He unstepped the mast and furled the sail and tied it. Then he shouldered the mast and started to climb.It was then he knew the depth of his tiredness.He stopped for a moment and looked back and saw in the reflection from the street light the great tail of the fish standing up well behind the skiff's stern.He saw the white naked line of his backbone and the dark mass of the head with the projecting bill and all the nakedness between.
“I'll bring the food and the papers,”the boy said.“Rest well,old man.I will bring stuff from the drugstore for your hands.”
“The ocean is very big and a skiff is small and hard to see,”the old man said.He noticed how pleasant it was to have someone to talk to instead of speaking only to himself and to the sea.“I missed you,”he said.“What did you catch?”
Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again.He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him.The old man was dreaming about the lions.
“Don't forget to tell Pedrico the head is his.”
“You keep it if you want it.”
“I'll get another knife and have the spring ground.How many days of heavy brisa have we?”
The old man took it and drank it.
“No,”the boy said.“Tell them not to bother Santiago. I'll be back.”