I may not be as strong as I think

No. I know others better.”
“Que Va,” the boy said. “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.”
[23] “Good night then. I will wake you in the morning.”
“You’re 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.”
“I can remember it,” the old man said. “I’ll waken you in time.”
“I do not like for him to waken me. It is as though I were inferior.”
“I know.”
“Sleep well old man.”
The boy went out. They had eaten with no light on the table and 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 blanket and slept on the
other old newspapers that covered 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, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high
capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in
his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats [24] come riding through it.
He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa
that the land breeze brought at morning.
Usually when he smelled the land breeze he woke up and dressed to go and wake the
boy. But tonight the smell of the land breeze came very early and he knew it was too early
in his dream and went on dreaming to see the white peaks of the Islands rising from the
sea and then he dreamed of the different harbours and roadsteads of the Canary Islands.
He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of
great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, 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 never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out
the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on. He urinated