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surrounding the thrashing swimmer. The boat approached Karmann at its slow, laboring speed. Some of the sharks took fright. Not all. |
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A medium-sized hammerhead swam twitchingly between Karmann's legs, its bulging eye palps brushing the inside of his naked thighs and his testicles with a dreadful intimacy. He screamed and swallowed mouthfuls of seawater. |
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The crewman extended a long boat hook as the remaining sharks closed excitedly, angered by the huge shadow that threatened to deprive them of their patiently stalked quarry. Karmann seized the hook with one hand, his right, and held on. With his left he struck at his tormentors. |
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The great mouth closed on his arm. Shock numbed him. A shake and the fish released him. But Karmann's arm ended in ragged tatters midway between wrist and elbow. Blood spewed everywhere. |
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The crewman on the fisher's deck heaved Karmann aboard and shouted to the helmsman: "Ayudame! El tiburón se llevo la mano! Oygame!" Help me, the shark has taken his hand. Hear me! |
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The captain acted. He was a man who had lived with terrible accidents and injuries since boyhood. That is the way of life on the Mosquito Coast. He left the helm untended and vaulted to the deck. |
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"Un molinete! Pronto, chingado, pronto!" A tourniquet, quickly, quickly! |
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Karmann heard Spanish voices and wondered if they were Cuban. He felt a belt tighten on an arm that shock had rendered numb. He tasted mescal, a bitter, oily liquor, all that Mosquito Coast fishermen can afford. He moved his head away and asked for water. |
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Before he could drink his fill, the shock began to wear off and his mangled left arm was plunged into molten metal. He screamed. |
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