Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

and eased himself as much as he could and allowed himself to
be pulled forward against the wood so that the boat took the strain as much, or
more, than he did.
       I’m learning how to do it, he thought. This part of it anyway. Then too, remember he hasn’t eaten
since he took the bait and he is huge and needs much food. I have eaten the
whole bonito. Tomorrow I will eat the dolphin. He called it dorado .
Perhaps I should eat some of it when I clean it. It will be harder to eat than
the bonito. But, then, nothing is easy.
       “How do you feel, fish?” he asked aloud. “I
feel good and my left hand is better and I have food for a night and a day.
Pull the boat, fish.”
       He did not truly feel good because the pain
from the cord across his back had almost passed pain and gone into a dullness
that he mistrusted. But I have had worse things than that, he thought. My hand
is only cut a little and the cramp is gone from the other. My legs are all
right. Also now I have gained on him in the question of sustenance.
       It was dark now as it becomes dark quickly
after the sun sets in September. He lay against the worn wood of the bow and
rested all that he could. The first stars were out. He did not know the name of
Rigel but he saw it and knew soon they would all be out and he would have all
his distant friends.
       “The fish is my friend too,” he said aloud.
“I have never seen or heard of such a fish. But I must kill him. I am glad we
do not have to try to kill the stars.”
       Imagine if each day a man must try to kill
the moon, he thought. The moon runs away. But imagine if a man each day should
have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky, he thought.
       Then he was sorry for the great fish that
had nothing to eat and his determination to kill him never relaxed in his
sorrow for him. How many people will he feed, he
thought. But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behaviour and his
great dignity.
       I do not understand these things, he
thought. But it is good that we do not have to try to kill the sun or the moon
or the stars. It is enough to live on the sea and kill our true brothers.
       Now, he thought, I must think about the
drag. It has its perils and its merits. I may lose so much line that I will
lose him, if he makes his effort and the drag made by the oars is in place and
the boat loses all her lightness. Her lightness prolongs both our suffering but
it is my safety since he has great speed that he has never yet employed. No
matter what passes I must gut the dolphin so he does not spoil and eat some of
him to be strong.
       Now I will rest an hour more and feel that
he is solid and steady before I move back to the stern to do the work and make
the decision. In the meantime I can see how he acts and if he shows any
changes. The oars are a good trick; but it has reached the time to play for
safety. He is much fish still and I saw that the hook was in the corner of his
mouth and he has kept his mouth tight shut. The punishment of the hook is
nothing. The punishment of hunger, and that he is against something that he
does not comprehend, is everything. Rest now, old man, and let him work until
your next duty comes.
       He rested for what he believed to be two
hours. The moon did not rise now until late and he had no way of judging the
time. Nor was he really resting except comparatively. He was still bearing the
pull of the fish across his shoulders but he placed his left hand on the
gunwale of the bow and confided more and more of the resistance to the fish to
the skiff itself.
       How simple it would be if I could make the
line fast, he thought. But with one small lurch he could break it. I must
cushion the pull of the line with my body and at all times be ready to give
line with both hands.
       “But you have not slept yet, old man,” he
said aloud. “It is half a day and a night and now another day and