It was on the third turn that he saw the fish first.
“No,”he said.“ He can't be that big.”
He took hold of the line carefully so that it did not fit into any of the fresh line cuts and shifted his weight so that he could put his left hand into the sea on the other side of the skiff.
The sea had risen considerably.But it was a fair-weather breeze and he had to have it to get home.
If the boy was here he would wet the coils of line,he thought.Yes.If the boy were here.If the boy were here.
Why was I not born with two good hands?He thought.Perhaps it was my fault in not training that one properly.But God knows he has had enough chances to learn.He did not do so badly in the night,though,and he has only cramped once.If he cramps again let the line cut him off.
The old man looked carefully in the glimpse of vision that he had. Then he took two turns of the harpoon line around the bitt in the bow and laid his head on his hands.
Now you are getting confused in the head,he thought. You must keep your head clear.Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man.Or a fish,he thought.
He made the fish fast to bow and stern and to the middle thwart.He was so big it was like lashing a much bigger skiff alongside.He cut a piece of line and tied the fish's lower jaw against his bill so his mouth would not open and they would sail as cleanly as possible.Then he stepped the mast and, with the stick that was his gaff and with his boom rigged,the patched sail drew,the boat began to move,and half lying in the stern he sailed southwest.