“I'll kill him though,”he said.“In all his greatness and his glory.”
“He has slowed much,”he said.
He ate the other part of the piece that he had cut in two. He chewed it carefully and then spat out the skin.
There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much phosphorescence in the night.
“What kind of a hand is that,”he said.“Cramp then if you want.Make yourself into a claw.It will do you no good.”Come on,he thought and looked down into the dark water at the slant of the line.Eat it now and it will strengthen the hand.It is not the hand's fault and you have been many hours with the fish.But you can stay with him forever.Eat the bonito now.
There is no sense in being anything but practical though, he thought. I wish I had some salt. And I do not know whether the sun will rot or dry what is left,so I had better eat it all although I am not hungry.The fish is calm and steady.I will eat it all and then I will be ready.
It will uncramp though, he thought. Surely it will uncramp to help my right hand.There are three things that are brothers:the fish and my two hands.It must uncramp.It is unworthy of it to be cramped.The fish had slowed again and was going at his usual pace.