Sruggling with fish,old man

What an excellent fish dolphin is to eat cooked,” he said. “And what a miserable fish
raw. I will never go in a boat again without salt or limes.”
If I had brains I would have splashed water on the bow all day and drying, it would
have made salt, he thought. But then I did not hook the dolphin until almost sunset. Still
it was a lack of preparation. But I have chewed it all well and I am not nauseated.
The sky was clouding over to the east and one after another the stars he knew were
gone. It looked now as though he were moving into a great canyon of clouds and the wind
had dropped.
“There will be bad weather in three or four days,” he said. “But not tonight and not
tomorrow. Rig now to get some sleep, old man, while the fish is calm and steady.”
He held the line tight in his right hand and then pushed his thigh against his right
hand as he leaned all his weight against the wood of the bow. Then he passed the line a
little lower on his shoulders and braced his left hand on it.
My right hand can hold it as long as it is braced, he [80] thought If it relaxes in sleep
my left hand will wake me as the line goes out. It is hard on the right hand. But he is used
to punishment Even if I sleep twenty minutes or a half an hour it is good. He lay forward
cramping himself against the line with all of his body, putting all his weight onto his right
band, and he was asleep.
He did not dream of the lions but instead of a vast school of porpoises that stretched
for eight or ten miles and it was in the time of their mating and they would leap high into
the air and return into the same hole they had made in the water when they leaped.
Then he dreamed that he was in the village on his bed and there was a norther and
he was very cold and his right arm was asleep because his head had rested on it instead of
a pillow.
After that he began to dream of the long yellow beach and he saw the first of the
lions come down onto it in the early dark and then the other lions came and he rested his
chin on the wood of the bows where the ship lay anchored with the evening off-shore
breeze and he waited to see if there would be more lions and he was happy.
The moon had been up for a long time but he slept [81] on and the fish pulled on
steadily and the boat moved into the tunnel of clouds.
He woke with the jerk of his right fist coming up against his face and the line burning
out through his right hand. He had no feeling of his left hand but he braked all he could
with his right and the line rushed out. Finally his left hand found the line and he leaned
back against the line and now it burned his back and his left hand, and his left hand was
taking all the strain and cutting badly. He looked back at the coils of line and they were
feeding smoothly. Just then the fish jumped making a great bursting of the ocean and
then a heavy fall. Then he jumped again and again and the boat was going fast although
line was still racing out and the old man was raising the strain to breaking point and
raising it to breaking point again and again. He had been pulled down tight onto the bow
and his face was in the cut slice of dolphin and he could not move.

Think of the great DiMaggio

“Have faith in the Yankees my son. Think of the great DiMaggio.”
“I fear both the Tigers of Detroit and the Indians of Cleveland.”
“Be careful or you will fear even the Reds of Cincinnati and the White Sax of
Chicago.”
“You study it and tell me when I come back.”
“Do you think we should buy a terminal of the lottery with an eighty-five? Tomorrow
is the
eighty-fifth day.” “We can do that,” the boy said. “But what about the eighty-seven of
your great record?”
[17] “It could not happen twice. Do you think you can find an eighty-five?”
“I can order one.
“One sheet. That’s two dollars and a half. Who can we borrow that from?”
“That’s easy. I can always borrow two dollars and a half.”
“I think perhaps I can too. But I try not to borrow. First you borrow. Then you beg.”
“Keep warm old man,” the boy said. “Remember we are in September.”
“The month when the great fish come,” the old man said. “Anyone can be a
fisherman in May.”
“I go now for the sardines,” the boy said.
When the boy came back the old man was asleep in the chair and the sun was down.
The boy took the old army blanket off the bed and spread it over the back of the chair and
over the old man’s shoulders. They were strange shoulders, still powerful although very
old, and the neck was still strong too and the creases did not show so much when the old
man was asleep and his head fallen forward. His shirt had been patched so many times
that it was like the sail and the patches were faded to many different shades by the sun.
The [18] old man’s head was very old though and with his eyes closed there was no life in
his face. The newspaper lay across his knees and the weight of his arm held it there in the
evening breeze. He was barefooted.
The boy left him there and when he came back the old man was still asleep.
“Wake up old man,” the boy said and put his hand on one of the old man’s knees.
The old man opened his eyes and for a moment he was coming back from a long way
away. Then he smiled.
“What have you got?” he asked.
“Supper,” said the boy. “We’re going to have supper.”

Character Sketch of the Santiago

Santiago is the hero of the novel.he is weak and thin fellow.he had deep wrinkles at the back of his neck.his eyes are as blue as the sea where he sails and does his fishing.there is special air of cheerfulness and undefeated-ness in his eyes.he lives in suburbs of Havana,the capital of Cube.
“I remember,” the old man said. “I know you did not leave me because you doubted.”
“It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him.”
“I know,” the old man said. “It is quite normal.”
“He hasn’t much faith.”
“No,” the old man said. “But we have. Haven’t we?”
“Yes,” the boy said. “Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then we’ll take the stuff
home.”
“Why not?” the old man said. “Between fishermen.”
They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the old man and he
was noteangry. Others, of the older fishermen, looked at him and were sad. But they did
not show it and they spoke politely about the current and the depths they had drifted
their lines at and the steady good weather and of what they had seen. The successful
fishermen of that day were already in and had butchered their marlin out and carried
them laid full length across two planks, with two men staggering at the end of each plank,
to the fish house where they waited for the ice truck to carry them to the market in
Havana. Those who had caught sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other
side of the cove where they were hoisted on a block and tackle, their livers removed, their
fins cut off and their hides skinned out and their flesh cut into strips for salting.
When the wind was in the east a smell came across the harbour from the shark
factory; but today there [11] was only the faint edge of the odour because the wind had
backed into the north and then dropped off and it was pleasant and sunny on the Terrace.
“Santiago,” the boy said.
“Yes,” the old man said. He was holding his glass and thinking of many years ago.
“Can I go out to get sardines for you for tomorrow?”
“No. Go and play baseball. I can still row and Rogelio will throw the net.”
“I would like to go. If I cannot fish with you. I would like to serve in some way.”
“You bought me a beer,” the old man said. “You are already a man.”
“How old was I when you first took me in a boat?”
“Five and you nearly were killed when I brought the fish in too green and he nearly
tore the boat to pieces. Can you remember?”
“I can remember the tail slapping and banging and the thwart breaking and the
noise of the clubbing. I can remember you throwing me into the bow where the wet coiled
lines were and feeling the whole boat shiver and the noise of you clubbing him like
chopping a tree down and the sweet blood smell all over me.”
“Can you really remember that or did I just tell it to you?”