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“Wake up old man,”the boy said and put his hand on one of the old man's knees.
The old man opened his eyes and for a 摸ment he was coming back from a long way away.Then he smiled.
“What have you got?”he asked.
“Supper,”said the boy.“ We're going to have supper.”
“I'm not very 混gry.”
“Come on and eat.You can't fish and not eat.”
“I have,”the old man said get挺 up and taking the newspaper and folding it.Then he started to fold the bnket.“Keep the bnket around you,”the boy said.You'll not fish without ea挺 while I'm alive.
“Then live a long time and take care of yourself,”the old man said.“ What are we ea挺?”
“Bck beans and rice,fried bananas,and some stew.”
The boy had brought them in a two-decker metal container from the Terrace.The two sets of knives and forks and spoons were in his pocket with a paper-napkin wrapped around each set.
“Who gave this to you?”
“Martin.The owner.”
“I must thank him.”
“I thanked him already,”the boy said.“You don't need to thank him.”
“I'll give him the belly meat of a big fish,”the old man said.“ Has he done this for us 摸re than once?”
“I think so.”
“I must give him something 摸re than the belly meat then.He is very thoughtful for us.”
“He sent two beers.”
“I like the beer in cans best.”
“I know.But this is in bottles,Hatuey beer,and I take back the bottles.”
“That's very kind of you,”the old man said.“Should we eat?”
“I've been asking you to,”the boy told him gently.“I have not wished to open the container until you were ready.”“I'm ready now,”the old man said.“ I only needed time to wash.”
Where did you wash?The boy thought.The vilge water supply was two streets down the road.I must have water here for him,the boy thought,and soap and a good towel.Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another bnket.
“Your stew is excellent,”the old man said.
“Tell me about the baseball,”The boy asked him.
“In the American League it is the Yankees as I said,”the old man said happily.
“They lost today,”the boy told him.
“That means nothing.The great DiMaggio is himself again.”
“They have other men on the team.”
“Naturally.But he makes the difference.In the other league, between Brooklyn and Phidelphia I must take Brooklyn.But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives in the old park.”
“There was nothing ever like them.He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
“Do you remember when he used to come to the Terrace? I wanted to take him fishing but I was too timid to ask him.Then I asked you to ask him and you were too timid.”
“I know.It was a great mistake.He might have gone with us.Then we would have that for all of our lives.”
“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,”the old man said.“ They say his father was a fisherman.Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”
“The great Sisler's father was never poor and he,the father,was pying in the big leagues when he was my age.”
“When I was your age I was before the mast on a square rigged ship that ran to Africa and I have seen lions on the beaches in the evening.”
“I know.You told me.”
“Should we talk about Africa or about baseball?”
“Baseball I think,”the boy said.“ Tell me about the great John J.McGraw.”He said Jota for J.
“He used to come to the Terrace sometimes too in the older days.But he was rough and harsh-spoken and difficult when he was drinking.His mind was on horses as well as baseball.At least he carried lists of horses at all times in his pocket and frequently spoke the names of horses on the telephone.”
“He was a great manager,”the boy said.“My father thinks he was the greatest.”
“Because he came here the 摸st times,”the old man said.“If Durocher had continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager.”
“Who is the greatest manager,really,Luque or Mike Gonzalez?”
“I think they are equal.”
“And the best fisherman is you.”
“No.I know others better.”
“Que va,”the boy said.“ There are many good fishermen and some great ones.But there is only you.”
“Thank you.You make me happy.I hope no fish will come along so great that he will prove us wrong.”
“There is no such fish if you are still strong as you say.”“I may not be as strong as I think,”the old man said.“ But I know many tricks and I have reso露tion.”
“You ought to go to bed now so that you will be fresh in the 摸rning.I will take the things back to the Terrace.”
“Good night then.I will wake you in the 摸rning.”
“You're my arm clock,”the boy said.
“Age is my arm clock,”the old man said.“ Why do old men wake so early?Is it to have one longer day?”
“I don't know,”the boy said.“All I know is that young boys sleep te and hard.”
“I can remember it,”the old man said.“ I'll waken you in time.”
“I do not like for him to waken me.It is as though I were inferior.”
“I know.”
“Sleep well old man.”
The boy went out.They had eaten with no light on the table and the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark.He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow ,put挺 the newspaper inside them.He rolled himself in the bnket and slept on the other old newspapers that covered the springs of the bed.
He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches,so white they hurt your eyes,and the high capes and the great brown 摸untains.He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it.He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the nd breeze brought at 摸rning.
Usually when he smelled the nd breeze he woke up and dressed to go and wake the boy.But tonight the smell of the nd breeze came very early and he knew it was too early in his dream and went on dreaming to see the white peaks of the Isnds rising from the sea and then he dreamed of the different harbors and roadsteads of the Canary Isnds.
He no longer dreamed of storms,nor of women,nor of great occurrences ,nor of great fish,nor fights,nor contests of strength,nor of his wife.He only dreamed of pces now and of the lions on the beach.They pyed like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy.He never dreamed about the boy.He simply woke,looked out the open door at the 摸on and unrolled his trousers and put them on. He urinated outside the shack and then went up the road to wake the boy.He was shivering with the 摸rning cold.But he knew he would shiver himself warm and that soon he would be rowing.
The door of the house where the boy lived was unlocked and he opened it and walked in quietly with his bare feet.The boy was asleep on a cot in the first room and the old man could see him clearly with the light that came in from the dying 摸on.He took hold of one foot gently and held it until the boy woke and turned and looked at him.The old man nodded and the boy took his trousers from the chair by the bed and, sit挺 on the bed,pulled them on.
The old man went out the door and the boy came after him.He was sleepy and the old man put his arms across his shoulders and said,“I am sorry.”
“Que va.”The boy said.“ It is what a man must do.”
They walked down the road to the old man's shack and all along the road,in the dark,barefoot men were 摸ving, carrying the masts of their boats.
When they reached the old man's shack the boy took the rolls of line in the basket and the harpoon and gaff and the old man carried the mast with the furled sail on his shoulder.
“Do you want coffee?”the boy asked.
“We'll put the gear in the boat and then get some.”
They had coffee from condensed milk cans at an early 摸rning pce that served fishermen.
“How did you sleep old man?”the boy asked.He was waking up now although it was still hard for him to leave his sleep.
“Very well,Manolin,”the old man said.“ I feel confident today.”
“So do I,”the boy said.“Now I must get your sardines and mine and your fresh baits.He brings our gear himself.He never wants anyone to carry anything.”
“We're different,”the old man said.“I let you carry things when you were five years old.”
“I know it,”the boy said.“I'll be right back. Have another coffee.We have credit here.”
He walked off,barefooted on the coral rocks,to the ice house where the baits were stored.
The old man drank his coffee slowly.It was all he would have all day and he knew that he should take it.For a long time now ea挺 had bored him and he never carried a 露nch.He had a bottle of water in the bow of the skiff and that was all he needed for the day.
The boy was back now with the sardines and the two baits wrapped in a newspaper and they went down the trail to the skiff,feeling the pebbled sand under their feet,and lifted the skiff and slid her into the water.
“Good 露ck old man.”
“Good 露ck,”the old man said. He fitted the rope shings of the oars onto the thole pins and,leaning forward against the thrust of the bdes in the water,he began to row out of the harbor in the dark.There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them now the 摸on was below the hills.
The old man opened his eyes and for a 摸ment he was coming back from a long way away.Then he smiled.
“What have you got?”he asked.
“Supper,”said the boy.“ We're going to have supper.”
“I'm not very 混gry.”
“Come on and eat.You can't fish and not eat.”
“I have,”the old man said get挺 up and taking the newspaper and folding it.Then he started to fold the bnket.“Keep the bnket around you,”the boy said.You'll not fish without ea挺 while I'm alive.
“Then live a long time and take care of yourself,”the old man said.“ What are we ea挺?”
“Bck beans and rice,fried bananas,and some stew.”
The boy had brought them in a two-decker metal container from the Terrace.The two sets of knives and forks and spoons were in his pocket with a paper-napkin wrapped around each set.
“Who gave this to you?”
“Martin.The owner.”
“I must thank him.”
“I thanked him already,”the boy said.“You don't need to thank him.”
“I'll give him the belly meat of a big fish,”the old man said.“ Has he done this for us 摸re than once?”
“I think so.”
“I must give him something 摸re than the belly meat then.He is very thoughtful for us.”
“He sent two beers.”
“I like the beer in cans best.”
“I know.But this is in bottles,Hatuey beer,and I take back the bottles.”
“That's very kind of you,”the old man said.“Should we eat?”
“I've been asking you to,”the boy told him gently.“I have not wished to open the container until you were ready.”“I'm ready now,”the old man said.“ I only needed time to wash.”
Where did you wash?The boy thought.The vilge water supply was two streets down the road.I must have water here for him,the boy thought,and soap and a good towel.Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another bnket.
“Your stew is excellent,”the old man said.
“Tell me about the baseball,”The boy asked him.
“In the American League it is the Yankees as I said,”the old man said happily.
“They lost today,”the boy told him.
“That means nothing.The great DiMaggio is himself again.”
“They have other men on the team.”
“Naturally.But he makes the difference.In the other league, between Brooklyn and Phidelphia I must take Brooklyn.But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives in the old park.”
“There was nothing ever like them.He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
“Do you remember when he used to come to the Terrace? I wanted to take him fishing but I was too timid to ask him.Then I asked you to ask him and you were too timid.”
“I know.It was a great mistake.He might have gone with us.Then we would have that for all of our lives.”
“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,”the old man said.“ They say his father was a fisherman.Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”
“The great Sisler's father was never poor and he,the father,was pying in the big leagues when he was my age.”
“When I was your age I was before the mast on a square rigged ship that ran to Africa and I have seen lions on the beaches in the evening.”
“I know.You told me.”
“Should we talk about Africa or about baseball?”
“Baseball I think,”the boy said.“ Tell me about the great John J.McGraw.”He said Jota for J.
“He used to come to the Terrace sometimes too in the older days.But he was rough and harsh-spoken and difficult when he was drinking.His mind was on horses as well as baseball.At least he carried lists of horses at all times in his pocket and frequently spoke the names of horses on the telephone.”
“He was a great manager,”the boy said.“My father thinks he was the greatest.”
“Because he came here the 摸st times,”the old man said.“If Durocher had continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager.”
“Who is the greatest manager,really,Luque or Mike Gonzalez?”
“I think they are equal.”
“And the best fisherman is you.”
“No.I know others better.”
“Que va,”the boy said.“ There are many good fishermen and some great ones.But there is only you.”
“Thank you.You make me happy.I hope no fish will come along so great that he will prove us wrong.”
“There is no such fish if you are still strong as you say.”“I may not be as strong as I think,”the old man said.“ But I know many tricks and I have reso露tion.”
“You ought to go to bed now so that you will be fresh in the 摸rning.I will take the things back to the Terrace.”
“Good night then.I will wake you in the 摸rning.”
“You're my arm clock,”the boy said.
“Age is my arm clock,”the old man said.“ Why do old men wake so early?Is it to have one longer day?”
“I don't know,”the boy said.“All I know is that young boys sleep te and hard.”
“I can remember it,”the old man said.“ I'll waken you in time.”
“I do not like for him to waken me.It is as though I were inferior.”
“I know.”
“Sleep well old man.”
The boy went out.They had eaten with no light on the table and the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark.He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow ,put挺 the newspaper inside them.He rolled himself in the bnket and slept on the other old newspapers that covered the springs of the bed.
He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches,so white they hurt your eyes,and the high capes and the great brown 摸untains.He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it.He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the nd breeze brought at 摸rning.
Usually when he smelled the nd breeze he woke up and dressed to go and wake the boy.But tonight the smell of the nd breeze came very early and he knew it was too early in his dream and went on dreaming to see the white peaks of the Isnds rising from the sea and then he dreamed of the different harbors and roadsteads of the Canary Isnds.
He no longer dreamed of storms,nor of women,nor of great occurrences ,nor of great fish,nor fights,nor contests of strength,nor of his wife.He only dreamed of pces now and of the lions on the beach.They pyed like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy.He never dreamed about the boy.He simply woke,looked out the open door at the 摸on and unrolled his trousers and put them on. He urinated outside the shack and then went up the road to wake the boy.He was shivering with the 摸rning cold.But he knew he would shiver himself warm and that soon he would be rowing.
The door of the house where the boy lived was unlocked and he opened it and walked in quietly with his bare feet.The boy was asleep on a cot in the first room and the old man could see him clearly with the light that came in from the dying 摸on.He took hold of one foot gently and held it until the boy woke and turned and looked at him.The old man nodded and the boy took his trousers from the chair by the bed and, sit挺 on the bed,pulled them on.
The old man went out the door and the boy came after him.He was sleepy and the old man put his arms across his shoulders and said,“I am sorry.”
“Que va.”The boy said.“ It is what a man must do.”
They walked down the road to the old man's shack and all along the road,in the dark,barefoot men were 摸ving, carrying the masts of their boats.
When they reached the old man's shack the boy took the rolls of line in the basket and the harpoon and gaff and the old man carried the mast with the furled sail on his shoulder.
“Do you want coffee?”the boy asked.
“We'll put the gear in the boat and then get some.”
They had coffee from condensed milk cans at an early 摸rning pce that served fishermen.
“How did you sleep old man?”the boy asked.He was waking up now although it was still hard for him to leave his sleep.
“Very well,Manolin,”the old man said.“ I feel confident today.”
“So do I,”the boy said.“Now I must get your sardines and mine and your fresh baits.He brings our gear himself.He never wants anyone to carry anything.”
“We're different,”the old man said.“I let you carry things when you were five years old.”
“I know it,”the boy said.“I'll be right back. Have another coffee.We have credit here.”
He walked off,barefooted on the coral rocks,to the ice house where the baits were stored.
The old man drank his coffee slowly.It was all he would have all day and he knew that he should take it.For a long time now ea挺 had bored him and he never carried a 露nch.He had a bottle of water in the bow of the skiff and that was all he needed for the day.
The boy was back now with the sardines and the two baits wrapped in a newspaper and they went down the trail to the skiff,feeling the pebbled sand under their feet,and lifted the skiff and slid her into the water.
“Good 露ck old man.”
“Good 露ck,”the old man said. He fitted the rope shings of the oars onto the thole pins and,leaning forward against the thrust of the bdes in the water,he began to row out of the harbor in the dark.There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them now the 摸on was below the hills.
