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第1章 The Old Mans Hard Life（第2页）

“ihavemineleftfromtoday.iputtheminsaltinthebox.”

“letmegetfourfreshones.”

“one，”theoldmansaid.hishopeandhisconfidencehadnevergone.butnowtheywerefresheningaswhenthebreezerises.

“two，”theboysaid.

“two，”theoldmanagreed.“youdidn'tstealthem?”

“iwould，”theboysaid.“butiboughtthese.”

“thankyou，”theoldmansaid.hewastoosimpletowonderwhenhehadattainedhumility.butheknewhehadattaineditandheknewitwasnotdisgracefulanditcarriednolossoftruepride.

“tomorrowisgoingtobeagooddaywiththiscurrent，”hesaid.

“whereareyougoing?”theboyasked.

“farouttocomeinwhenthewindshifts.iwanttobeoutbeforeitislight.”

“i'lltrytogethimtoworkfarout，”theboysaid.“thenifyouhooksomethingtrulybigwecancometoyouraid.”

“hedoesnotliketoworktoofarout.”

“no，”theboysaid.“butiwillseesomethingthathecannotseesuchasabirdworkingandgethimtocomeoutafterdolphin.”

“arehiseyesthatbad?”

“heisalmostblind.”

“itisstrange，”theoldmansaid.“heneverwentturtle-ing.thatiswhatkillstheeyes.”

“butyouwentturtle-ingforyearsoffthemosquitocoastandyoureyesaregood.

“iamastrangeoldman.”

“butareyoustrongenoughnowforatrulybigfish?”

“ithinkso.andtherearemanytricks.”

“letustakethestuffhome，”theboysaid.“soicangetthecastnetandgoafterthesardines.”

theypickedupthegearfromtheboat.theoldmancarriedthemastonhisshoulderandtheboycarriedthewoodenboxwiththecoiled，hard-braidedbrownlines，thegaffandtheharpoonwithitsshaft.theboxwiththebaitswasunderthesternoftheskiffalongwiththeclubthatwasusedtosubduethebigfishwhentheywerebroughtalongside.noonewouldstealfromtheoldmanbutitwasbettertotakethesailandtheheavylineshomeasthedewwasbadforthemand，thoughhewasquitesurenolocalpeoplewouldstealfromhim，theoldmanthoughtthatagaffandaharpoonwereneedlesstemptationstoleaveinaboat.

theywalkeduptheroadtogethertotheoldman'sshackandwentinthroughitsopendoor.theoldmanleanedthemastwithitswrappedsailagainstthewallandtheboyputtheboxandtheothergearbesideit.themastwasnearlyaslongastheoneroomoftheshack.theshackwasmadeofthetoughbud-shieldsoftheroyalpalmwhicharecalledguanoandinittherewasabed，atable，onechair，andaplaceonthedirtfloortocookwithcharcoal.onthebrownwallsoftheflattened，overlappingleavesofthesturdyfiberedguanotherewasapictureincolorofthesacredheartofjesusandanotherofthevirginofcobre.thesewererelicsofhiswife.oncetherehadbeenatintedphotographofhiswifeonthewallbuthehadtakenitdownbecauseitmadehimtoolonelytoseeitanditwasontheshelfinthecornerunderhiscleanshirt.

“whatdoyouhavetoeat?”theboyasked.

“apotofyellowricewithfish.doyouwantsome?”

“no，iwilleatathome.doyouwantmetomakethefire?”

“no.iwillmakeitlateron.orimayeatthericecold.”

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