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第1章 The Old Mans Hard Life（第1页）

HewasanoldmanwhofishedaloneinaskiffintheGulfStreamandhehadgoneeighty-fourdaysnowwithouttakingafish.Inthefirstfortydaysaboyhadbeenwithhim.Butafterfortydayswithoutafishtheboysparentshadtoldhimthattheoldmanwasnowdefinitelyandfinallysalao，whichistheworstformofunlucky，andtheboyhadgoneattheirordersinanotherboatwhichcaughtthreegoodfishthefirstweek.Itmadetheboysadtoseetheoldmancomeineachdaywithhisskiffemptyandhealwayswentdowntohelphimcarryeitherthecoiledlinesorthegaffandharpoonandthesailthatwasfurledaroundthemast.Thesailwaspatchedwithfloursacksand，furled，itlookedliketheflagofpermanentdefeat.

Theoldmanwasthinandgauntwithdeepwrinklesinthebackofhisneck.Thebrownblotchesofthebenevolentskincancerthesunbringsfromitsreflectiononthetropicseawereonhischeeks.Theblotchesranwelldownthesidesofhisfaceandhishandshadthedeep-creasedscarsfromhandlingheavyfishonthecords.Butnoneofthesescarswerefresh.Theywereasoldaserosionsinafishlessdesert.

Everythingabouthimwasoldexcepthiseyesandtheywerethesamecolorastheseaandwerecheerfulandundefeated.

“Santiago，”

theboysaidtohimastheyclimbedthebankfromwheretheskiffwashauledup.“Icouldgowithyouagain.Wevemadesomemoney.”

Theoldmanhadtaughttheboytofishandtheboylovedhim.

“No，”

theoldmansaid.“Yourewithaluckyboat.Staywiththem.”

“Butrememberhowyouwenteighty-sevendayswithoutfishandthenwecaughtbigoneseverydayforthreeweeks.”

“Iremember，”

theoldmansaid，“Iknowyoudidnotleavemebecauseyoudoubted.”

“Itwaspapamademeleave.IamaboyandImustobeyhim.”

“Iknow，”

theoldmansaid.“Itisquitenormal.”

“Hehasntmuchfaith.”

“No，”

theoldmansaid.“Butwehave.Haventwe?”

“Yes，”

theboysaid.“CanIofferyouabeerontheTerraceandthenwelltakethestuffhome.”

“Whynot?”

theoldmansaid.“Betweenfishermen.”

TheysatontheTerraceandmanyofthefishermenmadefunoftheoldmanandhewasnotangry.Others，oftheolderfishermen，lookedathimandweresad.Buttheydidnotshowitandtheyspokepolitelyaboutthecurrentandthedepthstheyhaddriftedtheirlinesatandthesteadygoodweatherandofwhattheyhadseen.Thesuccessfulfishermenofthatdaywerealreadyinandhadbutcheredtheirmarlinoutandcarriedthemlaidfullacrosstwoplanks，withtwomenstaggeringattheendofeachplank，tothefishhousewheretheywaitedfortheicetrucktocarrythemtothemarketinHavana.Thosewhohadcaughtsharkshadtakenthemtothesharkfactoryontheothersideofthecovewheretheywerehoistedonablockandtackle，theirliversremoved，theirfinscutoffandtheirhidesskinnedoutandtheirfleshcutintostripsforsalting.

Whenthewindwasintheeastasmellcameacrosstheharborfromthesharkfactory;buttodaytherewasonlythefaintedgeoftheodorbecausethewindhadbackedintothenorthandthendroppedoffanditwaspleasantandsunnyontheTerrace.

“Santiago，”

theboysaid.

“Yes，”

theoldmansaid.Hewasholdinghisglassandthinkingofmanyyearsago.

“CanIgoouttogetsardinesforyoufortomorrow?”

“No.Goandplaybaseball.IcanstillrowandRogeliowillthrowthenet.”

“Iwouldliketogo.IfIcannotfishwithyou，Iwouldliketoserveinsomeway.”

“Youboughtmeabeer，”

theoldmansaid.“Youarealreadyaman.”

“HowoldwasIwhenyoufirsttookmeinaboat?”

“FiveandyounearlywerekilledwhenIbroughtthefishintoogreenandhenearlytoretheboattopieces.Canyouremember?”

“Icanrememberthetailslappingandbangingandthethwartbreakingandthenoiseoftheclubbing.Icanrememberyouthrowingmeintothebowwherethewetcoiledlineswereandfeelingthewholeboatshiverandthenoiseofyouclubbinghimlikechoppingatreedownandthesweetbloodsmellalloverme.”

“CanyoureallyrememberthatordidIjusttellittoyou?”

“Iremembereverythingfromwhenwefirstwenttogether.”

Theoldmanlookedathimwithhissunburned，confidentlovingeyes.