked down.

Suddenly, Adolfo realized what was wrong. He was the fisherman but Norberto was doing the fishing. "What brought this on?" he asked.

"The police telephoned a while ago."

"And?"

"They told me about that terrible explosion on a yacht," Norberto said. "They thought I might be needed to give the last sacraments. I came here so I could be closer to the wharf."

"But you weren't," Adolfo said confidently. "No one could have survived that explosion."

Norberto looked at him. "Do you know that for certain because you saw the blast? Or is there another reason?"

Adolfo looked at him. He didn't like where this conversation was heading. He put the mug down and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. "I really must get going."

"Where?"

"I'm meeting friends tonight."

Norberto stepped over to his brother. He put his hands on Adolfo's shoulders and looked into his eyes. Adolfo was very aware that his face was closed to his brother, A blank mask.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Norberto asked.

"About what?"

"About-anything," Norberto replied uneasily.

"About anything? Sure. I love you, Berto."

"That isn't what I meant."

"I know," Adolfo said. "And I know you, Norberto. What's troubling you? Or should I help you? You want to know what I was doing tonight? Is that what this is about?"

"You've already said you were fishing," Norberto said. "Why shouldn't I believe you?"

"Because you knew exactly what the explosion was and yet you pretended not to," Adolfo said. "You didn't come here to be closer to the sea, Berto. You came here because you wanted to see if I was home. All right. I wasn't. You also know that I wasn't fishing."

Norberto said nothing. He removed his hands from Adolfo's shoulders. His arms fell heavily.

"You've always been able to see inside me," Adolfo said. "To know what I was thinking, feeling. When I was a teenager I'd come back from a night of whoring or cockfights and lie to you. I'd tell you I was playing soccer or watching a movie. But you always looked in my eyes and saw the truth, even though you said nothing."

"You were