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第7章 The Old Mans Victory（第3页）

Butwhenheputallofhisefforton，startingitwelloutbeforethefishcamealongsideandpullingwithallhisstrength，thefishpulledpartwayoverandthenrightedhimselfandswamaway.

“Fish，”

theoldmansaid.“Fish，youaregoingtohavetodieanyway.Doyouhavetokillmetoo?”

Thatwaynothingisaccomplished，hethought.Hismouthwastoodrytospeakbuthecouldnotreachforthewaternow.Imustgethimalongsidethistime，hethought.Iamnotgoodformanymoreturns.

Yesyouare，hetoldhimself.Youregoodforever.

Onthenextturn，henearlyhadhim.Butagainthefishrightedhimselfandswamslowlyaway.

Youarekillingmefish，theoldmanthought.Butyouhavearightto.NeverhaveIseenagreater，ormorebeautiful，oracalmerormorenoblethingthanyou，brother.Comeonandkillme.Idonotcarewhokillswho.

Nowyouaregettingconfusedinthehead，hethought.Youmustkeepyourheadclear.Keepyourheadclearandknowhowtosufferlikeaman.Orafish，hethought.

“Clearup，head，”

hesaidinavoicehecouldhardlyhear.“Clearup.”

Twicemoreitwasthesameontheturns.

Idonotknow，theoldmanthought.Hehadbeenonthepointoffeelinghimselfgoeachtime.Idonotknow.ButIwilltryitoncemore.

Hetrieditoncemoreandhefelthimselfgoingwhenheturnedthefish.Thefishrightedhimselfandswamoffagainslowlywiththegreattailweavingintheair.

Illtryitagain，theoldmanpromised，althoughhishandsweremushynowandhecouldonlyseewellinflashes.

Hetrieditagainanditwasthesame.So，hethought，andhefelthimselfgoingbeforehestarted;Iwilltryitonceagain.

Hetookallhispainandwhatwasleftofhisstrengthandhislonggoneprideandheputitagainstthefishsagonyandthefishcameoverontohissideandswamgentlyonhisside，hisbillalmosttouchingtheplankingoftheskiffandstartedtopasstheboat，long，deep，wide，silverandbarredwithpurpleandinterminableinthewater.

Theoldmandroppedthelineandputhisfootonitandliftedtheharpoonashighashecouldanddroveitdownwithallhisstrength，andmorestrengthhehadjustsummoned，intothefishssidejustbehindthegreatchestfinthatrosehighintheairtothealtitudeofthemanschest.Hefelttheirongoinandheleanedonitanddroveitfurtherandthenpushedallhisweightafterit.

Thenthefishcamealive，withhisdeathinhim，androsehighoutofthewatershowingallhisgreatlengthandwidthandallhispowerandhisbeauty.Heseemedtohangintheairabovetheoldmanintheskiff.Thenhefellintothewaterwithacrashthatsentsprayovertheoldmanandoveralloftheskiff.

Theoldmanfeltfaintandsickandhecouldnotseewell.Butheclearedtheharpoonlineandletitrunslowlythroughhisrawhandsand，whenhecouldsee，hesawthefishwasonhisbackwithhissilverbellyup.Theshaftoftheharpoonwasprojectingatananglefromthefishsshoulderandtheseawasdiscoloringwiththeredofthebloodfromhisheart.Firstitwasdarkasashoalinthebluewaterthatwasmorethanamiledeep.Thenitspreadlikeacloud.Thefishwassilverandstillandfloatedwiththewaves.

Theoldmanlookedcarefullyintheglimpseofvisionthathehad.Thenhetooktwoturnsoftheharpoonlinearoundthebittinthebowandlaidhisheadonhishands.

“Keepmyheadclear，”

hesaidagainstthewoodofthebow.“Iamatiredoldman.ButIhavekilledthisfishwhichismybrotherandnowImustdotheslavework.”

NowImustpreparethenoosesandtheropetolashhimalongside，hethought.Evenifweweretwoandswampedhertoloadhimandbailedherout，thisskiffwouldneverholdhim.Imustprepareeverything，thenbringhiminandlashhimwellandstepthemastandsetsailforhome.

Hestartedtopullthefishintohavehimalongsidesothathecouldpassalinethroughhisgillsandouthismouthandmakehisheadfastalongsidethebow.Iwanttoseehim，hethought，andtotouchandtofeelhim.Heismyfortune，hethought.ButthatisnotwhyIwishtofeelhim.IthinkIfelthisheart，hethought.WhenIpushedontheharpoonshaftthesecondtime.Bringhiminnowandmakehimfastandgetthenoosearoundhistailandanotheraroundhismiddletobindhimtotheskiff.

“Gettowork，oldman，”

hesaid.Hetookaverysmalldrinkofthewater.“Thereisverymuchslaveworktobedonenowthatthefightisover.”

Helookedupattheskyandthenouttohisfish.Helookedatthesuncarefully.Itisnotmuchmorethannoon，hethought.Andthetradewindisrising.Thelinesallmeannothingnow.TheboyandIwillsplicethemwhenwearehome.

“Comeon，fish，”

hesaid.Butthefishdidnotcome.Insteadhelaytherewallowingnowintheseasandtheoldmanpulledtheskiffupontohim.

Whenhewasevenwithhimandhadthefishsheadagainstthebowhecouldnotbelievehissize.Butheuntiedtheharpoonropefromthebitt，passeditthroughthefishsgillsandouthisjaws，madeaturnaroundhisswordthenpassedtheropethroughtheothergill，madeanotherturnaroundthebillandknottedthedoubleropeandmadeitfasttothebittinthebow.Hecuttheropethenandwentasterntonoosethetail.Thefishhadturnedsilverfromhisoriginalpurpleandsilver，andthestripesshowedthesamepalevioletcolorashistail.Theywerewiderthanamanshandwithhisfingersspreadandthefishseyelookedasdetachedasthemirrorsinaperiscopeorasasaintinaprocession.

“Itwastheonlywaytokillhim，”

theoldmansaid.Hewasfeelingbettersincethewaterandheknewhewouldnotgoawayandhisheadwasclear.Hesoverfifteenhundredpoundsthewayheis，hethought.Maybemuchmore.Ifhedressesouttwo-thirdsofthatatthirtycentsapound?

“Ineedapencilforthat，”

hesaid.“Myheadisnotthatclear.ButIthinkthegreatDiMaggiowouldbeproudofmetoday.Ihadnobonespurs.Butthehandsandthebackhurttruly.”

Iwonderwhatabonespuris，hethought.Maybewehavethemwithoutknowingofit.

Hemadethefishfasttobowandsternandtothemiddlethwart.Hewassobigitwaslikelashingamuchbiggerskiffalongside.Hecutapieceoflineandtiedthefishslowerjawagainsthisbillsohismouthwouldnotopenandtheywouldsailascleanlyaspossible.Thenhesteppedthemastand，withthestickthatwashisgaffandwithhisboomrigged，thepatchedsaildrew，theboatbegantomove，andhalflyinginthesternhesailedsouthwest.