“Maybe three.Maybe more.”
Many fishermen were around the skiff looking at what was lashed beside it and one was in the water,his trousers rolled up,measuring the skeleton with a length of line.
He went into the Terrace and asked for a can of coffee.
“How is he?”one of the fishermen shouted.
“They beat me, Manolin,”he said.“They truly beat me.”
“Don't forget to tell Pedrico the head is his.”
“Very good.”
“What a fish it was,”the proprietor said.“There has never been such a fish.Those were two fine fish you took yesterday too.”
“Now we fish together again.”
Finally he put the mast down and stood up.He picked the mast up and put it on his shoulder and started up the road.He had to sit down five times before he reached his shack.
“Tell him how sorry I am.”
“No.I will remember.”
She's good,he thought.She is sound and not harmed in any way except for the tiller.That is easily replaced .
“Get that well too,”the boy said.“Lie down,old man, and I will bring you your clean shirt.And something to eat.”“Bring any of the papers of the time that I was gone,”the old man said.
“Nothing,”he said aloud.“ I went out too far.”
He started to climb again and at the top he fell and lay for some time with the mast across his shoulder.
He unstepped the mast and furled the sail and tied it. Then he shouldered the mast and started to climb.It was then he knew the depth of his tiredness.He stopped for a moment and looked back and saw in the reflection from the street light the great tail of the fish standing up well behind the skiff's stern.He saw the white naked line of his backbone and the dark mass of the head with the projecting bill and all the nakedness between.