“Accursed be thy fool mare of a mother.”
“Dog of a Pablo, give room.”
“Ay, ay, ay, we bring fish into the city.”
All the carts swayed into each other yet did not touch. They swerved together as the road narrowed for the gate and so disappeared. Hi turned from the open plaza on to the pier. It was then a few minutes after six o’clock.
VII
On the pier, Hi found a scene of confusion and shouting, men and boys staggering with boxes and baskets to carts; women urging them to hurry, or screaming at their children, or cursing at the mules and horses: carts were being backed and baskets dropped: everybody was violent and abusive, not from ill-temper but excitement, for this race to market was the event of the day.
Hi thrust into the midst of the crowd, treading on a litter of leaves, upon which the beasts had browsed. All that part of the pier was heaped with things for the market, bundles of living fowls tied five and five by the legs, baskets of pigeons, geese from the sea marsh, musk melons, water melons, pumpkins, gourds and vegetables of every sort and shape, oranges, limes, bananas in crates and gaily painted earthenware jars packed in the paper-like streamers of corn sheathes. Hi came upon an Englishman, who was superintending the lading of some big red clay jars into a lorry.
“Where shall I find the fish boats?” he asked.
“At the upper end of the pier,” the man said. “That’s where they auction the fish. You may find the fish boats gone by this, though.”
At the end of the pier was a wooden building, above which was a pharos or pier light, which made a big, rosy star against the dawn. Underneath this light the fish market was being held. Hi heard a jabber and chatter of bargaining.