Chapter 2 The old man and the sea (1)

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Streamand he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.During the first forty days a boy was with him.But after forty days without a fish the boy's parents told him that the old man was now definitely and finally "sick," which is to say the worst form of unlucky, and the boy did what they told him to do. In another boat I caught three good fish the first week.It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast.The sail was patched with flour sacks, and when furled it looked like a flag of eternal defeat.

The old man was thin and haggard, with some deep wrinkles on his neck.There were brown blotches on his cheeks, benign skin cancers from the sun's reflection off the tropic sea.The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords.But none of those scars are new.They are as old as erosions in a fishless desert.Everything about him was old except his eyes, which were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated. "Santiago," the boy said to him as the two of them climbed ashore from where the boat was moored. "I can go to sea with you again. My family has earned a little money."

The old man taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him. "No," said the old man. "You caught a lucky boat. Stay with them." "But you must remember you went eighty-seven days without a fish and we caught a big fish every day for three weeks." "I remember," said the old man. "I know you didn't leave me because you were unsure." "Papa told me to go. I'm a boy, and I can't help obeying him." "I understand," said the old man. "As it should be." "He didn't have much confidence." "Yes," said the old man. "But we have. Don't we?"

"Yes," said the child. "I'll invite you to the Terrace for a beer, and then we'll take our fishing gear home." "That's a good thing," said the old man. "They're all fishers." They sat on the terrace of the restaurant and many of the fishermen made fun of the old man, but the old man was not angry.The other older fishermen looked at him and felt sick.They did not show it, though, and they talked politely about the current and how deep they had lowered their lines and how good the weather had always been and what they had seen.All the successful fishermen that day had come back and cut open the big marlin and lined up the whole pieces on two wooden planks. One end of each wooden plank was carried by two people, and they were staggered to the fish collection station. There they wait for the refrigerated truck to take them to the market in Havana.The men who caught the sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of the bay where they were hung on compound tackle and the livers were removed, the fins were cut off, the skin was skinned and the flesh cut into strips for salting.

When the wind blows from the east, the shark factory sends a scent across the bay; but today there is only a faint trace, as the wind turned to the north, and then it died down, The hotel terrace is pleasant and sunny. "Santiago," said the boy. "Oh," said the old man.He was holding his wine glass, thinking about what happened many years ago. "Shall I get you some sardines for tomorrow?" "No. Go play baseball. I'm fine with rowing, and Rogelio will cast the net for me." "I'd love to go. Even if I can't go fishing with you, I'd love to do something for you."

"You bought me a beer," said the old man. "You're an adult now." "The first time you took me on board, how old am I?" "Five years old, the day I hauled a live dragon fish aboard and it nearly smashed the boat to pieces and you almost died. Remember?" "I remember the thumping of the tail and the breaking of the thwart and the sound of the stick fishing. I remember you shoving me towards the bow where the wet coils of line lay and I Feeling the whole boat trembling, hearing the sound of you slapping fish with a stick, like chopping down a tree, and remembering the sweet smell of blood all over my body."

"Do you really remember that, or did I just tell you not long ago?" "I remember everything from the first time we went to sea together." The old man looked at him lovingly with his sunburned, firm eyes. "If you were my own kid, I'd take you out for a ride," he said. "But you're your father's and your mother's boy, and you're in another lucky boat." "Shall I get the sardines? I know where to get four baits." "I had mine left today. I salted them in a box." "Let me get you four fresh ones." "One," said the old man.His hope and confidence never faded.Now it is as fresh as when the breeze first started.

"Two," said the boy. "Only two," the old man agreed. "You didn't steal it, did you?" "I would like to steal," said the child. "But these are bought." "Thank you," said the old man.He is pure-hearted and does not try to figure out when he reached such a humble state.But he knew that this was being reached at this moment, and that there was no shame in it, and therefore no loss of true self-respect. "Look at the current, it's going to be a good day tomorrow," he said. "Where are you going?" asked the child.

"Go far away and come back when the wind changes. I want to start before dawn." "I will try to get the owner of the boat to sail far away," said the boy. "That way, if you do catch a big fish, we can rush over and help you." "He's not going to drive very far." "Yes," said the child. "But I'd see something he couldn't see, like a bird hovering in the sky, and I'd tell him to run after the dolphin." "Is his eyes so bad?" "Simply blind." "That's strange," said the old man. "He's never caught a turtle. That's what hurts the eyes."

"You've been hunting turtles off the coast of Mosquito for years, and you've got pretty good eyesight." "I'm an unusual old man." "But are you strong enough for a really big fish now?" "I think there are. Besides, there are plenty of tricks available." "Let's take our stuff home," said the boy. "So I can take the net and catch sardines." They took the fishing gear from the boat.The old man carried the mast on his shoulders and the boy carried the wooden box with the coiled, hardbraided brown lines, the gaff and harpoon with its shaft.The bait-box was stashed under the stern of the skiff along with the stick which subdued the big fish when they were brought alongside and no one would steal from the old man but the mast and those The thick line was good to take home as the dew was bad for these things and although the old man was sure no one would come and steal from him he thought it a good idea to leave a gaff and a harpoon in the boat. is unnecessary temptation.

Together they walked along the road to the old man's hut and went in through the open door.The old man leaned the mast with its coiled sail against the wall and the boy put the box and the other gear beside it.The mast was about as long as the single room in the shack.Made from the tough bract of a large coconut tree called guano, the hut contains a bed, a table, a chair and a place on the dirt floor to cook over charcoal. On the brown walls of flattened and laminated sheets of fibrous "sea guano" there is a painted picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and another of Our Lady of Cobra.This is his wife's relic.At one point there was a tinted photograph of his wife on the wall, but he had taken it down because he felt so lonely looking at it, and it was now on a corner shelf, under one of his clean shirts. "Is there anything to eat?" "There is a pot of fish and yellow rice. Would you like some?" "No. I'll go home and eat. Shall I make a fire for you?" "No. I'll be reborn in a while. Maybe just a cold meal." "Shall I take the net?" "Of course." There was no fishnet in fact, and the children remembered when they sold it.Yet they tell a set of such lies every day.There is no such thing as fish boiled with yellow rice, and children know this. "Eighty-five is an auspicious number," said the old man. "You want to see me catch a fish that weighs over a thousand pounds without the legs?" "I'm going to catch sardines with the net. Would you like to sit by the door and enjoy the sun?" "Okay. I have yesterday's paper, and I'll check out the baseball news." The kid wondered if yesterday's paper was there too.But the old man took it out from under the bed. "Perico gave it to me at the grocery store," he explained. "I'll be right back when I get the sardines. I'm going to chill yours with mine and share them in the morning. When I get back you tell me about the baseball." "The Yankees can't lose." "But I'm afraid the Cleveland Indians will win." "Trust the Yankees, boy. Don't forget the great DiMaggio." "I worry about the Detroit Tigers, and I worry about the Cleveland Indians." "Be careful, or you'll worry about the Cincinnati Reds and the Chicago Whites." "Read the newspaper carefully, and tell me about it when I come back." "Do you think we should go buy a lottery ticket that ends in eighty-five? Tomorrow is the eighty-fifth day." "That's all right," said the boy. "But your last record was eighty-seven days, how do you say that?" "It won't happen again. Do you think you can get one that ends in eighty-five?" "I can go and order one." "Order one. It's two and a half dollars. Who shall we borrow it from?" "That's easy. I can always get two and a half." "I think maybe I can borrow it too. But I don't want to borrow money. The first step is to borrow money. The next step is to beg." "Dress warmly, sir," said the boy. "Don't forget, we're in September." "It's the month when the big fish show up," the old man said. "Anyone can be a good fisherman in May." "I'm going to fish for sardines now," said the boy. When the boy came back, the old man was fast asleep in the chair and the sun had gone down.The child picked up an old army blanket from the bed and spread it on the back of the chair, covering the old man's shoulders.They were strange shoulders, still strong in a very old man, and the neck was still strong, and when the old man was asleep and his head hung forward, the wrinkles were less noticeable.His shirt had been patched so many times that, like his sail, the patches had been faded to many shades by the sun.The old man's head was very old, his eyes were closed, and there was no life on his face.The newspaper was spread out on his knees, and in the evening wind, it was held down by his arm to keep it from being blown away.He is barefoot. The child left the old man and left. When he came back, the old man was still fast asleep. "Wake up, old man," said the boy, putting his hand on the old man's knee.The old man opened his eyes, and for a moment his mind seemed to be returning from a place far away.Then he smiled. "What did you bring?" he asked. "Supper," said the boy. "Let's eat." "I'm not very hungry." "Come on, eat. You can't just fish and not eat." "I've done that," said the old man, getting up, and taking the newspaper, he folded it up.Follow him to fold the blanket. "Put the blanket over yourself," said the child. "As long as I live, you will never go fishing without eating." "So, I wish you a long life and take care of yourself," said the old man. "What shall we eat?" "Black bean rice, fried bananas, and some pure vegetables." The child had brought these meals from the Terrace in double-layer lunch boxes.He had two sets of knives, forks and spoons in his pockets, each wrapped in a paper napkin. "Who gave it to you." "Martin. The boss." "I have to thank him." "I thank you already," said the boy. "You don't have to thank him." "I will give him a piece of the belly of a big fish," said the old man. "Has he helped us this way more than once?" "I suppose so." "In this case, I should give him something other than fish belly meat. He really cares about us." "He also sent two bottles of beer." "I like beer in cans." "I know. But it's bottled, Atuay, and I have to send the bottle back." "You are so thoughtful," said the old man. "Shall we just eat?" "I have already asked you," the child said to him gently. "I don't want to open the lunchbox until you're ready." "I'm ready," said the old man. "I just have to wash my hands and face." Where are you going to wash?the child thought.The village tap is on the corner of the second cross road from the main road.I should have brought water here for him to use, the boy thought, and a bar of soap and a clean towel.Why am I so careless?I should get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter, and some shoes, and get him another blanket. "This stew is croaking," said the old man. "Tell me about the baseball game," the kid begged him. "In the American League it's always the Yankees, I told you," said the old man cheerfully. "They lost today," the boy told him. "It's nothing, the great DiMaggio is back to his true colors." "They have other good players on the team." "That goes without saying. But with him it's different. In another league, take Brooklyn and Philadelphia, I believe in Brooklyn. But then again, I haven't forgotten Dick Sissler and those good shots he hit in that old park." "No one else has hit those shots. He hits the furthest I've ever seen." "Do you remember how he used to come to the Terrace? I wanted to go fishing with him, but I didn't dare to talk to him. So I want you to, but you didn't dare." "I remember. How badly we miscalculated. He may well have gone to sea with us. That way we'll live on it for the rest of our lives." "I'd love to go fishing with the great DiMaggio," said the old man. "They say his father was a fisherman, too. Maybe he was as poor as we were, and he'll understand us." "The great Sisler's daddy didn't live in poverty. His daddy was playing in the league when I was my age." "When I was your age I was a sailor on a square-schooner going to Africa, and I saw lions come to the beach in the evening." "I know. You talked to me about it." "Shall we talk about Africa or about baseball?" "Let's talk about baseball," said the kid. "Tell me about the great John J. McGraw." He pronounced the J as "Hotta." "He used to come to the Terrace sometimes in the old days. But when he's drunk, he's rough, hurtful, and awkward. He's thinking about baseball, and he's thinking about horse racing. At least he's always in his pocket. With a list of horse races, I often mention the names of some horses on the phone." "He's a great manager," Kid said. "My dad thought he was the greatest." "It's because he comes here the most," said the old man. "If Dorocher keeps coming here every year, your father will think he's a great manager." "Seriously, who's the greatest manager, Luke or Mike Gonzalez?" "I think they're on par." "The best fisherman is you." "No. I know there are many better than me." "Where!" said the child. "There are a lot of good fishermen, and some great ones. But you're the only one who's really good." "Thank you. You make me happy. I hope there isn't a fish too big for me to handle, and that'll show we're wrong." "There is no such fish, as long as you are as strong as you say." "I may not be as strong as I think I am," said the old man. "But I know a lot of tricks, and I'm determined." "You should go to sleep so you'll be refreshed in the morning. I'm taking these back to the Terrace." "Good night, then. I'll wake you in the morning." "You are my alarm clock," said the child. "Age is my alarm clock," said the old man. "Why does the old man wake up so early? Is it to make the days longer?" "I can't tell," said the child. "I only know that the boy sleeps deeply and wakes up late." "I'll keep that in mind," said the old man. "I'll wake you up then." "I don't want the owner of the boat to wake me up. It seems like I'm worse than him." "I know." "Sleep well, old man." The child goes out of the house.When they were eating just now, the lamp was not lit on the table, so the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark.He rolled up his trousers for a pillow and stuffed the newspaper inside.He wrapped himself in a blanket and fell asleep on the other old newspapers on the box spring. He was fast asleep, dreaming of the Africa he had seen as a child, the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they blinded, and the high headlands and the brown mountains.He went back to that shore every night now, and in his dreams he heard the crash of the crashing waves and saw the natives sailing through the waves.As he slept he smelled the tar and wadding on the deck, and the African scent of the morning wind that blew over the land. Usually when he smelled the wind blowing from the land, he would wake up, put on his clothes and go to wake the child.But tonight the breath of the wind blowing over the land came early, and he knew in his dream that it was still early, and he went on dreaming, seeing the white peaks of the archipelago rising from the sea, and then dreaming of the harbors of the Canary Islands and anchorages. He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great events, nor of great fish, nor of fights, nor of wrestling, nor of his wife.He only dreamed of places and lions on the beach now.They played like kittens in the twilight, and he loved them as much as he loved the boy.He never dreamed of the child.He woke up just like that, looked at the moon outside the open door, spread out his trousers and put them on.He urinated outside the shed, then walked down the road to wake the children.He was shivering with the morning chill.But he knew he'd be warm after the shiver and he'd be rowing before long. The door of the house where the child lived had no upper bunk. He opened the door and walked in quietly with bare feet.The child was sound asleep on a cot in the outer room, and the old man could see him clearly by the light of the waning moon coming in from outside.He held the child's foot lightly until the child woke up and turned to look at him.The old man nodded and the boy took his trousers from the chair by the bed and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on.The old man went out, and the boy followed him.He was still drowsy, and the old man put his arm around his shoulders and said, "I'm sorry." "Where!" said the child. "That's what a man should do." As they walked down the road to the old man's hut, some barefoot men moved about in the dark, carrying the masts of their ships. They went into the old man's shack and the boy took the coiled lines in the basket and the harpoon and gaff and the old man carried the mast with its furled sail on his shoulders. "Would you like some coffee?" the child asked. "Let's put our belongings in the boat and have a drink." They drank coffee in cans of condensed milk in an early-morning snack bar for fishermen. "How did you sleep, old man?" asked the child.He was conscious now, though it was not easy to get rid of the Sandman completely. "Slept well, Manolin," said the old man. "I feel pretty sure today." "Me too," said the child. "Now I'm going to get you the sardines I used and the fresh baits for you. He always carries his own stuff in that boat. He never asks for anything to be carried for him." "We are different," said the old man. "I asked you to help carry things when you were only five years old." "I remember," said the child. "I'll be right back. Have another coffee. We'll settle the bill here." He left, walking barefoot along the coral stone walkway to the cold store where the fish bait was kept. The old man drank his coffee slowly.This is his food all day today, and he knows he should drink it.For a long time, eating bored him, so he never brought food with him.He kept a bottle of water on the bow of the boat, and that was all he needed for the day. The boy came back with the sardines and the two baits wrapped in a newspaper and they walked down the path to the skiff and felt pebbles in the sand under their feet and lifted the skiff and let it slip into the water. "Good luck, old man." "Good luck," said the old man.He slipped the oar's rope loop over the peg in the oar's seat, lunged forward to meet the resistance of the oar blade in the water, and started to row out of the harbor in the dark.There were other boats going to sea on those other beaches and the old man heard their oars falling and paddling although he could not see them now as the moon was behind the mountains. Occasionally someone on a boat was talking.But most ships were silent except for the oars.They dispersed as soon as they were out of the port and each one headed for the part of the sea where he hoped to find fish.The old man knew he was going far and so he left the smell of land behind and rowed out into the fresh morning breath of the sea.He saw the phosphorescence of the Sargassum sargassum as he paddled across a body of water that the fishermen called the Great Well because of the sudden depth of seven hundred fathoms where the current crashed against the cliffs of the abyss, There is a vortex, and all kinds of fish gather there.There are concentrations of prawns and bait fish, and sometimes schools of squid in those unfathomable bottom holes, which at night float close to the surface, and all the fish that swim there Humans use them as food. The old man felt morning coming in the dark and as he paddled he heard the quiver of the flying fish as they emerged from the water and the hiss of their straight wings as they soared through the dark.He is very fond of flying fish and considers them his main friends in the ocean.He grieved for the birds, especially the little delicate black terns that were always flying and looking for food and almost never finding it, and he thought that the birds had a harder life than ours, except Those raptors and powerful big birds.If the sea is so cruel, why are birds like these petrels so delicate and delicate?The ocean is benevolent and very beautiful.Yet she can become so cruel, and so suddenly, and these flying birds, falling from the sky to feed and making small wails, are too weak to live at sea. Whenever he thought of the ocean, he always called her lamar, which is what people call her in Spanish when they are fond of the ocean.Sometimes, people who have a good impression of the sea say bad things about her, but they always say her as a woman.Some of the younger fishermen, who used buoys for floats on their lines and had motorboats bought from the good sale of shark livers, called the sea el mar, which is masculine.They spoke of her as a competitor or a place to go, even as an enemy.But this old man always regards Haiyang as a woman. She gives or refuses to give people great favors. If she does something willful or immoral, it is because she can't help herself.The moon affects her as it does a woman, he thought. He paddled at a leisurely pace, which was easy for him because he kept to his top speed and the sea was flat except for the occasional swirl of the current.He was letting the current do a third of the work for him when it was getting light and he found himself paddling farther than he expected to be at this moment. I've been wandering around this abyss for a week, and doing nothing, he thought.Today I'm going to find out where the schools of skipjack and albacore are and maybe there's a big fish with them. Before it was daylight, he released one bait after another and let the boat drift with the current.One bait was down forty fathoms down.The second was at seventy-five fathoms, the third and fourth at one hundred and one hundred and twenty-five fathoms in blue water.Each bait made of fresh sardines was turned upside down with the shaft of the hook going into the fish and tied and sewn securely so that all the protruding parts of the hook, the hook and point, were enclosed in the flesh of the fish.Each sardine is hooked through both eyes so that the fish forms a half circle on the protruding steel hook.No matter which part of the hook a big fish touches, it is delicious and delicious. The boy had given him two small fresh tuna, or albacore, that were hanging like plumbs on the two deepest lines and on the other two he had a big blue trevally and a A yellow goldbait, they had been used but were still in good condition, and there were excellent sardines to give them flavor and appeal.Each line was as thick as a large pencil and was wrapped around a blueskin rod so that any tug or touch on the bait caused the rod to drop downwards and there were two lines on each line. One forty-fathom reel and they would be fastened to the other spare reels so that a fish could draw more than three hundred fathoms of line if it was needed. At this time the old man was staring at the three fishing rods protruding from the side of the boat to see if there was any movement, and while rowing slowly, he kept the lines straight up and down and at the proper depth of the water.It was quite bright, and the sun would rise any moment.