“It was noon when I hooked him,”he said.“ And I have never seen him.”
The fish never changed his course nor his direction all that night as far as the man could tell from watching the stars. It was cold after the sun went down and the old man's sweat dried cold on his back and his arms and his old legs.During the day he had taken the sack that covered the bait box and spread it in the sun to dry.After the sun went down he tied it around his neck so that it hung down over his back and he cautiously worked it down under the line that was across his shoulders now.The sack cushioned the line and he had found a way of leaning forward against the bow so that he was almost comfortable.The position actually was only somewhat less intolerable;but he thought of it as almost comfortable.I can do nothing with him and he can do nothing with me,he thought.Not as long as he keeps this up.
“What a fish,”he said.“ He has it sideways in his mouth now and he is moving off with it.”
This will kill him,the old man thought.He can't do this forever.But four hours later the fish was still swimming steadily out to sea,towing the skiff,and the old man was still braced solidly with the line across his back.