one-eyed harp seal

"Ask him what he's going to do with it?" she asked.
"What do mean, 'What's he going to do with it?' He's going to eat it."
The turtle filled the dugout canoe like a nut in a long shell. The boney fisherman was smiling up at them, his gums vacant of teeth. He was standing on the back of the enormous turtle, a long paddle in his hands. He was shirtless, his skin the same color as the turtle's shell.
"Just ask him," she said.
"Jesus," he hissed, turning his back to her and throttling down the outboard engine. The sun was straight above them. Mosquitos buzzed. Her nose was scorched and peeling.
"Vas a comer lo?"
"Claro," he answered, laughing at the rhetorical nature of the question. "Sopa."
"He's going to make a big soup. Probably sell some of the meat on the coast."
"What does he want for it now."
"What the hell do you mean?"
"I mean what does he want for it now. I want to buy it."
"What the fuck are you talkng about? We can't buy it, besides it's illeg..."
"Watch your language," she interrupted.
They stared at one another from across the humid distance, bow to stern. While their eyes were locked, he raised his hand and stopped the fisherman from paddling away.
"Quanto quieres?"
The fisherman cocked his head. "La tortuga?" he asked.
"Si, la tortuga."
The fisherman laughed, then coughed. He lit a cigarette and announced a ridiculous sum, blowing smoke from his nostrils. The guide translated.
She reached into her fanny pack and began to peal bills from a roll.
"Are you crazy?" he asked.
"Maybe," she said, "Give this to him and then the two of you throw that turtle back into the water."
The guide shook his head.
With little ceremony the guide handed the roll of bills to the fisherman and boarded the canoe. The two lifted the enormous turtle and slid him over the side, almost capsizing the digout in the process. With two powerful strokes of its flippers the turtle disappeared, leaving a little whirlpools on the surface of the brown water.