And the best fisherman is you

“I’m not very hungry.”
“Come on and eat. You can’t fish and not eat.”
“I have,” the old man said getting up and taking the newspaper and folding it. Then
he started to fold the blanket.
“Keep the blanket around you,” the boy said. “You’ll not fish without eating while I’m
alive.”
“Then live a long time and take care of yourself,” the old man said. “What are we
eating?”
“Black beans and rice, fried bananas, and some stew.”
[19] 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 with a paper napkin
wrapped around each set.
“Who gave this to you?”
“Martin. The owner.”
“I must thank him.”
“I thanked him already,” the boy said. “You don’t need to thank him.”
“I’ll give him the belly meat of a big fish,” the old man said. “Has he done this for us
more than once?”
“I think so.”
“I must give him something more than the belly meat then. He is very thoughtful for
us.”
“He sent two beers.”
“I like the beer in cans best.”
“I know. But this is in bottles, Hatuey beer, and I take back the bottles.”
“That’s very kind of you,” the old man said. “Should we eat?”
“I’ve been asking you to,” the boy told him gently. “I have not wished to open the
container until you were ready.”
[20] “I’m ready now,” the old man said. “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.
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The Old Man and the Sea
Asiaing.com
“Your stew is excellent,” the old man said.
“Tell me about the baseball,” the boy asked him.
“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 DiMaggio is himself again.”
“They have other men on the team.”
“Naturally. But he makes the difference. In the other league, between Brooklyn and
Philadelphia I must take Brooklyn. But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives
In the old park.”
“There was nothing ever like them. He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
“Do you remember when he used to come to the Terrace?”
[21] “I wanted to take him fishing but I was too timid to ask him. Then I asked you to
ask him and you were too timid.” “I know. It was a great mistake. He might have gone
with us. Then we would have that for all of our lives.” “I would like to take the great
DiMaggio fishing,” the old man said. “They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was
as poor as we are and would understand.” “The great Sisler’s father was never poor and
he, the father, was playing in the Big Leagues when he was my age.” “When I was your
age I was before the mast on a square rigged ship that ran to Africa and I
have seen lions on the beaches in the evening.”
“I know. You told me.”
“Should we talk about Africa or about baseball?”
“Baseball I think,” the boy said. “Tell me about the great John J. McGraw.” He said
Jota for J.
“He used to come to the Terrace sometimes too in the older days. But he was rough
and harsh-spoken and difficult when he was drinking. His mind was on horses as well as
baseball. At least he carried lists of [22] horses at all times in his pocket and frequently
spoke the names of horses on the telephone.”
“He was a great manager,” the boy said. “My father thinks he was the greatest.”
“Because he came here the most times,” the old man said. “If Durocher had
continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager.”
“Who is the greatest manager, really, Luque or Mike Gonzalez?”
“I think they are equal.”
“And the best fisherman is you.”