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    Jorge never fished using a net. He had never done it, but he had seen it done many times. When he was young, he watched neighbors pull nets full of a variety of fish while his father and grandfather would fish all day with their rods to get enough fish to eat and trade. They were good fishermen, but a net is the best fisherman of all. 

     Jorge had asked his father about it once. His father had chuckled and nodded toward the patriarch. 

    "It is how we were raised. Nets are for cowards. We kill these fish because the alternative is starving, but we do it with honor. We trick the fish, one at a time. We build a relationship. Nets destroy everything they touch. They catch everything. The fish you want, plus plenty of fish and other things you don't want. How can a man kill one hundred fish to eat three and say he has honor?"

    Jorge understood, but sometimes it was hard to be hungry and honorable. 

    "What do you do with the fish that are injured and killed by the net. Yes, a hook can hurt a fish, but you can carefully remove it, and the fish will live. Battered around in a net. Wiped clean of their protective coating...do you throw them back and pretend they will live? Do you feed them to dogs? Do you let the birds eat them?"

    The old man was nodding his head, and Jorge's father had a queer expression on his face. It was like they were waiting for his approval. Jorge could feel how important the moment was. The men he loved and respected above all others were staring at him expectantly. 

    He could see where they were coming from. He was not a stupid boy. He knew that there were hard and easy ways to make money. To get food. Stealing was the easiest, but there was shame in it. Maybe fishing with a net was stealing from the water? Stealing from God! You were not supposed to take more than you needed. You were supposed to avoid wasting life. 

    But hunger meant death. It meant unhappiness at the least.

    It was hard to watch his friends sneak fruit from the fruteria. Of course he would have liked to join them. He never did. He knew that he would feel nothing but guilt and shame. He knew that the fruit would always taste bitter. 

    It was the same with the fish. He was used to the sweet, white meat they ate in tortillas and sopas. Killing fish with carelessness, destroying their homes...he knew this would always result in meat that would turn his stomach. It was better to be a little hungry, tired, and still be able to look at the Padre in the eyes come Easter. 

    He smiled at the old men and nodded.

    "I understand. God loves a fisherman, not a net. Fisherman are...preciso. A net is stealing from God and abusing his creation."

    The old men looked at him with a little shock. Jorge was good with words. He knew how to make other people understand what he was feeling. It was a gift. his abuelito said so.

    It pleased the men that he understood them, and it pleased Jorge that he could make the older men happy. They had gone fishing after, and the afternoon had passed quickly. The fishing was good, and so was life, thought Jorge. Life can be dangerous, but it is manageable as long as you stay out of nets.