The Old Man and the Sea
THE UNLUCKY STREAK AND THE BOY'S DEVOTION
An old fisherman named Santiago had gone eighty-four days without catching a fish. He was thin and gaunt, with deep wrinkles and sun-splotches on his skin, but his eyes were the color of the sea and remained cheerful and undefeated. For the first forty days of his unlucky streak, a boy named Manolin had fished with him. However, after so much time with no catch, the boy’s parents had ordered him to join a luckier boat, and he had since caught three good fish in his first week. It pained the boy to see the old man return each day with an empty skiff, and he would always go down to help him carry his gear.
The old man's sail was patched with flour sacks and looked like the flag of permanent defeat. His shack was simple, made of palm fronds, with only a bed, a table, and a chair on the dirt floor. He had a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and one of his wife, though he had taken his wife's picture down because it made him too lonely. The boy and the old man often spoke of baseball, particularly of the great DiMaggio, whom Santiago admired as a model of endurance. Though Santiago was now poor and often hungry, he and the boy maintained a loving fiction that he had food, and Manolin would often bring him meals and bait for the next day. The boy loved the old man deeply and insisted he was the greatest fisherman, promising to fish with him again once he had made some money. They agreed that on the eighty-fifth day, Santiago would venture far out into the Gulf Stream, beyond the other fishermen, to change his luck.
GOING FAR OUT
Before dawn, the boy helped the old man with his mast and gear, bringing him coffee and fresh sardines for bait. They wished each other good luck, and Santiago rowed his skiff out of the harbor into the dark, pre-dawn water. He loved the sea and thought of it as a woman, la mar, who gave or withheld great favors. He rowed beyond the near-shore fishermen, into the deep water of the Gulf Stream where the big fish were.
He meticulously set his lines at different, precise depths, baiting the hooks carefully. He watched the birds, using them to locate fish, and observed the life of the sea around him. He felt a kinship with the flying fish and the turtles, whose hearts could beat for hours after being butchered. As the sun rose higher, one of his lines, set deepest, dipped sharply. He felt the gentle pulling and knew it was not a small fish. He let the line run, waiting patiently for the fish to swallow the hook deep. When he finally set the hook, he pulled with all his strength but could not raise the fish an inch. Instead, the great fish began to swim slowly and steadily north, towing the skiff behind it.
THE LONG BATTLE
For two days and two nights, the fish towed the skiff farther out to sea. Santiago could never see the fish, but he knew from its immense, unyielding power that it was bigger than any he had ever encountered. He held the line across his back to bear the strain, and it cut into his shoulders and hands. His left hand cramped into a claw, and he ate strips of raw tuna and bonito he caught on another line to keep up his strength. He was completely alone, with only the sea, the sky, and his unseen opponent.
Throughout the ordeal, he wished repeatedly that the boy were with him to help. He talked to himself, to the birds that rested on his boat, and to the great fish itself, which he came to respect and love as a brother. He thought of it as noble and strong, and wondered if it was a sin to kill it. To bolster his spirit, he recalled past triumphs, especially an epic, day-long arm-wrestling match he had won in his youth in Casablanca. His thoughts also drifted to his recurring dream of lions playing on the beaches of Africa, a memory from his boyhood that gave him peace. He knew he must endure the pain and exhaustion, believing that "a man can be destroyed but not defeated."
VICTORY AND THE JOURNEY HOME
On the third day, the fish finally began to tire. It started circling the skiff, and Santiago hauled in the line with his raw, bleeding hands, gaining on it with each turn. Finally, the enormous marlin surfaced, its purple back and long bill glistening in the sun. It was two feet longer than the skiff itself. Summoning his last reserve of strength, Santiago pulled the fish alongside the boat and drove his harpoon deep into its heart.
After securing the giant marlin to the side of the skiff, he raised his small sail and let the trade wind push him toward home. He was exhausted but triumphant, calculating that the fish weighed over fifteen hundred pounds and would bring a great price at the market. He felt no one was worthy to eat this noble creature, but he knew he had to get it back. The journey home, however, would prove to be another battle.
THE ONSLAUGHT
An hour after he began sailing home, the blood from the marlin attracted the first shark—a massive Mako. The shark attacked the marlin, and Santiago fought back, killing it with his harpoon. In the struggle, he lost the harpoon and the rope, along with forty pounds of the marlin’s best meat. He knew then that the fight was not over and that more would come.
Two hours later, a pair of shovel-nosed sharks, galanos, arrived. Santiago fought them with a knife he lashed to an oar, killing both, but not before they tore away a quarter of the marlin. In this fight, his knife blade snapped. He sailed on, now praying for a quick arrival but knowing it was hopeless. As dusk fell, another pair of shovel-nosed sharks came. He fought them with the club he used for small fish, beating them until the club was lost. Finally, near midnight, a pack of sharks arrived. He fought them with the skiff’s tiller, but they swarmed the carcass, stripping it of all remaining flesh. When they were gone, there was nothing left but the head, the tail, and the long, white spine. He had sailed home with only the skeleton of his great prize.
RETURN AND REDEMPTION
Santiago arrived back in the harbor before dawn, completely exhausted. He beached the skiff, leaving the massive skeleton lashed to its side. He struggled to carry the heavy mast up the hill to his shack, stumbling several times, and collapsed into his bed to sleep.
Later that morning, other fishermen gathered at the shore, amazed by the sheer size of the marlin’s skeleton, which measured eighteen feet from nose to tail. A pair of tourists at a nearby cafe saw the long backbone in the water and mistook it for a shark. Manolin found the old man in his shack, and when he saw Santiago's wounded hands, he wept. The boy brought him coffee and newspapers, tending to his wounds. He reassured the old man, telling him he had been found and that they would fish together again, luck or no luck. He would bring the luck with him. Comforted by the boy's devotion, Santiago fell back into a deep sleep, dreaming of the lions on the beach.
Concise Summary
An aging fisherman endures an epic battle with a giant marlin far out at sea, and though he loses his prize to sharks, he returns not defeated but reaffirmed in his spirit and in the loving devotion of the young boy who apprentices him.