Old man Missing the Boy Manolin(his Partner)

But you haven’t got the boy, he thought. You have only yourself and you had
better work back to the last line now, in the dark or not in the dark, and cut it away and
hook up the two reserve coils.
So he did it. It was difficult in the dark and once the fish made a surge that pulled
him down on his face and made a cut below his eye. The blood ran down his cheek a little
way. But it coagulated and dried before it reached his chin and he worked his way back to
the bow and rested against the wood. He adjusted the sack and carefully worked the line
so that it came across a new part of his shoulders and, holding it anchored with his
shoulders, he carefully felt the pull of the fish and then felt with his hand the progress of
the skiff through the water.
I wonder what he made that lurch for, he thought. The wire must have slipped on the
great hill of his back. Certainly his back cannot feel as badly as mine does. But he cannot
pull this skiff forever, no matter how great he is. Now everything is cleared away that
might make trouble and I have a big reserve of line; all that a man can ask.
“Fish,” he said softly, aloud, “I’ll stay with you until I am dead.”
He’ll stay with me too, I suppose, the old man thought and he waited for it to be
light. It was cold now in the time before daylight and he pushed against the wood to be
warm. I can do it as long as he can, he thought. And in the first light the line extended out
and down into the water. The boat moved steadily and when the first edge of the sun rose
it was on the old man’s right shoulder.
“He’s headed north,” the old man said. The current will have set us far to the
eastward, he thought. I wish he would turn with the current. That would show that he
was tiring.
When the sun had risen further the old man realized that the fish was not tiring.
There was only one favorable sign. The slant of the line showed he was swimming at a
lesser depth. That did not necessarily mean that he would jump. But he might.
“God let him jump,” the old man said. “I have enough line to handle him.”
Maybe if I can increase the tension just a little it will hurt him and he will jump, he
thought. Now that it is daylight let him jump so that he’ll fill the sacks along his backbone
with air and then he cannot go deep to die.
[53] He tried to increase the tension, but the line had been taut up to the very edge of
the breaking point since he had hooked the fish and he felt the harshness as he leaned
back to pull and knew he could put no more strain on it. I must not jerk it ever, he
thought. Each jerk widens the cut the hook makes and then when he does jump he might
throw it. Anyway I feel better with the sun and for once I do not have to look into it.
There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added
drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much
phosphorescence in the night.
“Fish,” he said, “I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before
this day ends.”