“They are good,”he said.“ They play and make jokes and love one another.They are our brothers like the flying fish.”
“Eat it a little more,”he said.“ Eat it well.”
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.
He was happy feeling the gentle pulling and then he felt something hard and unbelievably heavy.It was the weight of the fish and he let the line slip down,down,down,unrolling off the first of the two reserve coils.As it went down,slipping lightly through the old man's fingers,he still could feel the great weight,though the pressure of his thumb and finger were almost imperceptible .
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.
“What a fish,”he said.“ He has it sideways in his mouth now and he is moving off with it.”
He felt the light delicate pulling and then a harder pull when a sardine's head must have been more difficult to break from the hook .Then there was nothing.
“It was only his turn,”he said.“ He'll take it.”
Once he stood up and urinated over the side of the skiff and looked at the stars and checked his course.The line showed like a phosphorescent streak in the water straight out from his shoulders.They were moving more slowly now and the glow of Havana was not so strong,so that he knew the current must be carrying them to the eastward.If I lose the glare of Havana we must be going more to the eastward, he thought.For if the fish's course held true I must see it for many more hours.I wonder how the baseball came out in the grand leagues today,he thought.It would be wonderful to do this with a radio.Then he thought,think of it always.Think of what you are doing.You must do nothing stupid.