Don’t jump, fish,” he said. “Don’t jump

He is hitting the wire leader with his spear, he thought. That was bound to come.
He had to do that. It may make him jump though and I would rather he stayed circling
now. The jumps were necessary for him to take air. But after that each one can widen the
opening of the hook wound and he can throw the hook.
“Don’t jump, fish,” he said. “Don’t jump.”
The fish hit the wire several times more and each time he shook his head the old
man gave up a little line.
I must hold his pain where it is, he thought. Mine does not matter. I can control
mine. But his pain could drive him mad.
After a while the fish stopped beating at the wire and started circling slowly again.
The old man was gaining line steadily now. But he felt faint again. He lifted some sea
water with his left hand and put it on his head. Then he put more on and rubbed the back
of his neck.
“I have no cramps,” he said. “He’ll be up soon and I can last. You have to last. Don’t
even speak of it.”
He kneeled against the bow and, for a moment, slipped the line over his back again.
I’ll rest now while he goes out on the circle and then stand up and work on him when he
comes in, he decided.
[88] It was a great temptation to rest in the bow and let the fish make one circle by
himself without recovering any line. But when the strain showed the fish had turned to
come toward the boat, the old man rose to his feet and started the pivoting and the
weaving pulling that brought in all the line he gained.
I’m tireder than I have ever been, he thought, and now the trade wind is rising. But
that will be good to take him in with. I need that badly.
“I’ll rest on the next turn as he goes out,” he said. “I feel much better. Then in two or
three turns more I will have him.”
His straw hat was far on the back of his head and he sank down into the bow with the
pull of the line as he felt the fish turn.
You work now, fish, he thought. I’ll take you at the turn.
The sea had risen considerably. But it was a fair-weather breeze and he had to have it
to get home.
“I’ll just steer south and west,” he said. “A man is never lost at sea and it is a long
island.”
It was on the third turn that he saw the fish first.
He saw him first as a dark shadow that took so long [89] to pass under the boat that
he could not believe its length.

The Old Man and the Sea 32

This is what we waited for, he thought. So now let us take it. Make him pay for the
line, he thought. Make him pay for it.
He could not see the fish’s jumps but only heard the [82] breaking of the ocean and
the heavy splash as he fell. The speed of the line was cutting his hands badly but he had
always known this would happen and he tried to keep the cutting across the calloused
parts and not let the line slip into the palm nor cut the fingers.
If the boy was here he would wet the coils of line, he thought. Yes. If the boy were
here. If the boy were here.
The line went out and out and out but it was slowing now and he was making the fish
earn each inch of it. Now he got his head up from the wood and out of the slice of fish
that his cheek had crushed. Then he was on his knees and then he rose slowly to his feet.
He was ceding line but more slowly all he time. He worked back to where he could feel
with his foot the coils of line that he could not see. There was plenty of line still and now
the fish had to pull the friction of all that new line through the water.
Yes, he thought. And now he has jumped more than a dozen times and filled the
sacks along his back with air and he cannot go down deep to die where I cannot bring
him up. He will start circling soon and then I must work on him. I wonder what started
him so suddenly? Could it have been hunger that made him desperate, [83] or was he
frightened by something in the night? Maybe he suddenly felt fear. But he was such a
calm, strong fish and he seemed so fearless and so confident. It is strange.
“You better be fearless and confident yourself, old man,” he said. “You’re holding
him again but you cannot get line. But soon he has to circle.”
The old man held him with his left hand and his shoulders now and stooped down
and scooped up water in his right hand to get the crushed dolphin flesh off of his face. He
was afraid that it might nauseate him and he would vomit and lose his strength. When
his face was cleaned he washed his right hand in the water over the side and then let it
stay in the salt water while he watched the first light come before the sunrise. He’s
headed almost east, he thought. That means he is tired and going with the current. Soon
he will have to circle. Then our true work begins.
After he judged that his right hand had been in the water long enough he took it out
and looked at it.
“It is not bad,” he said. “And pain does not matter to a man.”
He took hold of the line carefully so that it did not fit into any of the fresh line cuts
and shifted his weight [84] so that he could put his left hand into the sea on the other
side of the skiff.
“You did not do so badly for something worthless,” he said to his left hand. “But
there was a moment when I could not find you.”
Why was I not born with two good hands? he thought. Perhaps it was my fault in not
training that one properly. But God knows he has had enough chances to learn. He did
not do so badly in the night, though, and he has only cramped once. If he cramps again
let the line cut him off.
When he thought that he knew that he was not being clear-headed and he thought he
should chew some more of the dolphin. But I can’t, he told himself. It is better to be
light-headed than to lose your strength from nausea. And I know I cannot keep it if I eat
it since my face was in it. I will keep it for an emergency until it goes bad. But it is too late
to try for strength now through nourishment. You’re stupid, he told himself. Eat the other
flying fish.
It was there, cleaned and ready, and he picked it up with his left hand and ate it
chewing the bones carefully and eating all of it down to the tail.
It has more nourishment than almost any fish, he [85] thought. At least the kind of
strength that I need. Now I have done what I can, he thought. Let him begin to circle and
let the fight come.
The sun was rising for the third time since he had put to sea when the fish started to
circle.
He could not see by the slant of the line that the fish was circling. It was too early for
that. He just felt a faint slackening of the pressure of the line and he commenced to pull
on it gently with his right hand. It tightened, as always, but just when he reached the
point where it would break, line began to come in. He slipped his shoulders and head
from under the line and began to pull in line steadily and gently. He used both of his
hands in a swinging motion and tried to do the pulling as much as he could with his body
and his legs. His old legs and shoulders pivoted with the swinging of the pulling.
“It is a very big circle,” he said. “But he is circling.” Then the line would not come in
any more and he held it until he saw the drops jumping from it in the sun. Then it started
out and the old man knelt down and let it go grudgingly back into the dark water.
“He is making the far part of his circle now,” he said. I must hold all I can, he
thought. The strain will [86] shorten his circle each time. Perhaps in an hour I will see
him. Now I must convince him and then I must kill him.
But the fish kept on circling slowly and the old man was wet with sweat and tired
deep into his bones two hours later. But the circles were much shorter now and from the
way the line slanted he could tell the fish had risen steadily while he swam.
For an hour the old man had been seeing black spots before his eyes and the sweat
salted his eyes and salted the cut over his eye and on his forehead. He was not afraid of
the black spots. They were normal at the tension that he was pulling on the line. Twice,
though, he had felt faint and dizzy and that had worried him.
“I could not fail myself and die on a fish like this,” he said. “Now that I have him
coming so beautifully, God help me endure. I’ll say a hundred Our Fathers and a hundred
Hail Marys. But I cannot say them now.
Consider them said, he thought. I’ll say them later. Just then he felt a sudden
banging and jerking on the line he held with his two hands. It was sharp and hard-feeling
and heavy.