Cabo Blanco

The typewriter stood in the abandoned Fishing Club of Cabo Blanco, as if someone had left it alone for just a moment.

Yet, that moment was seventy years ago.

Perusina ran her hand over the dusty keys. A yellowed sheet was stuck in the carriage. On it was a single sentence:

The sea had not yet finished its story.

"Sounds like an invitation," said Perusino.

"Sounds like dust," said Franz and sneezed right onto the keyboard.

His paw hit the H key.

The typewriter began to clatter. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. All the keys struck the paper simultaneously. Wind howled through the room, the shutters flew open, and outside, the sea rushed backward.

When it became quiet again, the dust was gone.

Gleaming cars stood in front of the club. Men carried film cameras to the pier. Fishermen hoisted sails on their boats. A calendar hung on the wall.

1956.

"You three are not part of the film crew," a deep voice said.

A strong man with a white beard stood behind them. In one hand, he held a notebook, in the other, a pencil.

Perusino almost choked on his own name.

"You're Ernest Hemingway!"

"That's what my books claim, anyway."

Hemingway was in Cabo Blanco for the filming of The Old Man and the Sea. Yet, he didn't seem enthusiastic. He slammed his notebook shut.

"The sea has already given me its best story."

"Nonsense," said Perusina. "The sea holds thousands of stories."

Hemingway handed her the pencil. "Then show me one."

At that moment, someone screamed on the pier.

An unmanned camera boat had broken loose. Film reels, recording equipment, and Hemingway's loose manuscript pages lay on its stern. The current pulled the boat out.

Then something black shot out of the water.

A huge marlin jumped over the waves. A long film cable was wrapped around its tail fin. The other end was attached to the camera boat.

The marlin pulled the boat directly towards the rocks.

"There's your story!" cried Perusino.

The three jumped into a traditional sailboat. Hemingway followed them. A fisherman untied the line, the sail billowed, and the boat shot out of the bay.

Perusina took the helm. Perusino climbed the mast to properly adjust the sail. Franz guarded the manuscript folder Hemingway had brought.

A wave hit them from the side.

The boat leaned over. Franz slid across the planks, bumped against the folder, and sent all the pages flying into the air.

"My notes!" cried Hemingway.

"I'll take care of it!"

Franz jumped up, bit at a page, and caught three. Two stuck to his face. Another got caught in the sail at the top.

Perusino reached for it.

Then the top line snapped.

The sail flapped wildly in the wind. Perusino hung from the mast with one hand, holding the fluttering page with the other.

"Let go of the paper!" cried Perusina.

"That's the page with the ending!"

"The story doesn't have an ending yet!"

Perusino stuffed the sheet into his sweater, tied the broken line, and tightened the sail again.

Ahead of them, the camera boat raced towards the rocks. The marlin jumped again. With every movement, the cable cut deeper into its tail fin.

Hemingway took a knife.

"We have to get close."

Perusina steered towards the camera boat. A huge wave lifted both boats simultaneously. For a breath, they floated side by side.

Perusino jumped over.

He landed between film reels and camera cases. Immediately, he crawled to the stern and grabbed the cable. It was taut like a string.

Franz jumped after him but got his bag caught on the railing.

"I just wanted to help!"

Hemingway grabbed him by the tail and pulled him back into the sailboat.

Perusino reached the camera boat's engine controls. The engine started, but the cable still held the boat tight.

"Even closer to the marlin!" he cried.

Perusina turned the sailboat into the next wave. Hemingway stood at the bow, knife ready.

The marlin surfaced.

Hemingway cut.

The cable snapped through the air. The marlin was free.

At the same time, the wave caught the camera boat. Perusino yanked the rudder. Just an arm's length from the rocks, the boat turned away.

The marlin jumped out of the water one last time. Sunlight glistened on its back. Then it disappeared into the open sea.

In the evening, Hemingway sat at the typewriter again in the Fishing Club.

"Now you know what to write about," said Perusina.

Hemingway shook his head. "Not about a man who defeats a big fish."

He inserted a sheet of paper.

"About three friends who risk everything to keep it free."

The first key struck the paper. At the same moment, the room began to shake. The three were pulled back into their own time.

When Perusina opened her eyes, a new yellowed page lay in the typewriter.

It read:

For Perusina, Perusino, and Franz, who showed me that you don't have to conquer the sea to experience a great story.

Below it, an unknown novel began.

Perusino turned the page over.

The back was blank.

"Where's the second page?" he asked.

A soft click came from inside the typewriter.

Franz hastily withdrew his paw.