I have all those prayers I promised if I caught the fish, he thought.But I am too tired to say them now.I better get the sack and put it over my shoulders.
The shark came in a rush and the old man hit him as he shut his jaws.He hit him solidly and from as high up as he could raise the club.This time he felt the bone at the base of the brain and he hit him again in the same place while the shark tore the meat loose sluggishly and slid down from the fish.
“It will be dark soon,”he said.“Then I should see the glow of Havana.If I am too far to the eastward I will see the lights of one of the new beaches.”
He jammed the tiller,made the sheet fast and reached under the stern for the club. It was an oar handle from a broken oar sawed off to about two and a half feet in length. He could only use it effectively with one hand because of the grip of the handle and he took good hold of it with his right hand,flexing his hand on it,as he watched the sharks come. They were both galanos.
The two sharks closed together and as he saw the one nearest him open his jaws and sink them into the silver side of the fish,he raised the club high and brought it down heavy and slamming onto the top of the shark's broad head.He felt the rubbery solidity as the club came down.But he felt the rigidity of bone too and he struck the shark once more hard across the point of the nose as he slid down from the fish.