Sybil nodded. 'Do you like olives?' she asked.
'Olives--yes. Olives and wax. I never go anyplace without 'em.'
'Do you like Sharon Lipschutz?' Sybil asked.
'Yes. Yes, I do,' said the young man. 'What I like particularly about her is that she never does anything mean to little dogs in the lobby of the hotel. That little toy bull that belongs to that lady from Canada, for instance. You probably won't believe this, but some little girls like to poke that little dog with balloon sticks. Sharon doesn't. She's never mean or unkind. That's why I like her so much.'
Sybil was silent.
'I like to chew candles,' she said finally.
'Who doesn't?' said the young man, getting his feet wet. 'Wow! It's cold.' He dropped the rubber float on its back. 'No, wait just a second, Sybil. Wait'll we get out a little bit.'
They waded out till the water was up to Sybil's waist. Then the young man picked her up and laid her down on her stomach on the float.
'Don't you ever wear a bathing cap or anything?' he asked.
'Don't let go,' Sybil ordered. 'You hold me, now.'
'Miss Carpenter. Please. I know my business,' the young man said.
'You just keep your eyes open for any bananafish. This is a perfect day for bananafish.'
'I don't see any,' Sybil said.
'That's understandable. Their habits are very peculiar.' He kept pushing the float. The water was not quite up to his chest. 'They lead a very tragic life,' he said. 'You know what they do, Sybil?'
She shook her head.
'Well, they swim into a hole where there's a lot of bananas. They're very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I've known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas.' He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon. 'Naturally, after that they're so fat they can't get out of the hole again. Can't fit through the door.'
'Not too far out,' Sybil said. 'What happens to them?'
'What happens to who?'
'The bananafish.'
'Oh, you mean after they eat so many bananas they can't get out of the banana hole?'
'Yes,' said Sybil.
'Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil. They die.'
'Why?' asked Sybil.
'Well, they get banana fever. It's a terrible disease.'
'Here comes a wave,' Sybil said nervously.
'We'll ignore it. We'll snub it,' said the young man. 'Two snobs.' He took Sybil's ankles in his hands and pressed down and forward. The float nosed over the top of the wave. The water soaked Sybil's blond hair, but her scream was full of pleasure.
With her hand, when the float was level again, she wiped away a flat, wet band of hair from her eyes, and reported, 'I just saw one.'
'Saw what, my love?'
'A bananafish.'
'My God, no!' said the young man. 'Did he have any bananas in his mouth?'
'Yes,' said Sybil. 'Six.'
The young man suddenly picked up one of Sybil's wet feet, which were drooping over the end of the float, and kissed the arch.
'Hey!' said the owner of the foot, turning around.
'Hey, yourselfl We're going in now. You had enough?'
'No!'
'Sorry,' he said, and pushed the float toward shore until Sybil got off it. He carried it the rest of the way.
'Goodbye,' said Sybil, and ran without regret in the direction of the hotel.
The young man put on his robe, closed the lapels tight, and jammed his towel into his pocket. He picked up the slimy wet, cumbersome float and put it under his arm. He plodded alone through the soft, hot sand toward the hotel.
On the sub-main floor of the hotel, which the management directed bathers to use, a woman with zinc salve on her nose got into the elevator with the young man.
'I see you're looking at my feet,' he said to her when the car was in motion.
'I beg your pardon?' said the woman.
'I said I see you're looking at my feet.'
'I beg your pardon. I happened to be looking at the floor,' said the woman, and faced the doors of the
