chapter3-page_28-39

3. The fish never changed his course nor his direction that night. It was cold after the

sun went down, and the old man's sweat dried cold on his back and his arms and his old

legs. During the day he had taken the sack that covered the bait box and spread it in

the sun to dry. After the sun went down he tied it around his neck so that it hung down

under the line across his shoulders. The sack cushioned the line so he was almost comfortable.

I can do nothing with him, and he can do nothing with me, he thought. Once he stood up and looked

at the stars and checked his course. They were moving more slowly now, and the glow of

Havana was not so strong, so he knew the current must be carrying them eastward. I wonder how the

baseball came out in the grand leagues today, he thought. It would be wonderful to do this with

the radio. Then he thought, Think of it always. Think of what you are doing. You must do nothing

stupid. Then he said aloud, I wish I had the boy to help me and to see this. No one should

be alone in their old age, he thought. But it is unavoidable. I must remember to eat the

strong. Remember, no matter how little you want to, that you must eat the tuna in the morning.

Remember, he said to himself. Then he thought about the great fish that he had hooked,

and he began to pity him. He is wonderful and strange, and knows how old he is, he thought.

I have never had such a strong fish nor one who acted so strangely. Perhaps he is too wise to jump.

He could defeat me by jumping, but perhaps he has been hooked many times before, and he knows

that this is how he should fight. What a great fish he is, and what will he bring in the market

if the flesh is good. I wonder, does he have any plans, or is he just as desperate as I am?

He remembered the time he had hooked one of a pair of Marlin. The male fish always let the

female fish feed first, and the hooked fish, the female, made a wild, panic -stricken fight that

soon tired her out. All the time, the male stayed with her, circling with her on the surface.

When the old man had hit her across the top of her head until her color changed,

and with the boy's help pulled her on the boat, the male fish had stayed by the side of her boat.

Then, while the old man was preparing the harpoon, the male fish jumped high into the air beside the

boat to see where the female was. He was beautiful, the old man remembered, and he had stayed.

I wish the boy was here, the old man said aloud. He thought, once I had to make a choice,

his choice had been to stay in the deep, dark water. My choice was to go there and find him.

Now we are joined together, and have been since noon, and no one to help either of us.

Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman, he thought. But that was the thing I was born for.

I must surely remember to eat the tuna after it gets light.

Some time before daylight, something took one of the bait that were behind him.

In the darkness he took all the weight of the fish on his left shoulder,

and he leaned back and cut the line with a knife. Then he cut the other line closest to him.

He worked skillfully with the one hand and drew tight knots on the coils.

Now he had six reserve coils of line left. After it is light, he thought,

I will work back to the forty -fathom bait and cut it away too. I will lose good hooks and fishing

line. That can be replaced. But who replaces this fish if I hook some fish and it cuts him off?

I don't know what that fish was that took the bait just now. I had to get rid of him too fast.

Allowed, he said, I wish I had the boy. But you haven't got the boy, he thought.

You have only yourself, and you had better work back to the last line now. In the dark,

or not in the dark, and cut it away and hook up the two reserve coils.

So he did it. It was difficult in the dark. Suddenly the fish made an unexpected move that pulled him

down on his face and made a cut below his eye. The blood ran down his cheek a little.

But it dried before it reached his chin. The old man went carefully back to the bow and rested

against the wood. He adjusted the line so that it came across a new part of his shoulders.

He carefully felt the pull of the fish and then felt with his hand the progress of this gift

through the water. I wonder why he made that sudden move, he thought.

The wire must have slipped on his back. Certainly his back cannot feel as badly as mine does,

but he cannot pull this boat forever, no matter how great he is.

Fish, he said softly aloud. I'll stay with you until I am dead.

He'll stay with me too, I suppose, the old man thought, and he waited for it to be light.

It was cold now just before daylight, and he pushed against the wood to be warm.

I can do it as long as he can, he thought. And in the first light, the line extended out,

and the boat began to move. It moved steadily, and when the first edge of the sun rose,

the line was on the old man's right shoulder. He's headed north, the old man said.

The current will have set us too far to the eastward, he thought.

I wish the fish would turn with the current. That would show that he was tiring.

When the sun had risen further, the old man realized that the fish was not tiring.

There was only one favorable sign. The angle of the line showed the fish was swimming at a lesser

depth. That did not necessarily mean he would jump, but he might.

God let him jump, the old man said. I have enough line to handle him.

Maybe if I can increase the tension just a little bit, it will hurt him and he will jump,

he thought. If he jumps, he'll fill the sacks along his backbone with air,

and then he cannot go deep to die. He tried to increase the tension,

but the line was already tight enough to break, and he could put no more strain on it.

Fish, he said, I love you and respect you very much, but I will kill you before this day ends.

Let us hope so, he thought. A small bird came toward the skiff from the north.

He was a warbler and was flying very low over the water.

The old man could see that he was very tired. The bird flew to the stern of the boat and rested

there. Then he flew around the old man's head and rested on the line where he was more comfortable.

How old are you, the old man asked the bird. Is this your first trip?

The bird looked at him when he spoke. He was too tired even to examine the line,

and he teetered on it as his delicate feet gripped it fast.

It's steady, the old man told him. It's too steady. You shouldn't be that tired after a

windless night. What are birds coming to? The hawks, he thought, that come out to see, to meet them.

But he said nothing of this to the bird, who could not understand him anyway,

and who would learn about the hawks soon enough.

Take a good rest, small bird, he said. Then go in and take your chance like any man or bird or fish.

It encouraged him to talk because his back had stiffened in the night, and it hurt truly now.

Stay at my house if you like, bird, he said. I am sorry I cannot lift the sail and take you in with

a small breeze that is rising, but I am with a friend. Just then the fish moved the line suddenly,

pulling the old man down onto the bow. It would have pulled him overboard if he had not

braced himself and given some line. The bird had flown up when the line jerked,

and the old man had not even seen him go. He felt the line carefully with his right hand,

and noticed his hand was bleeding. Something hurt him then, he said aloud, and pulled back on the

line to see if he could turn the fish. But when he was touching the breaking point,

he held the line steady.

You're feeling it now, fish, he said. And so am I.

He looked around for the bird now because he would have liked his company.

The bird was gone. You did not stay long, the man thought.

But it is rougher where you are going until you reach the shore.

How did I let the fish cut me with that one quick pull he made? I must be getting very stupid,

or perhaps I was looking at the small bird and thinking of him.

Now I will pay attention to my work, and then I must eat the tuna so that I will have strength.

I wish the boy were here, and that I had some salt, he said aloud.

Moving the weight of the line to his left shoulder, he washed his hand in the ocean and held it there.

He spent more than a minute watching the blood trail away, and the steady movement of the water

against his hand as the boat moved. He has slowed much, he said.

The old man would have liked to keep his hand in the salt water longer,

but he was afraid of another sudden move by the fish, and he stood up and held his hand against

the sun. The cut was in the working part of his hand. He knew he would need his hands before this was

over. Now, he said, when his hand had dried, I must eat the small tuna. I can reach him with the

gaff and eat him in comfort. He knelt down and found the tuna under the stern with the gaff.

Holding the line with his left shoulder again, he took the tuna off the gaff hook and put the gaff

back in place. He put one knee on the fish and cut strips of dark red meat from the back

of the head to the tail. When he had cut six strips, he spread them out on the wood of the bow,

wiped his knife on his trousers, and dropped the carcass of the tuna overboard.

I don't think I can eat it all, he said, and drew his knife across one of the strips.

He could feel the steady, hard pull of the line, and his left hand was cramped.

He looked at the hand in disgust.

Come on, he thought, and looked it down into the dark water.

Eat it now, and it will strengthen the hand.

It is not the hand's fault, and you have been many hours with the fish, but you can stay with him

forever. Eat the tuna now. He put a piece into his mouth and chewed it slowly.

It was not unpleasant. It would not be bad to eat it with a little lime, or with lemon,

or with salt.

How do you feel, hand? He asked the cramped hand.

I'll eat some more for you.

He ate the other part of the piece that he had cut.

It is a strong, full -blooded fish, he thought.

I was lucky to get him, instead of dolphin.

Dolphin is too sweet. This is hardly sweet at all. And all the strength is still in it.

There is no sense in being anything but practical, though, he thought.

I wish I had some salt. And I do not know whether the sun will rot or dry what is left,

so I had better eat it all, although I am not hungry.

I wish I could feed the fish, he thought. He is my brother, but I must kill him, and keep strong to do it.

Slowly and conscientiously, he ate all of the fish.

He's straightened up, wiping his hands on his trousers.

Now, he said, you can let the cord go hand, and I will handle him, with the right arm alone.

He put his left foot on the heavy line that the left hand had held, and moved the line against his back.

God helped me to have the cramp go, he said, because I do not know what the fish is going to do.

But he seems calm, he thought.

But what is his plan? And what is mine? I must improvise my plan, according to his,

because of his great size. If he jumps, I can kill him, but if he stays down forever,

then I will stay down with him forever.

He rubbed the cramped hand against his trousers and tried gently to move the fingers,

but the hand would not open. Maybe it will open with the sun, he thought.

Maybe it will open when the strong tuna is digested. But I do not want to open it by force.

Let it open by itself. After all, I abused it much in the night when I was untying the lines.

He looked across the sea and knew how alone he was now.

The clouds were building up now. He looked ahead, and saw a flight of wild ducks in the

sky, and he knew no man was ever alone on the sea.

He looked at the sky and saw the white cumulus built like friendly piles of ice cream,

and high above there were the thin feathers of the serus in the September sky.

His left hand was still cramped, but he was unknoting it slowly.

Then, with his right hand, he felt the difference in the pull of the line.

He saw the angle of the line change in the water.

He's coming up, he said. Come on hand.

The line rose slowly and steadily. Then, the surface of the ocean was raised in front of the boat,

and the fish came out. Water poured from its sides. He was bright in the sun,

and his head and back were dark purple. The stripes on his sides were light lavender.

His sword was as long as a baseball bat and thin like a blade.

He rose from the water and then re -entered it like a diver.

He is two feet longer than the skiff, the old man said.

He was trying with both hands to keep the line from breaking.

He is a great fish, and I must convince him, he thought.

I must never let him learn his strength.

The old man had seen many great fish. He had seen many that weighed more than a thousand pounds,

and he had caught two of that size in his life. But he had never done this alone.

Now he was alone. He was attached to the biggest fish he had ever seen.

He settled comfortably against the wood. There was a small sea rising with the wind coming up from

the east. At noon the old man's left hand was not cramped anymore.

Bad news for you, fish, he said, and moved the line over the sacks that covered his shoulders.

He was comfortable, but in pain. He said his prayers and felt much better.

But he was still suffering, perhaps a little more. The sun was hot now, although the breeze

was rising gently.