Read Online Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway - Free Book Online Page B

whole bodies like eels.
       The old man was sweating now but from
something else besides the sun. On each calm placid turn the fish made he was
gaining line and he was sure that in two turns more he would have a chance to
get the harpoon in.
       But I must get him close, close, close, he
thought. I mustn’t try for the head. I must get the heart.
       “Be calm and strong, old man,” he said.
       On the next circle the fish’s beck was out
but he was a little too far from the boat. On the next circle he was still too
far away but he was higher out of water and the old man was sure that by
gaining some more line he could have him alongside.
       He had rigged his harpoon long before and
its coil of light rope was in a round basket and the end was made fast to the
bitt in the bow.
       The fish was coming in on his circle now
calm and beautiful looking and only his great tail moving. The old man pulled
on him all that he could to bring him closer. For just a moment the fish turned
a little on his side. Then he straightened himself and began another circle.
       “I moved him,” the old man said. “I moved
him then.”
       He felt faint again now but he held on the
great fish all the strain that he could. I moved him, he thought. Maybe this
time I can get him over. Pull, hands, he thought. Hold up, legs. Last for me, head. Last for me. You
never went. This time I’ll pull him over.
       But when he put all of his effort on,
starting it well out before the fish came alongside and pulling with all his
strength, the fish pulled part way over and then righted himself and swam away.
       “Fish,” the old man said. “Fish, you are
going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?”
       That way nothing is accomplished, he
thought. His mouth was too dry to speak but he could not reach for the water
now. I must get him alongside this time, he thought. I am not good for many
more turns. Yes you are , he told himself. You’re good
for ever.
       On the next turn, he nearly had him. But
again the fish righted himself and swam slowly away.
       You are killing me, fish, the old man
thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more
beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you,
brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who.
       Now you are getting confused in the head, he
thought. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to
suffer like a man. Or a fish, he thought.
       “Clear up, head,” he said in a voice he could
hardly hear. “Clear up.”
       Twice more it was the same on the turns.
       I do not know, the old man thought. He had
been on the point of feeling himself go each time. I do not know. But I will
try it once more.
       He tried it once more and he felt himself
going when he turned the fish. The fish righted himself and swam off again
slowly with the great tail weaving in the air.
       I’ll try it again, the old man promised,
although his hands were mushy now and he could only see well in flashes.
       He tried it again and it was the same. So he
thought, and he felt himself going before he started; I will try it once again.
       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 and
the fish came over onto his side and swam gently on his side, his bill almost
touching the planking of the skiff and started to pass the boat, long, deep,
wide, silver and barred with purple and interminable in the water.
       The old man dropped the line and put his
foot on it and lifted the harpoon as high as he could and drove it down with
all his strength, and more strength he had just summoned, into the fish’s side
just behind the great chest fin that rose high in the air to the altitude of
the man’s chest. He felt the iron go in and he leaned on it and drove it
further and then pushed all his weight after it.
       Then the fish came alive, with his death