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By Ernest Hemingway
The Old Man and the Sea
| (1) He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which 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. ”Santiago,” the boy said to him as they climbed the bank from where the skiff was hauled up. ”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,” the old man said. “You’re with a lucky boat. Stay with them.” | |
| (2) They walked up the road together to the old man’s shack and went in through its open door. “What do you have to eat?” the boy asked. “A pot of yellow 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 on. Or I may eat the rice cold” “May I take the net?” “Of course.” There was no net and the boy remembered when they had sold it. But they went through this fiction every day. There was no pot of yellow rice and fish and the boy knew this too. | |
| (3) 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 had bored him and he never carried a 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 baits wrapped in a newspaper. “Good luck old man.” “Good luck,” the old man said. | |
| (4) There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and each one headed for the part of the ocean where they hoped to find fish. The old man knew he was going far out and he left the smell of the land behind and rowed out into the clean early morning smell of the ocean. In the dark the old man could feel the morning coming and he heard the trembling sound as flying fish left the water. He was very fond of flying fish as they were his friends on the ocean. He was sorry for the birds, especially the small delicate ones that were always flying and looking and almost never finding, and he thought the birds have a harder life than we do. She is kind and very beautiful. But she can be so cruel and it comes so suddenly and such birds that fly, dipping and hunting, with their small sad voices are too delicate for the sea. He always thought of the sea as la mar which is what people call her in Spanish when they love her. Sometimes those who love her say bad things of her but they are always said as if she were a woman and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them. | |
| (5) Before it was really light he had his baits out and was drifting with the current. Each bait hung head down with the hook inside the bait fish and all the projecting part of the hook was covered with fresh sardines. There was no part that a great fish could feel which was not sweet-smelling and good-tasting. Each line, as thick around as a big pencil, was looped onto a green-sapped stick so that any pull or touch on the bait would make the stick dip and each line had two forty-fathom coils which could be made fast to the other coils so that, if it were necessary, a fish could take out over three hundred fathoms of line. The old man looked down into the water and watched the lines that went straight down into the dark. He kept them straighter than anyone did, so that each bait in the darkness of the stream would be exactly where he wished it to be. Others let them drift with the current and sometimes they were at sixty fathoms when the fishermen thought they were at a hundred. But, he thought, I keep them with precision. Only I have no luck any more. But who knows? May be today. Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky, but I would rather be exact. Then, when luck comes, you are ready. |
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