Caught a Big Marlin,Old Man

the hook where the hand-forged hook projected from the head of the small tuna.
The old man held the line delicately, and softly, with his left hand, unleashed it from
the stick. Now he could let it run through his fingers without the fish feeling any tension.
This far out, he must be huge in this month, he thought. Eat them, fish. Eat them.
Please eat them.
How fresh they are and you down there six hundred feet in that cold water in the
dark. Make another turn in the dark and come back and eat them. He felt the light
delicate pulling and then a harder pull when a sardine’s head must have been more
difficult to break from the hook. Then there was nothing.
“Come on,” the old man said aloud. “Make another turn. Just smell them. Aren’t they
lovely? Eat them good now and then there is the tuna. Hard and cold and lovely. Don’t be
shy, fish. Eat them.”
He waited with the line between his thumb and his finger, watching it and the other
lines at the same time for the fish might have swum up or down. Then came the same
delicate pulling touch again.
“He’ll take it,” the old man said aloud. “God help him to take it.”
He did not take it though. He was gone and the old man felt nothing.
“He can’t have gone,” he said. “Christ knows he can’t have gone. He’s making a turn.
Maybe he
has been hooked before and he remembers something of it.
[42] Then he felt the gentle touch on the line and he was happy.
“It was only his turn,” he said. “He’ll take it.”
He was happy feeling the gentle pulling and then he felt something hard and
unbelievably heavy. It was the weight of the fish and he let the line slip down, down,
down, unrolling off the first of the two reserve coils. As it went down, slipping lightly
through the old man’s fingers, he still could feel the great weight, though the pressure of
his thumb and finger were almost imperceptible. “What a fish,” he said. “He has it
sideways in his mouth now and he is moving off with it.”
Then he will turn and swallow it, he thought. He did not say that because he knew
that if you said a good thing it might not happen. He knew what a huge fish this was and
he thought of him moving away in the darkness with the tuna held crosswise in his
mouth. At that moment he felt him stop moving but the weight was still there. Then the
weight increased and he gave more line. He tightened the pressure of his thumb and
finger for a moment and the weight increased and was going straight down.
[43] “He’s taken it,” he said. “Now I’ll let him eat it well.”
He let the line slip through his fingers while he reached down with his left hand and
made fast the free end of the two reserve coils to the loop of the two reserve coils of the
next line. Now he was ready. He had three forty-fathom coils of line in reserve now, as
well as the coil he was using.
“Eat it a little more,” he said. “Eat it well.”
Eat it so that the point of the hook goes into your heart and kills you, he thought.
Come up easy and let me put the harpoon into you. All right. Are you ready? Have you
been long enough at table?
“Now!” he said aloud and struck hard with both hands, gained a yard of line and
then struck again and again, swinging with each arm alternately on the cord with all the
strength of his arms and the pivoted weight of his body.
Nothing happened. The fish just moved away slowly and the old man could not raise
him an inch. His line was strong and made for heavy fish and he held it against his hack
until it was so taut that beads of water were jumping from it. Then it began to make a
slow hissing sound in the water and he still held it, bracing [44] himself against the
thwart and leaning back against the pull. The boat began to move slowly off toward the
north-west.
The fish moved steadily and they travelled slowly on the calm water. The other baits
were still in the water but there was nothing to be done.
“I wish I had the boy” the old man said aloud. “I’m being towed by a fish and I’m the
towing bitt. I could make the line fast. But then he could break it. I must hold him all I
can and give him line when he must have it. Thank God he is travelling and not going
down.”
What I will do if he decides to go down, I don’t know. What I’ll do if he sounds and
dies I don’t know. But I’ll do something. There are plenty of things I can do.
He held the line against his back and watched its slant in the water and the skiff
moving steadily to the north-west.
This will kill him, the old man thought. He can’t do this forever. But four hours later
the fish was still swimming steadily out to sea, towing the skiff, and the old man was still
braced solidly with the line across his back.
“It was noon when I hooked him,” he said. “And I have never seen him.”
He had pushed his straw hat hard down on his head before he hooked the fish and it
was cutting his forehead. He was thirsty too and he got down on his knees and, being
careful not to jerk on the line, moved as far into the bow as he could get and reached the
water bottle with one hand. He opened it and drank a little. Then he rested against the
bow. He rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to
endure.
Then he looked behind him and saw that no land was visible. That makes no
difference, he thought. I can always come in on the glow from Havana. There are two
more hours before the sun sets and maybe he will come up before that. If he doesn’t
maybe he will come up with the moon. If he does not do that maybe he will come up with
the sunrise. I have no cramps and I feel strong. It is he that has the hook in his mouth.