chapter5-page_54-63

5. The old man felt faint and sick, and he could not see well. When he could see, he saw

the fish was on his back with his silver belly up. The color of the sea was turning with the

red of the blood from the fish's heart. Keep my head clear, he said. I am a tired old man,

but I have killed this fish, which is my brother, and now I must do the work. I must prepare

everything, then bring him in and tie him well and fix the mast and set sail for home.

He started to pull the fish in. I want to see him, he thought, and to touch and to feel him.

He is my fortune, he thought. But that is not why I wish to feel him. I think I felt his

heart, he thought. Get to work, old man, he said. He took a very small drink of water.

There is a lot of work to be done, now that the fight is over. He looked up at the sky,

and then out to his fish. He looked at the sun carefully. It is not much more than noon,

he thought. When he had the fish's head against the bow, he could not believe his size. The fish

had turned silver from his original purple and silver, and the stripes showed the same pale

violet color as his tail. They were wider than a man's hand with his fingers spread.

The fish's eye looked as detached as the mirrors in a periscope. It was the only way to kill him,

the old man said. He was feeling better, since he knew the fish would not go away.

He is over fifteen hundred pounds, he thought. Maybe much more. He tried to calculate in his head.

I need a pencil for that, he said. My head is not that clear. But I think the great

Demagio would be proud of me today. He fastened the fish to the bow and stern and to the middle

which was so big it was like tying a much bigger skiff alongside. Then he fixed the mast

and with the sail spread out the boat began to move. He sailed southwest. He did not need

a compass to tell him where southwest was. He only needed the feel of the trade wind.

The skiff was sailing well. He could see the fish and he only had to look at his hands and feel

his back against the stern to know that this had truly happened and was not a dream. Now he

knew there was the fish and his hands and back were no dream. The hands heal quickly, he thought.

I bled them clean and the salt water will heal them. All I must do is keep the head clear.

Then his head started to become a little unclear and he thought, is he bringing me in or am I

bringing him in? If I were towing him behind there would be no question. But they were sailing

together, attached side by side, and the old man thought, let him bring me in if it

places him. I am only better than him through trickery, and he meant me no harm. They sailed

well and the old man soaked his hands in the salt water and tried to keep his head clear.

There were high cumulus clouds and enough serus above so that the old man knew the breeze would

last all night. He looked at the fish constantly to make sure it was true. It was an hour before

the first shark hit him. The shark was not an accident. He had come up from deep down in

the water. He had come up fast and without caution. Then he fell back into the sea and

picked up the scent of the fish. He started swimming on the course the skiff and the fish

had taken. He was a very big make -o shark built to swim as fast as the fastest fish in the sea,

and everything about him was beautiful except the jaws. His back was as blue as a sword

came fast just under the surface. His high dorsal fin was knifing through the water. Inside

the jaws all of his eight rows of teeth were slanted inwards. They were shaped like a man's

fingers when they are sharp like claws. They were nearly as long as the fingers of the old

man and they had razor sharp cutting edges on both sides. This was a fish built to feed

on all the fishes in the sea. Now he speeded up as he smelled the fresher scent. When the

old man saw him coming, he knew that this was a shark that had no fear at all and would

do exactly what he wished. He prepared the harpoon and fastened the rope while he watched

the shark come on. The old man's head was clear and good now. He was full of resolution,

but he had little hope. It was too good to last, he thought. He took one look at the great

fish as he watched the shark close in. It might have been a dream, he thought. The shark approached

them, and when he hit the fish, the old man saw his mouth open and his strange eyes.

The shark's head was out of the water and his back was coming out. The old man could

hear the skin and the flesh of the big fish being ripped. He pushed the harpoon down on the

shark's head where the brain was. He hid it without hope, but with resolution. The shark

was dead. He lay quietly for a little while on the surface, and the old man watched him.

Then he went down very slowly. He took about forty pounds off the fish the old man said

aloud. He took my harpoon to, and all the rope, he thought. And now my fish bleeds again,

and there will be other sharks coming. But man is not made for defeat, he said. A man

can be destroyed, but not defeated. I am sorry that I killed the fish though, he thought.

Now the bad time is coming, and I do not even have the harpoon. I must think, he thought, because

it is all I have left. That and baseball. I wonder how the great Demagio would have liked

the way I hit the shark in the brain. It was no great thing, he thought. Any man could

do it. Think about something cheerful old man, he said. Every minute now you are closer

to home. You sail lighter for the loss of forty pounds. He knew well what could happen

when he reached the inner part of the current. More sharks would arrive. I can attach my

knife to the end of one of the oars, he said aloud. So he did that. The breeze was fresh

now, and he sailed on well. He watched only the forward part of the fish, and some of his

hope returned. It is silly not to hope, he thought. Besides, I believe it is a sin. Do

not think about sin, he thought. There are enough problems now without sin. Also, I have no

understanding of it. He liked to think about all things that he was involved in, and since

there was nothing to read, and he did not have a radio, he thought much, and he kept

on thinking about sin. You did not kill the fish only to keep alive and to sell for food.

He thought, you killed him for pride, and because you are a fisherman. You loved

him when he was alive, and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him,

or is it more? You think too much, old man, he said aloud. But you enjoyed killing the shark,

he thought. I killed him in self -defense, the old man said aloud. And I killed him well.

Besides, he thought, everything kills everything else in some way. Fishing kills me exactly as

it keeps me alive. He leaned over the side, and pulled loose a piece of the meat of the

fish. He chewed it, and noted its quality and its good taste. But there was no way to

coming. The breeze was steady. The old man looked ahead of him, but he could see no sails,

nor could he see the smoke of any ship. There were only flying fish. He could not even see

a bird. He had sailed for two hours when he saw the first of the two sharks.

I, he said aloud, sharks. He had seen the second fin now coming up behind the first. The

old man fastened the sheet. Then he took up the ore with the knife attached to it. He lifted

it as lightly as he could, because his hands were in pain. He could see the wide, flattened

heads and the fins of the sharks now. They were hateful sharks, bad smelling killers.

Come on, sharks, the old man said. They came. One turned and went out of sight under the

skiff, and the old man could feel the skiff shake. The other watched the old man with his

yellow eyes, and then came in fast with his jaws wide to hit the fish where he had already

been bitten. The old man drove the knife on the ore into his brain twice. The shark let

go of the fish, and went down as he died. The skiff was still shaking from the destruction

the other shark was doing to the fish under the boat. The old man leaned over the side

and punched at him. He barely got the knife in. The blow hurt not only his hands, but his

shoulder, too. The shark came up fast with his head out, and the old man hit him in the

center of the head as his nose came out of the water. Then he did it again. The shark

was still alive.

No, the old man said, and he drove the knife into his head again. Go on, shark, go down

a mile deep, go see your friend. The old man wiped the blade of his knife and laid down

the ore. They must have taken a quarter of him, and of the best meat, he said aloud.

I wish it were a dream, and that I had never hooked the great fish. I'm sorry about it,

fish. It makes everything wrong. He stopped, and he did not want to look at the fish now.

God knows how much that last one took, he said. But the boat is much lighter now. He

was a fish to keep a man all winter, he thought. Don't think of that. Just rest and

try to keep your hands in shape to defend what is left of him.

What can I think of now, he thought? Nothing. I must think of nothing and wait for the

next ones. I wish it had really been a dream, he thought.

Then the next shark came. The old man let him hit the fish and then drove the knife into

his brain. But the shark pulled backwards as he rolled, and the knife blade cracked. The

shark went down. He did not have the knife anymore.

I have the gaff now, he said. I have the two oars and the tiller and the short club.

Now they have beaten me, he thought. I am too old to beat sharks to death.

You're tired, old man, he said. You're tired, inside.

The sharks did not come again until just before sunset. The old man saw the brown fins. There

was an oar handle from a broken oar. He could use it effectively with his right hand.

He saw the nearest shark open his jaws and sink them into the silver side of the fish.

He raised the club high and hit it heavily onto the shark's head. He struck once more

across the nose as the shark went down. The other shark now came in with the jaws wide.

The old man could see pieces of meat of fish in the corner of his jaws. He hit him on the

head. The shark looked at him. The old man raised the club high and hit him solidly.

The shark tore the meat loose and slid down from the fish. The old man watched for the

sharks to come back, but neither of them returned. He did not want to look at the fish.

He knew that half of him had been destroyed. The sun had gone down.

It will be dark soon, he said. Then I should see the glow of Havana soon.

I cannot be too far out now, he thought. I hope no one has been too worried. There is only

the boy to worry, of course. But I am sure he would have confidence. Many of the older

fishermen will worry. Many others too, he thought. I live in a good town.

What will you do now if they come in the night? What can you do, he asked himself?

Fight them, he said. I'll fight them until I die. But it was dark now, and there was

no glow, and no lights, and only the wind and the steady pull of the sail. He felt that perhaps

he was already dead. He felt his hands. They were not dead because he could feel the

pain of life. He leaned back on the stern, and his shoulders told him he was not dead.

He lay there and watched for the glow to come in the sky. I have half of him, he thought.

Maybe I'll have the luck to bring the forward half in. I should have some luck.

No, he said. You lost your luck when you went too far outside.

I must not think nonsense, he thought. Luck is a thing that comes in many forms, and who

can recognize her? I wish I could see the glow from the lights, he thought.

I wish too many things. He saw the lights of the city at what must have been around

ten o 'clock at night. Now it is over, he thought. The sharks will probably hit me again,

but what can a man do against them in the dark without a weapon?

By midnight the sharks came, and he fought. He knew the fight was useless. They came in

a pack, and he could only see the lines in the water as they threw themselves on the

fish. He clubbed at heads and heard the jaws tearing off pieces of meat. He clubbed desperately,

and then he felt something seized the club, and it was gone.

He fought hard with everything left in him. He used the tiller to beat the sharks, but they

were unstoppable. Then they left. There was nothing more for them to eat. The old man

knew he was beaten now, finally. He went back to the stern and put the skiff on its course.

He sailed lightly now, and he had no thoughts, nor any feelings. He was past everything now.

No.