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26 Antonia, Pearl Fisher Antonia, my sweet golden, is a great pearl fisher. You should see her dive, muzzle oddments from the ocean floor, send them free floating up to me like untroubled fates. First we build ourselves a shrine to the goddess of oysters, like a little diorama-box whittled from an old oar handle. We offer sacrificial gifts of crabs and eels, kelp drawings on the rocks, grab bags of celestial music. How well this celestial music travels under water! Submerged, in canine ecstasy, Antonia outthinks Descartes. Je suis, ergo je swim. Occasionally, just to be politic, he does a little dance for the smaller gods who miss the markets, who know one’s home fills with true hard things and has shape, gold chalices, the helmets, the crowns, the pikes and halberds, his swashbuckled armor, glittering like sunfish. We have our ceremonies—Antonia insists on ritual— first deep thinking, then dancing, then the pearls. ...

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