fishman
At the Sai Kung public pier, small fishing dinghies line up daily, packed with plastic bins full of fish that flap their fins futilely as they lie in their water in the hot sun, waiting to be sold. Small guppies, big black fish, flat flounders, mussels, nondescript sea creatures, and long, sleek leopard-print eels mingle by type and size in the bins. I stood on the pier on Sunday, when the dinghies arrived around noon from their morning’s catch. Several people watched from ten feet above the boats; tourists and interested buyers alike stood captivated by the process and the sights. A woman, between tasks of splashing fresh water into her squirming bins, saw me staring down at her octopus, which was packaged neatly in a white net and unceremoniously floating in its bound condition. She called to me loudly in Cantonese. I shook my head and moved on. A man at the end of the pier was garnering business from an older woman. His skin was dark brown from the sun, though he wore a traditional straw hat, and he scampered barefoot among his wares. The customer spoke authoritatively down to him, choosing with points and nods a group of three small black fish. One by one he dumped them on his round board, squatting easily, and whacked their heads with a wooden stick until their flapping ceased, or had at least slowed. With practiced hands he held their faces tightly, and scraped their scales off with a large cleaver before slicing their necks and bellies and forcing the bones out onto the board. The bloody discards were thrown towards a floating trash box by the side of the boat. Some water from the irrigated bins to rinse his board and the fish, and they were ready to be set in a clear plastic bag, tied off tightly. His long-handled net went up to the customer, laden with fish, and came back with some bills inside. Another purchase complete, he gazed up at us with what looked to me like desperately sad eyes, gesturing questioningly. I realized at last that he was mute, or couldn’t speak Cantonese. He tossed a flawless, two-metres-long eel into the water in the bow of the boat, as if its impossibly graceful slithering (despite its tragic condition) would command us to buy.
(See pictures here.)
