“If your nose comes out of that circle before the end of the period, you will be writing a twenty-page book report this weekend on All Quiet on the Western Front.” Donahue marched to the front of the class, a kick in his step, the fury turned off like a light switch. “Gentlemen, we were talking about the best-laid plans of the First World War . . .”

And in the Catholic school tradition of “punish one, teach many,” no one spoke out of turn in Donahue’s class for the remainder of the year.

From there it was a Friday of attrition. Dan went from class to class gaining work and worry for the weekend. His editorship of The Roundup was careening toward the wandering rocks. The deadline for all stories for the November issue was that morning, but when he checked the mailbox at the newspaper office, not a single reporter had filed. Polishing the lens of his Pentax, Father Argerlich shrugged. As Dan sat in Oglesby’s class trying to focus on The Old Man and the Sea, he felt salao, the worst form of unlucky.

Oglesby stalked around the classroom as he went on about parataxis and iceberg theories of narrative. He sliced the air with Euclid, a former metal curtain rod that had been segmented with white notches. Dan tried to focus on Santiago, but all he could think was: The old man was a Yankees fan, so life wasn’t that bad, right?

“Gentlemen, turn to the last two pages. Mr. Dowlearn, tell us what happens.”

“The old man is resting. The boy is attending to him.”

“And what about after that, Mr. McGhee?” Oglesby tapped the metal leg of Rob’s desk. “Focus us on the last two scenes.”

“There are tourists. They are looking down at the water and they see the bones of the fish. Its skeleton.”

“Correct. And what then?”

“And they ask the waiter what happened.”

“And what does he tell them?”

“That the sharks had eaten the marlin.”

“And do the tourists accept that?”

Liam Plimmer’s hand shot up. “No, they don’t. They think the waiter is saying it’s a shark’s skeleton, not a marlin’s.”

“Exactly.” Oglesby planted Euclid in the carpet. “They think it’s a shark carcass and don’t understand what happened to the old man and the marlin. So the question is: Why did Hemingway include this? Why did he essentially end the book on this conversation? Mr. Torkel?”

“It’s a way of saying: all that for what?”

“Yes, but what’s the bigger point?”

Dan raised his hand. “That no one can understand the old man’s suffering or why.”

“Okay. And so?”