He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream...
... and he had gone 84 days now without taking a fish.
In the first 40 days, a boy had been with him.
But after 40 days without a fish the boy's parents told him...
... that the old man was now definitely and finally salao...
... which is the worst form of unlucky...
... and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat...
... which caught three good fish the first week.
The old man had taught the boy to fish, and the boy loved him.
The old man was gray and wrinkled, with deep furrows in the back of his neck...
... and his hands had the deep, creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords.
But none of these scars were fresh.
They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
Everything about him was old, except his eyes.
And they were the same color as the sea, were cheerful and undefeated.
It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty.
He always went down to help him carry the lines, the gaff and harpoon...
... and the sail that was furled around the mast.
The sail was patched with flour sacks, and furled.
It looked like the flag of permanent defeat.
No one would steal from the old man...
... but it's better to take the sail and lines home...
... as the dew was bad for them.
Though he was sure no local people would steal...
... the old man thought a gaff and a harpoon...
... were needless temptations to leave in a boat.
The successful fishermen were already in and had butchered their marlin out...
... carried them laid full-length across two planks to the fish house...
... where they waited for the ice truck to carry them to the market in Havana.
"Can I offer you a beer on the terrace?" The boy asked.
"Why not?" the old man said. "Between fisherman."
Two beers, Martin. Please.
They sat on the terrace and many fishermen made fun of the old man.
But he was not angry.
He did not remember when he had attained humility...
... but he knew he had attained it...
... and he knew it was not disgraceful and it carried no true loss of pride.
Some of the older fishermen looked at him and were sad...
... but they did not show it. They spoke about the currents...
... and the depths they'd drifted their lines at...
... and the steady, good weather and of what they had seen.
Can I go and get the sardines for you tomorrow?
Oh, no. No.
You play ball. I can still row, and I can still throw the net.
I know where I can get four fresh baits.
I still have mine from today.
Let me get four fresh ones.
You didn't steal them, did you? I would, but I bought these.
If I cannot fish with you, I'd like to serve in some way.
You bought me a beer.
You are already a man.
They walked up the road together.
The old man stood the mast outside his shack.
In the old man's shack, there was a bed, a table, chairs...
... and a place to cook with charcoal.
On the brown walls, there was a picture in color of the Sacred Heart of Jesus...
... and another of the Virgin of Cobre.
These were relics of his wife.
Once there had been a tinted photograph of his wife on the wall.
But he had taken it down because it made him too lonely to see it.
It was on the shelf in the corner, under his clean shirt.
Tomorrow is the 85th day.
Eighty-five is a lucky number.
How'd you like to see me bring one in that dressed out over a thousand pounds?
Are you strong enough now for a truly big fish?
I think so.
And there are many tricks.
Santiago, I could go with you again.
We've made enough money.
No, no. You are in a lucky boat. You stay with them.
Remember how long we went without fish before?
Then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.
I know you did not leave me because you lost confidence.
It was my papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him.
Of course, of course. It is quite normal.
He hasn't much faith.
But we have, haven't we? Yes.
If you were my boy, I would take you out again.
But you are your father's and your mother's, and you are in a lucky boat.
What do you have to eat?
I have a pot of yellow rice and some fish. Would you like some?
No. I'll eat at home.
May I take the cast net? Of course.
I have yesterday's newspaper.
I will read the baseball.
There was no cast net. The boy remembered when they had sold it.
But they went through this fiction every day.
There was no pot of yellow rice and fish, and the boy knew this.
He didn't know whether yesterday's paper was a fiction too.
The old man brought it out from under the bed.
Keep warm, old man.
Sit in the sun. Remember, we're in September.
The month of the big fish.
Anybody can be a fisherman in May.
I'll be back when I get the sardines.
Then you can tell me about the baseball.
Hey, Manolin, come on. Play first base.
Hey, yeah. Come on.
Manolin. A dinner for two, please. To take out.
You don't eat at home anymore?
How much do you have to spend? Sixty cents.
No luck yet, huh?
You know, maybe it's not luck at all. Maybe he's too old.
He's not too old. You'll see.
I said, maybe. Not even maybe.
I only hope when I'm an old man I have a boy to fish for me.
When the boy came back, the old man was asleep in a chair...
... and the sun was going down.
His shoulders were still powerful, although very old.
The neck was still strong too.
The creases did not show so much when the old man was asleep.
His head was very old, though.
And with his eyes closed, there was no life in his face.
Wake up, old man.
The old man opened his eyes, and for a long moment...
... he was coming back from a long way away.
Then he smiled.
What have you got?
We're gonna have supper. I'm not very hungry.
Come on and eat. You can't fish and not eat.
You won't fish without eating while I'm alive.
Well, then you live a long time and take good care of yourself.
Who...? Who gave this to you?
Martin. At the terrace.
...I must be sure and thank him.
I thanked him already. You don't need to thank him.
They had eaten with no light on the table, and it was dark now.
The old man had talked to the boy about baseball as always.
About the great DiMaggio and how he was himself again...
... and about the other men on the team.
Tell me about the great John J. McGraw.
He used to come to the terrace sometimes...
...in the olden days too.
His mind was on the horses, I think, as much as it was on the baseball.
At least he used to carry lists of horses in his pocket at all times.
And frequently, he would speak the names of horses on the telephone.
He was a great manager. My father thinks he was the greatest.
That's because he came here the most times.
If Durocher had continued coming here...
...your father would think he was the greatest manager.
Who is the greatest manager, really?
I think they are all equal.
Sometime I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing.
They say his father was a fisherman.
Maybe he was poor like we are, and he would understand.
You ought to go to bed so that you'll be fresh in the morning.
I'll take these things back to the terrace.
Good night. See you in the morning. You're my alarm clock.
Age is my alarm clock.
Sleep well, old man. Thank you.
The boy went out and the old man thought, "Why do old men wake so early?
Is it to have one longer day?"
Then the old man rolled up his trousers to make a pillow...
... putting the newspaper inside them.
He rolled himself in the blanket and slept on the papers...
... that covered the springs of the bed.
He was asleep in a short time...
... and he dreamed of Africa, when he was a boy.
He dreamed of the golden beaches and the white beaches so white they hurt your eyes.
And the high capes and the great brown mountains.
He lived along that coast now every night, and in his dreams...
... he heard the surf roar, and saw the native boats come riding through it.
He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept...
... and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought with the morning.
Usually when he smelled the land breeze, he woke up...
... and dressed to go to wake the boy.
But tonight the smell of the land breeze came very early...
... and he knew it was too early in his dream and went on dreaming.
To see the white peaks of the island rising to the sea...
... and he dreamed of the different harbors and roadsteads of the Canary Islands.
He no longer dreamed of storms nor of women...
... nor of great occurrences nor of great fish...
... nor fights nor contests of strength nor of his wife.
He only dreamed of places now...
... and of the lions on the beach.
They played like young cats, and he loved them as he loved the boy.
He never dreamed about the boy.
In the dawn, the old man simply woke...
... looked out the door at the dying moon, unrolled his trousers and put them on.
Then went down to wake the boy. He was shivering with cold...
... but he knew that he would shiver himself warm and that soon he would be rowing.
The door of the house where the boy lived was unlocked...
... and he opened it and walked in quietly with his bare feet.
The boy was asleep on a cot in the room and the old man could see him clearly.
He took hold of one foot gently and held it until the boy woke...
... and turned and looked at him.
The boy was sleepy, and the old man said, "I'm sorry."
"It is what a man must do," the boy answered.
They walked down the road, and all along the road in the dark...
... barefoot men were moving, carrying the masts of their boats.
How did you sleep?
Very well, Manolin. I feel confident today.
I do too.
I'll get the sardines. Be right back.
Have another cup. We have credit here.
The old man drank his coffee slowly.
It's all he'd have all day, and he knew that he should take it.
For a long time now, eating had bored him, and he never carried a lunch.
He had a bottle of water in the bow of the skiff...
... and that was all he needed for the day.
Good luck, old man.
There were other boats going out to sea...
... and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars.
In the dark, the old man could feel the morning coming.
And as he rode, he heard the trembling sound as flying fish left the water...
... and the hissing their stiff, set wings made as they soared away in the darkness.
He was very fond of flying fish, as they were his principal friends in the ocean.
He was sorry for the birds, especially the small, delicate, dark terns...
... that were always flying and looking and almost never finding.
He thought, "The birds have a harder life than we do...
... except for the robber birds and the heavy, strong ones.
Why do they make birds so delicate and fine when the ocean can be so cruel?
She is kind and very beautiful, but she can be so cruel. "
The sun rose from the sea, and the old man could see other boats...
... low on the water and well in toward the shore, spread out across the current.
He always thought of the sea as la mar...
... which is what people call her in Spanish when they love her.
Sometimes those who love her say bad things of her...
... but they are always said as though she were a woman.
Some of the younger fishermen spoke of her as a contestant or a place or an enemy...
... but the old man had always thought of her as feminine...
... and as something that gave or withheld great favors.
"The moon affects her as it does a woman," he thought.
Before it was light, he had his baits out and was drifting with the current.
One bait was down 40 fathoms, the second was at 75...
... and the third and fourth were down in the blue water at 100 and 125 fathoms.
Then the sun was brighter and the glare came on the water, and as it rose clear...
... the flat sea sent it back to his eyes so it hurt sharply...
... and he rode without looking into it.
He looked down and watched the lines that went down into the dark of the water.
Each bait hung head-down with the shank of the hook inside...
... tight and sewed solid.
All of the projecting part of the hook...
... the curve and the point, was covered with sardines...
... each sardine hooked through both eyes so they made a garland of the projecting steel.
There was no part of the hook that a fish could feel...
... that was not sweet-smelling and good-tasting.
"I keep them with precision," he thought.
"Only, I have no luck anymore.
But who knows? Maybe today.
Every day is a new day.
It is better to be lucky, but I would rather be exact.
Then when luck comes, you are ready. "
The sun was two hours higher now...
... and it did not hurt his eyes so much to look into the east.
Just then he saw a man-o'-war bird.
He made a quick drop, slanting down on his backswept wings, and then circled again.
He's not just looking. He's found something.
You will make a beautiful bait.
He did not remember when he'd first started to talk aloud when he was by himself.
In the old days, he had sung at night when he was alone...
... steering on his watch on the turtle boats.
He had probably started to talk aloud, when alone, when the boy had left...
... but he did not remember.
It was considered a virtue not to talk unnecessarily at sea...
... and the old man had always considered it so and respected it.
But now he said his thoughts aloud many times...
... since there was no one they could annoy.
"If the others heard me," he thought, "they would think I am crazy.
But since I am not crazy, I do not care.
And the rich have radios to talk to them on their boats, to bring them the baseball. "
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.
This far out, he must be huge in this month.
Eat them, fish. Eat them.
Please eat them.
How fresh they are...
...and you down deep in that cold water in the dark.
Come on, now.
Make another turn.
Then eat them. Just smell the sardines.
Then there is the tuna...
...cold and hard and lovely.
Come on, fish. Eat them.
Don't be shy.
He'll take it.
God help him to take it.
He can't have gone.
God knows he can't have gone. He must be making another turn.
Perhaps he has been hooked before, and he remembers part of it.
He was just turning. He's going to take it.
What a fish!
Now he has it sideways in his mouth...
...and he's going away with it.
As it went down, slipping lightly through the old man's fingers...
... he could still feel the great weight...
... though the pressure of his thumb and finger were almost imperceptible.
He's taken it.
Now let him eat it.
Eat it good, now, fish.
Go on, eat it.
Eat it until the point of the hook goes into your heart and kills you...
...then come up nice and easy and let me put the harpoon into you.
Now, are you ready?
Have you been long enough at table?
Now the fish was struck, and the old man could feel that he was hooked.
Now he should run with the line or jump or sound to the depths below...
... but nothing happened.
The fish just moved away slowly...
... and the old man could not raise him an inch.
His line was strong and made for heavy fish...
... and he held it until it was so taut that beads of water were jumping from it.
Then the boat began to move...
... slowly off toward the northwest.
The old man leaned back against the pull.
The fish moved steadily, and they traveled slowly on the calm water.
The other baits were still in the water, but there was nothing to be done.
This will kill him.
He can't keep this up forever.
But four hours later, the fish was still swimming steadily out to sea...
... towing the skiff, and the old man was still braced solidly.
"What a fish to pull like that!" he thought.
"He must have his mouth shut tight on the wire.
I wish I could see him only once to know what I have against me. "
There was no land in sight now. "That makes no difference," he thought.
"I can always come in on the glare off the lights from Havana. "
It was noon when I hooked him, and I have not yet seen him.
I wish the boy was here.
I'm being towed by a fish, and I am the towing bitt.
"What I will do if he decides to go down, I don't know.
What I'll do if he sounds and dives, I don't know.
I'll do something. There are plenty of things I can do.
I could make the line fast, " he thought, "but then he could break it.
I must hold him all I can and then give him line when he must have it.
Thank God he is traveling and not going down. "
It was cold after the sun went down...
... and the old man's sweat dried cold on his back and his arms and his old legs.
"He didn't come up when the sun set," he thought.
"Maybe he will come up with the moon.
If he does not do that, maybe he will come up with the sunrise.
I wish I could see him.
I wish I could see him only once to know what I have against me. "
Two porpoises came round the boat, he could hear them rolling and blowing.
He could tell the difference between the noise the male made...
... and the sighing blow of the female.
"They're good," he thought.
"They play and make jokes and love one another.
They are our brothers, like the flying fish. "
Then he began to pity the great fish he had hooked.
"He is wonderful and strange," he thought.
"Who knows how old he is."
Never have I had such a strong fish...
...or one that acted so strangely.
Maybe he's too wise to jump.
He could ruin me with a jump.
Or one quick rush.
Maybe he has been hooked many times before...
...and he knows this is how he must make his fight.
He took the bait like a male.
He moves like a male.
There is no panic in his fight.
I wonder if he has a plan or if he's just as desperate as I am.
I wish the boy was here.
The fish never changed his course nor his direction all that night...
... as far as the old man could tell from watching the stars.
He felt the strength of the great fish moving steadily toward what he had chosen...
... and he thought, "When once through my treachery...
... it had been necessary for him to make a choice...
... his choice had been to stay in the deep water...
... far out beyond all snares and traps and treacheries.
My choice was to go there and find him beyond all people.
Beyond all people in the world.
Now we are joined together and have been since noon.
And no one to help either one of us. "
"I have lost 200 fathoms of good line and hooks and leaders, " he thought.
"That can be replaced.
But who replaces this fish if I hook some fish and it cuts him off?
I don't know what the fish was that took the bait just now.
Could have been a marlin or a broadbill or a shark. I never felt him.
I had to get rid of him too fast. "
"I wonder what he made that lurch for," he thought.
"The wire must have slipped on the great hill of his back.
Certainly his back cannot feel as badly as mine does...
... and he cannot pull this skiff forever...
... no matter how strong he is. "
"Please, God, let him jump.
Maybe if I can increase the tension a little more, it will hurt him, and he will jump.
Let him jump so that he will fill the sacs along his backbone with air...
... and then he cannot go deep to die. "
Fish, I love you and I respect you very much...
...but I will kill you before this day ends.
A small bird came toward the skiff from the north.
He was a warbler and flying very low over the water.
And the old man could see that he was very tired.
...how old are you?
Is this your first trip?
Why are you so tired?
What are birds coming to anyway?
"The hawks," he thought, "that come out to sea to meet them."
But he said nothing of this to the bird, who could not understand him anyway...
... and who'd learn about the hawks soon enough.
It is all right, small bird.
You rest for a minute.
But then you must go in, and you must take your chances like every man...
...and every fish and every bird must do.
I wish I could hoist my sail and take you in with the small breeze that's rising...
...but I'm with a friend.
Something hurt him.
You're feeling it now, fish.
And so, God knows, am I.
"How did I let the fish cut me with one pull he made?" the old man thought.
"I must be getting very stupid.
I better pay attention to my work.
And then I must eat the bonito so I will not have a failure of strength.
I wish the boy was here to cut up the bonito, and I wish I had some salt.
I don't think I can eat an entire one. "
What kind of a hand is that?
Go on. Cramp if you want to.
Make yourself into a claw. It will do you no good.
I must eat the bonito...
...not to lose my strength.
Do not blame the hand. It is not the hand's fault.
And you have been a long time with fish.
How do you feel, hand?
Or is it too early to know?
Maybe it will open with the sun.
If I have to open it, I will open it.
Cost whatever it cost.
"God help me to have the cramp go," he thought.
"Because I don't know what the fish is going to do.
But he seems calm and following his plan, but what is his plan?
What is mine?
Mine I must improvise to his because of his great size.
If he will jump, " he thought, "I can kill him."
Hand. Come on, hand. He's coming up. Hand.
He's longer than the skiff.
Oh, he's a great fish.
Thank God they are not as intelligent as we who kill them.
Although they are more noble...
...and more able.
I wonder why he jumped.
It's almost as though he jumped just to show me how big he was.
Bad news for you, fish.
It was getting late in the day now, and the skiff still moved slowly and steadily.
The old man was suffering...
... although he did not admit to suffering at all.
I am not religious...
...but I will say 10 Our Fathers and 10 Hail Marys that I may catch this fish.
I will also make a pilgrimage to the Virgin of Cobre.
That is a promise.
"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name."
He commenced to say his prayers mechanically.
Sometimes he would be so tired that he could not remember the prayer.
Then he would say them so fast, they would come automatically.
"Hail Marys are easier to say than Our Fathers, " he thought.
The old man felt very tired, and he knew that the night would come soon...
... and he tried to think of other things.
He thought of the big leagues.
To him, they were the gran ligas.
And he knew that the Yankees of New York were playing the Tigers of Detroit.
"This is the second day now that I do not know the results of the games, " he thought.
Then, to give himself more confidence...
... he remembered the time in the tavern at Casablanca...
... when he played the hand game with a Negro from Cienfuegos...
... who was the strongest man on the docks.
He was not an old man then, but he was in his prime.
He and the Negro had gone one day and night...
... with their elbows on a chalked line on the table.
There was much betting, and the odds changed back and forth all night...
... and they changed the referees every four hours...
... so that the referee could get some sleep.
They fed the Negro rum.
Once, after the rum, the Negro made his all-out bid.
But the old man raised his hand up to dead even again.
He was sure that he had the Negro, who was a fine man and a great athlete...
At daylight, when bettors were asking him to call it a draw...
... because they had to go to work on the docks...
... the old man unleashed his greatest effort.
He knew that he had broken the confidence of the Negro...
... and now he finished the bout before anyone had to go to work.
For a long time after that, everyone had called him "the champion."
How do you feel, fish?
I feel fine.
My left hand is better.
Pull the boat, fish.
Just before it was dark, as they passed the great island of sargasso weed...
... that heaved and swung as though the ocean were making love...
... with something under a yellow blanket...
... his small line had been taken by a dolphin...
... and he had brought it into the skiff.
What an excellent fish dolphin is...
...to eat cooked...
...and what a miserable fish raw.
"I had better keep the fish quiet now and not disturb him too much at sunset.
The setting of the sun is a difficult time for all fish. "
It was darker now, as it becomes dark quickly after the sun sets in September.
The first stars were out.
He did not know the name of Rigel, but he saw it...
... and knew soon they would be out, and he would have all his distant friends.
"The fish is my friend too," he thought.
Never have I seen or heard of such a fish.
But I must kill him.
I'm glad I do not have to kill the stars.
Imagine how it would be if, every day, a man had to try to kill the moon.
The moon runs away.
But think what it would be if, every day, he had to try to kill the sun.
We're born lucky.
"It was half a day and a night, and now another day, and you have not slept.
If you do not sleep, you might become unclear in the head.
Rest now, old man.
Let him do the work.
Until it is time...
... for your next journey. "
He lay forward, cramping himself against the line with his body...
... putting all his weight on his left hand, and he was asleep.
He did not dream of the lions, but instead, of a vast school of porpoises...
... that stretched for eight or 10 miles, and it was in the time of their mating.
And they would leap high into the air...
... and return in the same hole they made in the water when they leaped.
Then he dreamed he was in the village, on his bed.
And there was a norther, and he was very cold.
And his arm was asleep because his head had rested on it instead of a pillow.
After that, he began to dream of the long yellow beach...
... and he saw the first of the lions.
And he waited to see if there would be more lions, and he was happy.
Then he dreamed of the whales that passed along this coast in the fall.
And of their mating too, and of their friendliness with each other, and their play.
The moon had been up for a long time, but he slept on.
And the fish pulled on steadily, and the boat moved into a tunnel of clouds.
He woke with a jerk of his fist coming up, and the line burning out through his hand.
This is what we waited for.
Now let us take it.
Make him pay for the line. Make him pay for it.
"I will show him what a man can do and what a man endures, " he thought.
The thousand times he had proved it meant nothing.
Now he was proving it again.
Each time was a new time...
... and he never thought about the past when he was doing it.
"If the boy were here, he could wet the coils of the line, " he thought.
"Yes, if the boy were here, if the boy were here. "
"Now he has jumped and filled the sacs along his back with air.
Now he cannot go down deep to die.
He will start circling soon, then I must start working on him. "
Well, you didn't do so badly...
...for something that is worthless.
Now I have done my best.
He will begin to circle soon.
Let the fight come.
The sun was rising for the third time since he had put out to sea.
The fish was circling slowly, and the old man was wet with sweat...
... and tired deep into his bones.
I could not fail myself now...
...and die on a fish like this.
Now that I have him coming so beautifully, God help me to endure.
I will say 100 Our Fathers and 100 Hail Marys.
But I cannot say them now.
Please consider them said.
I will say them later.
For an hour, he had been seeing spots before his eyes.
Twice he had felt faint and dizzy...
... and that had worried him.
Then suddenly, he saw a dark shadow...
... that took so long to pass the boat that he couldn't believe its length.
He can't be that big.
But he was that big.
He felt faint again.
"I moved him," he thought.
"Maybe this time I can get him over."
Hold on, legs.
"I must get him alongside this time," the old man thought.
Next time I'll pull him over.
He tried it once more.
And he felt himself going when he turned the fish.
"I will try it again," the old man promised, and he could only see well in flashes.
Fish, you're going to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?
He took all his pain and what was left of his strength and his long-gone pride...
... and he put it against the fish's agony.
"I must get him close, close," he thought.
"I mustn't try for the head, I must get the heart. "
Now I have killed this fish who was my brother.
Now I must do the slave work.
Get to work, old man.
The old man did not need a compass to tell him where southwest was.
He only needed the feel of the trade wind and drawing of the sail.
He could see the fish.
And he had only to look at his hands and feel his back against the stern...
... to know this had truly happened and was not a dream.
"The hands cure quickly," he thought.
"I've bled them clean. The salt water will heal them.
The dark water of the gulf is the greatest healer that there is. "
Then his head started to become unclear, and he asked himself:
"Is he bringing me in, or am I bringing him in?"
They were sailing together, lashed side by side.
And the old man thought, "Let me bring him in, if it pleases him.
I am only better than him through trickery, and he meant me no harm. "
They sailed well.
The old man soaked his hands in the water and tried to keep his head clear.
He looked at the fish constantly to make sure it was true.
It was an hour before the first shark hit him.
He was a very big mako shark...
... built to swim as fast as the fastest fish of the sea.
Now he speeded up as he smelled the fresher scent...
... and his blue dorsal fin cut the water.
When the old man saw him coming, he knew this shark had no fear at all...
... and would do exactly what he pleased.
It's too good to be true.
Might just as well have been a dream.
Now my fish bleeds again, and there will be others.
It was too good to be true.
The old man did not look at the fish anymore...
... since it had been mutilated.
When the fish had been hit, it was as if he himself had been hit.
"But I killed the shark that hit my fish," he thought.
"He was the biggest dentuso I have ever seen.
It was too good to last. "
He knew that each of the jerking bumps of the shark...
... had been meat torn away...
... and that the fish now made a trail of blood for all sharks...
... as wide as a highway through the sea.
He knew quite well the pattern of what could happen...
... when he reached the inner part of the current...
... but there was nothing to be done now.
"Yes, there is," he thought.
"I can lash my knife to the butt of one of the oars. "
"I should've brought a stone for the knife," he thought.
"You should've brought many things, but did not. Now is no time to think...
... of what you do not have. Think what you can do with what you have. "
"You give me good counsel," he thought. "I'm tired of it."
I am still an old man, but I will not be unarmed.
Come on, galanos!
Come on. Come on, galanos!
Come on. Come on.
I went out too far, fish.
No good for you, nor for me.
I'm sorry, fish.
I still have almost half of him left.
Maybe I will have the luck to bring that much of him in.
I should have some luck.
No, you violated your luck when you went too far out.
Don't be silly.
Stay awake and steer.
You still may have some luck.
I would like to buy some...
...if there is a place where they sell it.
What would I buy it with?
A lost harpoon? A broken knife?
Two bad hands?
You tried to buy it with 84 days...
They almost sold it to you too.
Must not think such nonsense.
Luck is a thing that comes in many forms.
Who can recognize her?
I wish I could see the lights of Havana.
I wish for too many things.
But that is what I wish now.
He saw the reflected glare of the light of the city at around 10:00 at night.
He was stiff and sore now...
... and his wounds and all of the strained parts of his body hurt.
He could not talk to the fish anymore, because the fish had been ruined too badly.
Then something came into his head.
Fish that you were.
I am sorry I went out too far.
Ruined us both.
But we have killed many sharks, you and I...
...and ruined many more.
How many have you ever killed, old fish?
You do not have that spear for nothing.
"What will you do now if they come in the night?" he thought.
What will I do if they come in the night?
I'll fight them.
I'll fight them until I die.
"Oh, but I hope I do not have to fight again, " he thought.
"I hope so much I do not have to fight again. "
But he fought again, and this time he knew the fight was useless.
Come on, galanos!
Come on, galanos! Come on.
Come on, galanos! Come on!
He knew he was beaten now, finally and without remedy.
I'm sorry, fish.
He could feel he was inside the current now...
... and he could see the lights of the beach colonies along the shore.
He knew where he was now, and it was nothing to get home.
"The wind is our friend anyway," he thought.
Then he added, "Sometimes."
"And the great sea with our friends and our enemies and bed.
Bed is my friend, just bed.
Bed will be a great thing. "
It is easy when you are beaten.
What beat you?
Nothing. I just went out too far.
Man is not made for defeat.
Man can be destroyed, but not defeated.
It was quiet in the harbor.
And he sailed up onto the little patch of shingle below the rocks.
There was no one to help him.
He unstepped the mast, furled the sail...
... shouldered the mast, and started to climb.
It was then he knew the depth of his tiredness.
He had to sit down five times before he reached the shack.
In the morning, it was blowing so hard...
... that the boats would not be going out.
And the boy had slept late and then had come to the old man's shack...
... as he had come each morning while the old man was gone.
The old man was asleep, and the boy saw that he was breathing.
And then he saw the old man's hands, and he started to cry.
He went out to bring some coffee, and all the way down the road, he was crying.
Many fishermen were around the skiff, looking at what was beside it.
And one was in the water, his trousers rolled up, measuring the skeleton...
... preparing to take off the head and the bill.
The boy did not go down.
He had been there before.
A can of coffee with plenty of milk and sugar in it.
What a fish that was.
There has never been such a fish.
Those were two fine fish you took yesterday.
Never mind about my fish.
Does he want a drink of any kind?
No. If he does, I'll be back.
You tell him how sorry I am.
I'll get the coffee.
They beat me, Manolin. They truly beat me.
He didn't beat you, not the fish.
Did you suffer much?
Now we'll fish together again.
I am not lucky anymore.
The hell with luck. I'll bring the luck with me.
What will your father say? I don't care what he says.
We will have to get a killing lance and keep it onboard at all times.
It must be very sharp...
...and not tempered so it will break, like my knife broke.
I'll get another knife.
How many days of heavy wind have we?
Oh, maybe three. Maybe more.
I'll have everything in order.
You get your hands well, old man.
They will be all right in a couple of days.
I know how to care for them.
During the night, I spat up something strange.
I felt like something in my chest was broken.
Get that well too.
Drink your coffee. I'll get you something to eat.
And... And bring me the papers from the time I was away.
That afternoon there was a party of tourists from Havana at a café.
One of them looked down, and among the empty beer cans...
... and dead barracuda, she saw the long backbone of the great fish...
... that was now just garbage waiting to go out with the tide.
"What's that?" she asked the waiter.
"Tiburón," the waiter said. "A shark."
He was trying to explain what had happened to the marlin.
"I didn't know sharks had such handsome, beautifully formed tails, " the woman said.
"I didn't either," her male companion answered.
Up the road in his shack, the old man was sleeping again.
He was still sleeping on his face, and the boy was sitting by him, watching him.
The old man was dreaming about the lions.