Old Man and the Sea Read Online Free PDF Page A

and
finger for a moment and the weight increased and was going straight down.
       “He’s taken it,” he said. “Now I’ll let him
eat it well.”
       He let the line slip through his fingers
while he reached down with his left hand and made fast the free end of the two
reserve coils to the loop of the two reserve coils of the next line. Now he was
ready. He had three forty-fathom coils of line in reserve now, as well as the
coil he was using.
       “Eat it a little more,” he said. “Eat it
well.”
       Eat it so that the point of the hook goes
into your heart and kills you, he thought. Come up easy and let me put the
harpoon into you. All right. Are you ready? Have you
been long enough at table?
       “Now!” he said aloud and struck hard with
both hands, gained a yard of line and then struck again and again, swinging
with each arm alternately on the cord with all the strength of his arms and the
pivoted weight of his body.
       Nothing happened. The fish just moved away
slowly and the old man could not raise him an inch. His line was strong and
made for heavy fish and he held it against his hack until it was so taut that
beads of water were jumping from it. Then it began to make a slow hissing sound
in the water and he still held it, bracing himself against the thwart and
leaning back against the pull. The boat began to move slowly off toward the
north-west.
       The fish moved steadily and they travelled
slowly on the calm water. The other baits were still in the water but there was
nothing to be done.
       “I wish I had the boy” the old man said
aloud. “I’m being towed by a fish and I’m the towing bitt. I could make the
line fast. But then he could break it. I must hold him all I can and give him
line when he must have it. Thank God he is travelling and not going down.”
       What I will do if he decides to go down, I
don’t know. What I’ll do if he sounds and dies I don’t know. But I’ll do
something. There are plenty of things I can do.
       He held the line against his back and
watched its slant in the water and the skiff moving steadily to the north-west.
       This will kill him, the old man thought. He
can’t do this forever. But four hours later the fish was still swimming
steadily out to sea, towing the skiff, and the old man was still braced solidly
with the line across his back.
       “It was noon when I hooked him,” he said.
“And I have never seen him.”
       He had pushed his straw hat hard down on his
head before he hooked the fish and it was cutting his forehead. He was thirsty
too and he got down on his knees and, being careful not to jerk on the line,
moved as far into the bow as he could get and reached the water bottle with one
hand. He opened it and drank a little. Then he rested against the bow. He
rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only
to endure.
       Then he looked behind him and saw that no
land was visible. That makes no difference, he thought. I can always come in on
the glow from Havana. There are two more hours before the sun sets and maybe he
will come up before that. If he doesn’t maybe he will come up with the moon. If he does not do that maybe he will come up with the sunrise. I have no cramps and I feel strong. It is he that has the hook in his mouth. But what a fish to pull like that. He must have his mouth
shut tight on the wire. I wish I could see him. I wish I could see him only
once to know what I have against me.
       The fish never changed his course nor his direction all that night as far as the man could tell
from watching the stars. It was cold after the sun went down and the old man’s
sweat dried cold on his back and his arms and his old legs. During the day he
had taken the sack that covered the bait box and spread it in the sun to dry.
After the sun went down he tied it around his neck so that it hung down over
his back and he cautiously worked it down under the line that was across