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All those who were well and strong considered him crazy, but the moment that there was the slightest break in their health they would share the same faith as the poor women who oftentimes passed long hours in the home of the Dotor, seeing his bark afar off and patiently awaiting his return from the sea, in order to show him the sick children they carried in their arms.

No: the Dotor had not died. And for many years afterwards the women who were going along the coast at nightfall would quicken their steps, crossing themselves upon distinguishing on the dark waters a bit of wood or a bunch of sea weed. They feared that suddenly would spring forth the Triton, bearded, dripping, spouting, returning from his excursion into the mysterious depths of the sea.

He well knew who was guilty of this ridiculous idea, the one who had put such absurd longings in his son's head! And he was thinking of his brother, the retired doctor, who was living in the paternal home over there in the Marina: an excellent man, but a little crazy, whom the people on the coast called the Dotor, and the poet Labarta had nicknamed the Triton.

He had an advantage over all other doctors, as he made no charge for his services; better still, many sick people came away from his house with money in their hands. The Dotor was rich the richest man in the countryside; a man who really did not know what to do with his money.

He came from the same village as Ulysses' ancestors, and he remembered the Dotor with respect and admiration. He had known this new captain when he was a little fellow and used to go fishing with his uncle. In those days Toni was already a sailor on a coast-trading vessel, and his superiority in years had then justified his using the familiar thee and thou when talking with the lad Ulysses.

The husky youths when testing the vigor of their fists, boxing with crews of the English vessels that came there for cargoes of raisins, used to evoke the doctor's name as a consolation in case of defeat. "If only the Dotor could have been here!... Half a dozen Englishmen are nothing to him!"

The Dotor was still vigorous, but the years do not pass without leaving their footprints. Some believed that he must have had a struggle with a shark or some other of the carnivorous fish that abound in the Mediterranean waters.

Many could now perceive the bubble of foam around his chest that was advancing like the prow of a ship, and the vigorous strokes of his arms.... "Yes, it surely was the Dotor!"... The old sea dogs loaned their telescopes to one another in order to recognize his beard sunk in the water and his face, contracted by his efforts or expanded by his snortings.

For the women it was somebody drowned, so bloated that it was floating like a leather bottle, after having been many days in the water. Suddenly the same supposition would arise in every perplexed mind. "I wonder if it could be the Dotor!" A long silence.... The bit of wood was taking the form of a head; the corpse was moving.

And the Dotor was soon treading the dry beach, naked and as serenely unashamed as a god, giving his hand to the men, while the women shrieked, lifting their aprons in front of one eye terrified, yet admiring the dripping vision.