Making his own story someone else's property, the narrator not only resurrects it in memory, but also in some way re-embody. It is certainly not a fiction, and yet before words, it lacked authenticity. As a result of the joint efforts of the narrator and the listener, or the reader, on the railings of the unimaginable Bridge of Time, visible and tangible clippings appear one after another. So here's the story of the Fisherman, the fisherman and the fish, and the wet crow, and the end of the world at the same time, and, for that matter, the beginning of the world, and how good it is that this word has so many meanings, no matter how you turn it around, everything is true. It was almost impossible to tell about it, but if you do not do the impossible at least sometimes, human life loses its inner meaning.