chapter1-page_4-13

He was an old man, who fished alone in the Gulf Stream.

He had gone 84 days now without catching a fish.

In the first 40 days, a boy had been with him.

But after 40 days without a fish, the boy's parents had told him that the old man was extremely unlucky.

So the boy was told to go on another boat, which caught three good fish the first week.

The boy was sad to see the old man come in empty handed every day,

and he always went down to help him carry his fishing equipment.

The old man was thin and bony, with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck.

There were brown blotches on his face, made by the reflection of the sun on the tropic sea,

and deep scars from handling heavy fish on the cords.

The scars were old.

Everything about him was old, except his eyes, which were the color of the sea,

and were cheerful and undefeated.

Santiago, the boy said to him as they climbed the bank,

I could go with you again.

We've made some money.

The old man had taught the boy to fish, and the boy loved him.

No, he said.

You're working on a lucky boat now.

Stay with them.

It was my father who made me leave.

I am a boy, and I must obey him.

I know, the old man said.

It is quite normal.

My boss doesn't have much face.

No, the old man said.

But we have, haven't we?

The boy offered the old man a drink, so they went to the terrace.

Many of the fishermen made fun of the old man, but he was not angry.

The older fishermen looked at him and were sad.

They spoke politely about the sea and the good weather and of the things they had seen.

The successful fishermen of the day were in and had taken the marlin to the fish house,

where the ice truck came to carry them to the market in Havana.

Those who had caught sharks had taken them to the shark factory.

There their livers were removed, their fins were cut off,

and their flesh was cut into strips for salting.

Santiago, the boy said.

Can I go out to get sardines for you tomorrow?

No.

Go and play baseball.

I can still row, and Rogelio will throw the net.

I would like to go.

If I cannot fish with you, I would like to help you in some way.

You bought me a drink.

You are already a man.

How old was I when you first took me in a boat?

Five.

You were nearly killed when I brought the fish in too soon, and he nearly destroyed the boat.

I remember.

I remember everything from the day when we first went together.

The old man looked at him with his son burned, confident, and loving eyes.

If you were my boy, I'd take you out on my boat.

But you are your fathers and your mothers, and you are in a lucky boat.

May I get you sardines?

I'll get you four fresh ones.

One, the old man said.

Two, the boy said.

Two, the old man agreed.

You didn't steal them.

I bought them.

Thank you, the old man said.

Tomorrow is going to be a good day with this current.

Where are you going?

The boy asked.

Far out.

I want to set out before it is light.

I'll try to get my boss to work far out.

Then if you hook something very big, we can come to your aid.

Your boss does not like to work too far out.

No, the boy said.

But I will see something that he cannot see, such as a bird.

And I will get him to come out after Dolphin.

His eyes are bad.

It is strange, the old man said.

He never went turtling.

That is what kills the eyes.

But you went turtling for years and your eyes are good.

I am a strange old man.

But are you strong enough now for a really big fish?

I think so.

And there are many tricks.

Let us take the stuff home, the boy said.

They picked up the gear from the boat.

The old man carried the mast on his shoulder, and the boy carried the wooden box with the

lines, the gaff, and the harpoon.

They walked up the road together to the old man's shack and went in through the open door.

The old man leaned the mast against the wall, and the boy put the box and the other gear beside it.

The shack was made of the guano tree, and in it was a bed, a table, one chair, and a place

on the dirt floor to cook with charcoal.

On the walls there were several religious pictures.

These used to belong to his wife.

There used to be a photograph of his wife on the wall, but he had taken it down because

it made him too lonely to see it.

What do you have to eat?

The boy asked.

A pot of rice with fish.

Do you want some?

No.

I will eat at home.

Do you want me to make the fire?

No.

I will make it later.

There was, in fact, no pot of rice and fish, and the boy knew this.

I'll go get the sardines for tomorrow.

Will you sit in the doorway?

Yes.

I will read the baseball in the paper.

I'll be back when I have the sardines.

I'll keep yours and mine together on the ice, and we can share them in the morning.

When I come back, you can tell me about the baseball.

The old man brought out the paper from under the bed.

When I come back, you can tell me about the baseball, said the boy.

The Yankees cannot lose, but I fear the Indians of Cleveland.

Have faith in the Yankees, my son.

Think of the great Demagio.

You study it and tell me when I come back, the boy said.

Keep warm, old man.

Remember, we are in September.

The month when the great fish come.

The old man said, anyone can be a fisherman in May.

I go now for the sardines, said the boy.

When the boy came back, the old man was asleep in the chair, and the son was down.

The boy took the old army blanket off the bed and spread it over the old man's shoulders.

They were strange shoulders, still powerful although very old, and the neck was still strong too.

His shirt had been patched so many times that the patches were faded, many different shades by the son.

The old man's head was very old.

The newspaper lay across his knees.

He was barefooted.

The boy left him there, and when he came back, the old man was still asleep.

The old man opened his eyes, and for a moment, he was coming back from a long way away.

We're going to have supper, said the boy.

What are we eating?

Black beans and rice, fried bananas, and some stew.

The boy had brought them in a two -decker metal container from the terrace.

The two sets of knives and forks and spoons were in his pocket.

Who gave this to you?

Martin, the owner.

I must thank him.

I thanked him already, the boy said.

I'll give him the belly meat of a big fish, said the old man.

Should we eat?

I've been asking you to, said the boy.

I was waiting for you to be ready.

I'm ready now.

I only needed time to wash.

Where did you wash?

The boy thought.

The village water supply was two streets down the road.

I must have water here for him, the boy thought.

And soap, and a good towel.

Why am I so thoughtless?

I must get him another shirt, and a jacket for the winter, and some sort of shoes, and another blanket.

Tell me about the baseball, the boy asked.

In the American League, it is the Yankees, as I said, the old man said, happily.

They lost today, the boy told him.

That means nothing.

The great Demagio is himself again.

They have other men on the team.

Naturally, but he makes the difference.

I would like to take the great Demagio fishing, the old man said.

They say his father was a fisherman.

Maybe he was as poor as we are, and would understand.

Who is the greatest manager?

Luque or Mike Gonzalez asked the boy.

I think they are equal.

And the best fisherman is you.

No.

I know others who are better.

There are many good fishermen, and some great ones.

But there is only you.

Thank you.

You make me happy.

I hope no fish will come along so great that he will prove us wrong.

There is no such fish, if you are still strong as you say.

I may not be as strong as I think, the old man said.

But I know many tricks, and I have resolution.

You ought to go to bed now, so that you will be fresh in the morning.

I will take the things back to the terrace.

Good night then.

I will wake you in the morning.

Your my alarm clock, the boy said.

Age is my alarm clock, the old man said.

Why do old men wake so early?

Is it to have one longer day?

I don't know, the boy said.

All I know is that young boys sleep late and hard.

Sleep well, old man.

The boy went out.

The old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark.

He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow, putting the newspaper inside them.

He rolled himself in the springs of the bed.

He was asleep in a short time, and he dreamed of Africa.

When he was a boy, and the long golden beaches, and the white beaches, and the high capes,

and the great brown mountains.

He lived along that coast now every night, and in his dreams he heard the waves roar,

and saw the native boats come riding through them.

He smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought by morning.

He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor of fights,

nor of his wife.

He only dreamed of places now, and of the lions on the beach.

They played like young cats in the dusk, and he loved them, as he loved the boy.

He woke up, looked out the open door at the moon, and unrolled his trousers and put them

on.

Then he went up the road to wake the boy.

He was shivering with the morning cold.

The door of the house where the boy lived was unlocked, and he opened it and walked in quietly

barefoot.

The boy was asleep on a cot, and the old man could see him clearly with the light that came

in from the dying moon.

He took hold of one foot gently, and held it until the boy woke.

The old man went out the door, and the boy came in after him.

He was sleepy, and the old man said, I am sorry.

Why?

It is what a man must do, the boy said.

When they reached the old man's shack, the boy took the line and the harpoon, and the

old man carried the mast on his shoulder.

They put the gear in the boat, and then had coffee at an early morning place that served

fishermen.

How did you sleep, old man?

The boy asked.

Very well, Manolin, the old man said, I feel confident today.

So do I, the boy said.

Now I must get your sardines and mine, and your fresh bait.

He walked off to the ice house where the bait were stored.

The old man drank his coffee slowly.

It was all he would have all day, and he knew that he should take it.

For a long time now, eating bored him, and he never carried lunch.

He had a bottle of water in the skiff, and that was all he needed for the day.

The boy was back now with the sardines, and the two bait wrapped in a newspaper, and they

walked down the trail to the boat and slid her down into the water.

Good luck, old man.

Good luck, the old man said.