The Spear Fisher

He was more comfortable squatted onto his haunches than standing. His eyes had that wide-open look of life spent in perpetual peering. His right elbow fit into a groove on his right knee, and he could hold his left hand poised with a spear aimed where he was looking for hours. The surface of the water did not obstruct his perception; rather it had become a sort of corrective lens so that when he walked back through town with a dripping bag slung over his shoulder, he glanced about furtively as though not quite sure of what he was seeing.