The Old Man and the Sea

CHAPTER ONE

The Worst Kind of Mark

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without catching a fish. During the first forty days without a fish, the boy's parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky. The boy's parents had ordered him to go in another boat, which caught three good fish the first week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come back each day with his skiff empty. He always went down to help him carry the lines, or the gaff and harpoon and the sail patched with flour sacks, so that when it was furled it looked like the flag of permanent defeat.

The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles on the back of his neck and deep scars on his hands from handling lines of heavy fish. The dark spots of the benign skin cancer that the tropical sun brings were on his cheeks. His scars were as old as forgotten memories.

Everything about him was old except his eyes. They were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

"Santiago," the boy said to him, "I could go with you again. We've made some money."

The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him.

"No," the old man said. "You're with a lucky boat. Stay there."

"But remember how you went eighty-seven days without fish and then we caught big ones every day for three weeks."

"I remember," the old man said. "I know you did not leave me because you doubted."

"It was papa who made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him."

"I know," the old man said.

"He hasn't much faith."

"No, but we have. Haven't we?"

"Yes. Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then we'll take the stuff home."

"Why not?" the old man said. "Between fishermen."

They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the old man, but he was not angry. The older fishermen looked at him and were sad, but they did not show it. The successful fishermen of that day had already butchered their marlin and carried them to the ice truck that would take them to the market in Havana. Those who had caught sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of the cove. When the wind came from the east a smell came from the shark factory.