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The old man and the sea summary detailed. Foreign literature abbreviated. All works of the school curriculum in a summary. The main characters of the story

The old man fished alone in his boat in the Gulf Stream. For eighty-four days he had been returning without fish. For the first forty days, a boy went to sea with him, but then his parents told him to go out in another boat, fishermen, because Santiago (that was the name of the old fisherman) was already a complete loser. And the boy felt sorry for the old man, he came ashore and helped him with a bow hook, harpoon or sail. “The sail was patched with burlap and, rolled up, looks like the flag of a shattered regiment.”

The old man himself was thin, emaciated, with dark spots from the "harmless skin cancer" that is caused by the sun's rays. There were scars on his arms from a vein that had cut his skin when he was dragging large fish. But those scars were old, "like cracks in a waterless desert." Everything about him was old, except for the eyes, which were the color of the sea, "the cheerful eyes of a man who does not give up."

When the two of them walked from the shore, the boy said that he could go to sea again with the old one, because he had already earned some money. The old man taught the little one to fish, and the boy loved the old man. He believed that Tom would still be lucky, but for now he offered to treat him to beer. The old man agreed. “Well,” he replied. "If a fisherman wants to treat a fisherman..." They sat down at a small restaurant frequented by fishermen. Some of the young people laughed at the old man, but he was not offended. The older fishermen looked at him sadly, but they did not make themselves aware of this and talked to him as usual. The boy asked permission to help the old one catch sardines, but he refused: let the little one play baseball better, and he can also hold the oars himself. They remembered how the guy first went to sea with the old one and how he almost died when big fish, which was caught by Santiago, almost crashed the boat. The boy remembered everything.

The old man looked trustingly at the little one and said that if he were his son, he would now take him to the sea, but the guy has parents, besides, Manolin (that was the name of the boy) seems to have got on a happy boat. The guy said he knew where to get four cuttings. The old man asked if the young man did not intend to steal the cuttings. If it were necessary, the guy answered, he would have stolen, but he bought these. Together they came to the hut of the old one, made of palm leaves. In this poor house there was only a table and a chair, and in the middle of the hut a hole was made in the floor for cooking. The walls were once decorated with a photograph of the old wife, but after her death he hid the photograph, because it was very sad to look at it. The guy asked what the old man had for dinner. He replied that there is a bowl of yellow rice with fish. The guy offered to light a fire, but the old man refused, assuring that he would eat cold. Then the guy asked for a sardine net, and the old one let me take it. Both the guy and the old man knew well: that net had been sold long ago, but every day they pretended that it was there. There wasn't even a bowl of rice and fish, and the guy knew that. The old man was sure: eighty-five - lucky number and tomorrow he might catch a thousand pounds worth of fish. The boy promised to borrow a net somewhere and catch sardines, while the old man, in the meantime, let him rest in the sun. The old man agreed, sat down on a chair to read the newspaper, then to tell the kid what they write about baseball. The guy was not sure there is also a newspaper, it is also just an invention of the old. But the old man took out a piece of newspaper from under the bed, explained that it was a gift from a friend. The old man would like to buy a lottery ticket with the number 85, because tomorrow is the eighty-fifth day since he did not catch a single fish. The only pity is that there is no money for it. The kid offered to lend money. But the old man said that he was trying not to borrow: because at first you were borguish, and then you were old. Manolin went to catch sardines for himself and the old one. When he returned, he was asleep, sitting on a chair. The guy wrapped the blanket around the old man's shoulders without waking him up and left. When he returned the second time, the old man was asleep. The guy touched his knee. The old man woke up. The guy brought food from the restaurant. The old man assured that he was not so hungry, but the little one objected: you can’t fish without eating anything. And while he, Manolin, is alive, this will not happen, the guy was given food by the owner of the Terrace restaurant. The old man noticed that therefore it was necessary to thank him, because it was not the first time he helped out, and the boy replied that he had already thanked him, let the old man not worry. The old man promised to give the owner of the restaurant the best part of the fish he caught. Then they talked about sports news, baseball scores, great players like DiMaggio. The tired old man went to bed, he saw Africa from the time of his youth. “He no longer dreams of storms, or women, or outstanding events, or large fish, or fights, or competitions in strength, or a wife. He only dreamed of distant lands and the cubs that came ashore. Like kittens, they frolicked in the twilight, and he loved them as much as he loved the boy. But the boy never dreamed of him. The next morning, before dawn, the old man, as always, woke up the guy. And already walking next to the old one, the guy could not wake up. The old man hugged him by the shoulders to him, asked for forgiveness. He replied that such was their male fate. Together they brought a sail to prepare the boat. Then they drank coffee. The boy asked how the old man slept. He replied that it was good, because he believed that this time he would be lucky. The fellow brought sardines and cuttings from the refrigerator. They wished each other fishing happiness.

One by one, the boats went out to sea, “The old one decided in advance that he would go far from the coast; he left behind the fragrance of the earth and now reigned in the fresh morning breath of the ocean." Vel loved this charming sea world, each of its inhabitants was well known to the old fisherman, each evoked certain feelings. “The old man thought of the sea as a woman who gives or refuses mercy, and if she allows herself unkind or ill-considered deeds, what can you do, this already has nature.” The sun had not yet risen, he put the bait on the hook and set the boat adrift. The old man, as always, clearly knew at what depth his bait was now. He never allowed himself to let his bait hook float with the current, his ropes dived almost straight into the depths of the ocean. The old man did not feel guilty that the fish were not caught. He was just unlucky. He watched the sea, and it was like an open book to him. There is a bird circling over the water, probably some kind of fish there. The old man directed the boat there. A few minutes later, a flying fish rose above the water. The old man knew that it was the golden mackerel that made the fish come up. In the air, a flying fish was hunted by a bird. But the old man knew that such a bird is not afraid of this fish, but it is unlikely to run away from mackerel. He also understood that he could not catch the mackerel this time, he was swimming too fast. The old man thought that perhaps his big fish was somewhere nearby. Clouds and sun foretell good weather. He noticed the Portuguese physaliy, that with their poisonous tentacles they caused great trouble to the fishermen: their poison acted instantly, their hands became covered with ulcers when these creatures had to be taken out of fishing gear. The old man liked to watch the sea turtles willingly eat physalium. He loved green tortoises, did not feel before them, like others, superstitious fear because their heart lives long after the tortoise is cut into pieces. He thought he had the same heart, and his arms and legs looked like turtle paws. The old man again saw the bird and again directed the boat to where his assistant was circling. This time the old man was lucky to catch the tuna. The old man said loudly that this would be good bait. He didn't notice when he started talking to himself. Probably when he was left without a boyfriend. At sea they spoke little, for here it is not good to talk unnecessarily. The old man always respected this custom. But now his voiced thoughts did not bother anyone. The old man thought that he could go with the flow and get some sleep, but this is the eighty-fifth day and you have to be on your guard. It was at that moment that he felt the fish take the bait. Now he gave all his attention to the fish that grabbed the hook.

Thus began a long and exhausting duel of the old and huge fish. He knew well when to pull tackle, when to let it go. First, he let the fish eat and cling well to the hooks. He wanted to look at the fish in order to know with whom he was dealing, for he knew well the "characters" of all the inhabitants of the sea. But the fish didn't show up. She dragged the boat out to sea. The old man felt how he now needed help, and regretted that the guy was not around. The fish pulled his boat further and further, and he thought what would happen, as the fish would suddenly try to go into the depths. With all his strength, he held the rope and watched it go obliquely under the water. “Well, the fish can’t lead him forever, he must die someday. And four hours passed, and the fish still incessantly dragged him further into the sea, and he still did not see her.

The old man knew that the fish had pulled the boat far to the northwest. And he hoped that it could not last so long: the fish would get tired, die, then it would be possible to pull it up to the boat. So that she does not drag to the bottom. A few more hours passed. The fish stubbornly pulled the boat and never jumped out of the water.

The night has passed. The fish pulled the boat without changing direction. The old man was tired, but he firmly held the vein, which he threw over his shoulder onto his back. In the afternoon, he pulled out the bag where the trap was, and spread it out to dry. Now he managed to tie that bag around his neck to keep warm. And the rope didn't hurt my shoulder so much anymore. He was now in the ocean himself and thought, "I can't do anything to that fish, but it can't do anything to me either." The lights of Havana went out. Now they were moving more slowly. And again the old man regretted that the boy was far away, he would have seen it himself and would have helped.

He knew that in old age a person should not be alone, and he understood that this would inevitably happen to him. The old man reminded himself that he needed to eat tuna at dawn, because his strength would leave him, and this should not be allowed. He thought about fish. Who knows how many years she lived in the world. The old man sometimes felt sorry for her. He had never come across such a big, such a smart and strong fish, he mentally talked to her. "I won't leave you until I die," the old man promised her.

The sun was up, and the boat was also pulling forward. The old one wanted the fish to go with the flow: this would be evidence that she was tired. But the sun had already risen high, and the fish did not think to get tired. A small bird flew in from the north. The old man saw how tired she was. He felt sorry for this little bird that had decided to fly across the ocean. He talked to her like a person, asked her how old she was, invited her to sit on the vein, which they pulled together with the fish.

Suddenly the fish huffed and the old man fell. The fish would have pulled him into the sea if the old man hadn't let go of the line. He felt blood running down his arm as a vein cut through the skin.

More time has passed. The old man felt that the fish was tired: it was not pulling the boats so fast anymore. But the old one was completely exhausted. He no longer felt his left hand, in which he held the fishing line all night. He ordered himself to eat raw tuna. Suddenly, the vein stopped cutting into the old man's hand: the fish rose to the surface, and he saw it for the first time. The fish burned in the sun, the head and back were dark purple, and instead of a nose, a sword as long as a baseball bat. It was considerably longer than his boat. Jumping out for a moment, the fish again dived into the abyss of the ocean. She pulled the boat behind her, and the old man could hardly hold his vein: he had no right to let the fish go. “In his lifetime he met a lot of big fish. He saw many fish that weighed more than a thousand pounds, and he himself caught two such fish in his time, but he never did it alone.

Having no other support, the old one read "Our Father" and "Theotokos" ten times, although he admitted that he did not believe in God. He told himself he was feeling better and the pain in his arm didn't go away. The old man did not know how much strength the fish had left, but he understood that his own must be protected. He must prove to the fish what a person is capable of, what she can withstand. “Though perhaps this is unfair,” thought the old man. But he told the boy that he was an unusual old man. “And he proved it a thousand times. And what of that? Now we have to prove again. Each time the count started over; so when he did something, he never remembered the past.” The old man said to the fish: “Ribot, I love and respect you very much. And I will kill you before the evening comes." And he also thought: "If you're lucky."

The sun was setting. The old man felt that there was almost no strength left in him. He remembered how he had once measured his strength with a mighty negro, the strongest man in the port; how they sat at the table in the tavern for a whole day, not letting go of the enemy’s hand from their hand, how in the end the old one won. He took part in such competitions many times, but left this occupation, because he needs the right hand for fishing. Several times he tried to fight with his left hand, but he always cheated, he did not have confidence in her. Now he held the fishing line with his right hand, knowing that there was still enough strength in it, and when it was gone, his left hand would replace it. An airplane flew overhead. Its shadow frightened the flying fish. The old man was interested in how the sea looks from above, probably from there you can see his fish if you fly low. A mackerel was caught on a small fishing rod. Now the old man had enough food for the night and the next day. The first stars came down. He met them as distant friends. The fish was also his friend, but he had to kill her. There's a lot I don't understand, he thought, but it's good that we don't have to kill the sun, moon, and stars. It is enough that we demand food from the sea and kill our brothers.”

The old man knew that he needed to sleep and eat, although he did not feel the need to do so. The head was clear, and eating raw mackerel without salt was not very pleasant, but it had to be done, because an exhausting struggle lay ahead. He rested for at least two hours, but did not sleep, all the while feeling the weight of the fish on his back. He could not tie the line to the boat, because then, by twitching, the fish could interrupt it. He was always ready to back off a bit if the fish started to twitch. Then carefully, trying not to disturb the fish, he moved to the stern of the boat. Gutted mackerel. In her stomach I found two hard and fresh flying fish. He trimmed the meat from the mackerel, added flying fish to it, and again moved his nose to all fours. He reproached himself for not having foreseen a lot of things. If he had been pouring water from the sea on the prow of the boat all day and letting it dry, he would now have salt. He forced himself to eat raw mackerel. Then the old man squeezed the vein with his right hand and leaned on it with his whole body. Then he grabbed her behind her left. He decided that this way he could sleep: if his right hand cracked and released a vein, his left would wake him up when he felt the vein run away into the sea. He leaned against the board, transferred the weight to his right hand and fell asleep. First he dreamed of porpoises, then his shack in the village. And only then did he dream about how he was standing at the side of a large ship and looking at the African coast, which lions proudly walk. In the dream the old man was happy.

He woke up from a sharp jerk, a hand hit him in the face, and a vein quickly ran into the water. His palm was on fire; driftwood was erected on his left hand, he could not immediately find a vein in it. Finally he was lucky, and the old one, throwing the vein behind his back, grabbed it with his left hand. He was attracted right up to the bow of the boat, and his face was pressed against a piece of mackerel, but he could not even move. The fish jumped in the water. He knew in advance that it would be so, although now he could not see those jumps. The fishing line cut his hands, he tried only to substitute the callused parts. If there was a guy nearby, he would wet the vein with water, the old man thought. The fish stopped jumping and pulled the boats again. Now the old man could hold the line with his left hand. With his right hand, he scooped up water and washed his face from the remnants of mackerel meat.

The sun was rising for the third time since he went out to sea, and only now the fish began to move around. The old man had been waiting for this for a long time. He firmly held the vein and each time pulled the fish closer to the boat. Finally, the fish, having made several turns, came to the surface. She then approached the boat, then left again. From fatigue, thoughts were confused in the old man's head. He again turned to the fish and said: "You will die anyway, why do you need me to die."

He gathered all his will, the remnants of strength and pride, and "threw it all against the torment experienced by the fish, and then she turned over on her side and quietly swam beside her, almost touching the boat with her sword." The old man took the harpoon and with all his strength plunged it into the side of the fish. He felt the metal blade plunge into the living body of the fish and move on. From the effort of the old one, he felt sick, his head was confused, but he "won this fight, now there was a dirty job." He tied the fish to the boat and sent it to the shore. He had the right to be proud of himself: the fish weighed at least fifteen hundred pounds, each of which he would sell for thirty cents a pound. He thought that even the famous baseball player, DiMaggio, his and Manolin's favorite, would be proud of the old one. He thought what a man was capable of. It does not matter that the hand did not feel pain, that he was extremely exhausted, but he defeated the fish. Tying her to the boat, the old one ruled to the shore, wondering who was actually carrying whom. And ahead of him were waiting for new tests.

Within an hour, the first shark appeared, which, smelling blood, began to pursue the boat. She came very close and rushed to the fish. The old man, having gathered the last of his strength, hit her with a harpoon. The shark tore off a huge piece of fish and went to the bottom, dragging a harpoon with it. The old man decided not to give up, although he understood that now there would be no peace from the sharks. “But man is not made to fail. Man can be destroyed, but not defeated.

He forced himself to think of something good, like something steadily moving towards the shore. The old one ate raw fish, cutting off the shark's teeth from the part where the fish was shredded. Suddenly, he noticed two sharks that swam predatory and confidently in the boat. The distance between them and the boat was steadily shrinking. The old man took the oar, tied it with something, because he had already lost the harpoon, and prepared to meet the predators. One of the sharks swam under the boat and began to shred the fish from below, the second clung to the same side as the previous one. The old man rushed at her with a knife tied to an oar. Only when he hit the shark's eye, and released the fish and went to the bottom. But the second shark was still eating his fish, and he didn't even see it. The old man set the sail and turned the boat around, making the shark appear above the water. Seeing her, he tried to plunge the knife into her back, but did not penetrate the thick skin. Then he raised the oar again and hit in the eye. The shark hung on the fish. The old man flipped the oar over and plunged it into the shark's mouth, pulling it off his fish. He couldn't think how much meat the sharks had eaten, and he knew how wide blood trail leaves the fish in the water. Now the sharks will not give him rest. The next shark came by itself. The old man waited until she clings to the fish, and hit with a knife. The blade could not stand it and broke, although he killed this shark too. The old one had only oars, a hook and a club. He knew that he could not kill a shark with a club: he was too old. He asked the fish for forgiveness for having had to kill her, and reproached himself for having gone so far into the sea.

At sunset, two more sharks attacked. The old man beat them with a truncheon, and although he did not kill them, he drove them away. He tried not to look at his fish, because only half remained there. He couldn't talk to her now; remembered the people, the boy, who, apparently, was worried. I thought that both old fishermen and young ones are also worried: “I live among good people". The old man talked about the fact that happiness comes to a person in any form, so do you always recognize him? He now needed very little to be happy: he was waiting for the lights of Havana to appear. About ten he saw those lights and knew that he would soon enter the Gulf Stream. The old man did not want to fight at all, and at midnight the sharks attacked again.

Now the old man knew that fighting was useless. “They attacked in a whole pack, and I saw only the stripes on the water that their fins drew, and the flicker when they rushed to tear the fish. He hit their heads and heard their jaws slap, the boat twitching as they snatch the fish from below. He beat with a club that invisible, he could only hear and feel, and suddenly something took away the club, and the club was gone. Then he pulled the tiller out of the stubble, grabbed it with both hands and again rushed at the sharks. But they came back and ate the fish until there was nothing left. Then they backed off. The old man could hardly catch his breath and felt the taste of blood in his mouth, he was even frightened. And soon it was all gone. He hawked into the ocean and said to the sharks: eat this one too and imagine that you have eaten a man. The old man put in the tiller and steered the boat towards the shore. On a rope, he pulled only the skeleton of a beautiful fish. At night, sharks attacked that skeleton, but he paid no attention to them. Now he only dreamed of getting to bed, because a bed for a tired person is a great blessing.

When the old man returned, everyone in the village was already asleep. There was no one to help him.

He himself took off and rolled up the sail, piled it on his shoulders and climbed up the steep slope to the village. On the way he fell, but got up and, stopping several times to rest, reached his hut. He set sail, drank some water and lay down on his bed, made only with old newspapers, covered himself with a blanket and turned his palms up. He was asleep when the boy came in the morning. A strong wind was blowing, and not a single boat went out to sea. The boy was convinced that the old one was breathing, then he saw his hands and began to cry. He went out to get some old coffee and cried all the way to the restaurant. Fishermen gathered near the old boat, looking at what was tied to it. The boy did not go down there, because he had already seen that skeleton, and one fisherman promised to follow the old boat. Seeing the little one, someone asked how the old one was. He replied that he was sleeping and asked not to disturb the old man. The boy didn't care that the fishermen saw him crying. At the restaurant he asked for coffee with milk and sugar. The owner suggested that he take something else. But the guy refused: you need to know that you can eat old. He returned to the old one and waited for it to wake up. When the old man woke up, the first thing he said was: "They defeated me, Manolina." Small consoled: after all, he won a victory over the fish. From now on, the boy promised, they would go to sea together. The old man was sure that he would not be lucky again. And the boy is indifferent: he himself will bring the old happiness: "... I still have a lot to learn from you, and you can teach me everything in the world." The old man asked to bring newspapers for the days when he was at sea, to give his fish head to the fishermen for bait. As the boy descended the rocky path, he began to cry again.

That day, a group of tourists arrived at the Terrace. Seeing the skeleton, one of them asked what it was. The waiter answered: sharks, and wanted to explain what a tragedy had happened here. But the tourist did not listen, and turning to her companion, she said: “I never knew that sharks have such beautiful tails.”

The old man was sleeping in his shack at that time. His dream was guarded by a boy, "the old man dreamed of lions."

The story "The Old Man and the Sea" was first published in 1952. On our website you can read summary"The Old Man and the Sea". The work tells about an episode from the life of an old Cuban fisherman who fought on the high seas with a huge marlin, which became his biggest prey in life.

The main characters of the story

Main characters:

Old Santiago is a fisherman who knows the sea very well. His "eyes were the color of the sea, the cheerful eyes of a man who does not give up."
The boy Manolin is a young fisherman whom Santiago taught to fish; He loved the old man very much, took care of him.

Very briefly "The Old Man and the Sea"

The Old Man and the Sea Hemingway for a reader's diary.

Old Santiago lives in a small fishing village in Cuba and fishes all by himself. The last time he spent 84 days at sea, he did not catch anything. Previously, the boy Manolin, who helped the old man a lot, fished with him, but the boy's parents decided that Santiago was unlucky, and ordered his son to go to sea on another boat.

The boy loves Santiago, he buys him sardines for bait, brings food to his hut. The old man had long since come to terms with his poverty. At night, the old man dreams of the Africa of his youth, and "the lions coming ashore."

The next day, early in the morning, the old man goes fishing. The boy helps him pull down the sail, prepare the boat. The old man says that this time he "believes in luck". Having put the bait on the hooks, Santiago slowly swims with the flow, mentally communicating with birds and fish. Accustomed to loneliness, the old man talks aloud to himself.

First, Santiago catches a small tuna. Soon the old man notices a slight tremor of a flexible green rod, which replaces his fishing rod. The fishing line goes down, and the old man feels the enormous weight of the pecking fish.

The old man tries to pull up a thick fishing line, but he fails - a large and strong fish pulls a light boat behind him. The old man regrets that the boy is not with him - he could take the bait from other rods while Santiago fights with the fish.

It takes about four hours. Evening is coming. The old man's hands are cut, he throws the fishing line on his back and puts a bag under it. Now Santiago can lean against the side of the boat and get some rest.

Night. The fish pulls the boat farther from the shore. The old man is tired, but the thought of the fish does not leave him for a second. The old man's strength is running out, and the fish is not going to get tired. At dawn, Santiago eats tuna - he has no other food. The old man's left hand cramps.

Another day passes. The battle with the fish continues. Santiago holds the forest with his right hand, knowing that when his strength runs out, he will be replaced by his left, the cramp in which has long since passed. At night, the fish comes to the surface and begins to walk in circles, then approaches the boat, then moves away from it. This is a sign that the fish is tired. Santiago gathers the last of his strength and plunges the harpoon into the side of the fish.

An hour passes before the first shark is shown, having come to the smell of blood. She approaches the stern and begins to tear the fish with her teeth. The old man hits her with a harpoon in the most vulnerable spot on the skull. She sinks to the bottom, taking with her a harpoon, part of the rope and a huge piece of fish. Santiago kills two more sharks with a knife tied to an oar. These sharks take at least a quarter of the fish with them. On the fourth shark, the knife breaks, and the old man takes out a strong club.

He knew that every shark push against the boat meant a piece of torn meat and that the fish now left a trail in the sea as wide as a highway and accessible to all sharks in the world.

The next group of sharks attacks the boat before sunset. The old man drives them away with club blows on the heads, but at night they return. Santiago fights the predators first with a club, then with a sharp fragment of the tiller. Finally, the sharks swim away: they have nothing else to eat.

The old man enters the bay at his hut in the dead of night. Taking off the mast and tying the sail, he wanders to the house, feeling incredibly tired. For a moment, the old man turns around and sees behind the stern of his boat a huge tail of a fish and a reflection of a white ridge.

In the morning, fishermen look with amazement at the remains of a giant fish. And the old man is sleeping at this time, and he dreams of lions.

This is interesting: The science fiction novel "Amphibian Man" by V. Belyaev, written in 1927, immediately gained great popularity. We recommend reading chapter by chapter. The love drama of the main characters, extraordinary characters, betrayal and nobility, incredible adventures - all this allowed the book to rightfully become one of the most beloved and read in the twentieth century.

Hemingway "The Old Man and the Sea" retelling

“The old man was fishing all alone in his boat in the Gulf Stream. For eighty-four days now he has gone to sea and has not caught a single fish.”

This is the backstory of events that unfold in a small fishing village in Cuba. Main character- old man Santiago - "thin, emaciated, deep wrinkles cut through the back of his head, and his cheeks were covered with brown spots of harmless skin cancer, which is caused by the sun's rays reflected by the surface of the tropical sea."

He taught the boy Manolin to fish. The boy loves the old man, wants to help him. He is ready to catch him a sardine as a bait for his tomorrow's sailing. They go up to the poor hut of Santiago, built from the leaves of the royal palm. In the hut there is a table, a chair, in the earthen floor there is a recess for cooking.

The old man is lonely and poor: his meal is a bowl of yellow rice with fish. They talk to the boy about fishing, how lucky the old man is, the latest sports news, baseball scores, and famous players like DiMaggio. When the old man goes to bed, he dreams of the Africa of his youth, “its long golden coasts and shallows, high cliffs and huge white mountains. He no longer dreams of fights, women, or great events. But often distant lands and lions come ashore in his dreams.

The next day, early in the morning, the old man goes fishing. The boy helps him pull down the sail, prepare the boat. The old man says that this time he "believes in luck". One by one, fishing boats leave the shore and go to sea. The old man loves the sea, he thinks of it with tenderness, as of a woman. Having put the bait on the hooks, it slowly swims with the flow.

Mentally communicates with birds, with fish. Accustomed to loneliness, he talks aloud to himself. He knows the different inhabitants of the ocean, their habits, he has his own tender attitude towards them. The old man is sensitive to what is happening in the depths. One of the rods trembled. The fishing line goes down, the old man feels a huge heaviness, which entails it.

A dramatic many-hour duel between Santiago and a huge fish unfolds. The old man tries to pull up the line, but it doesn't work. On the contrary, she pulls, as if in tow, the boat behind her. The old man regrets that the boy is not with him. But it's good that the fish pulls to the side, and not down to the bottom. It takes about four hours. Noon approaches. This cannot go on forever, the old man thinks, soon the fish will die and then it will be possible to pull it up. But the fish is alive.

Night. The fish pulls the boat farther from the shore. The lights of Havana are fading in the distance. The old man is tired, he tightly grips the rope thrown over his shoulder. The thought of the fish never leaves him for a second. Sometimes he feels sorry for her. “Well, isn’t this fish a miracle, God alone knows how many years it has lived in the world. Never before have I come across such a strong fish. And just think how strange she is acting. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t jump, because she’s very smart.” Mentally talking to the fish. "I won't leave you until I die." The fish begins to pull not so powerfully, it has clearly weakened.

But the old man's strength is running out. His hand is numb. Finally, the forest began to go up, and fish are shown on the surface. She burns in the sun, her head and back are dark purple, and instead of a nose she has a sword as long as a baseball bat. It is two feet longer than the boat. Appearing on the surface, she begins to go into the depths again, pulling the boat behind her, and the old man has to mobilize all his strength to prevent her from breaking loose.

Not believing in God, he reads "Our Father". “Though it is unfair, but I will prove to her what a person is capable of and what he can endure.” Another day passes. To distract himself, the old man reminisces about baseball games. He remembers how once in a Casablanca tavern he measured his strength with a mighty black man, the strongest man in the port, how they sat at the table for a whole day, not lowering their hands, and how he eventually prevailed. He participated in such fights more than once, won, but then gave up this business, deciding that he needed his right hand for fishing.

The battle with the fish continues. He holds the forest with his right hand, knowing that when the strength runs out, it will be replaced by the left. The fish comes to the surface, then approaches the boat, then moves away from it. The old man is preparing a harpoon to finish off the fish. But she steps aside. From fatigue, thoughts are confused in the head of the old man. “Listen, fish,” he tells her. - After all, you still die. Why do you want me to die too.”

The last act of the duel. “He gathered all his pain, and all the rest of his strength, and all his long-lost pride, and threw it all against the torment that the fish endured, and then it turned over and quietly swam on its side ...”. Raising the harpoon, he thrusts it with all his might into the side of the fish. He feels how the iron enters into her flesh, and pushes him deeper and deeper ... He is overcome by nausea and weakness, his head is foggy, but he still pulls the fish to the side. Tie the fish to the boat and start moving towards the shore.

Mentally calculates: the fish weighs at least fifteen hundred pounds, which can be sold for thirty cents a pound. "I think that the great DiMaggio could be proud of me today." The direction of the wind tells him which way to swim to get home. An hour passes before the first shark shows up. Smelling the smell of blood, she rushes after the boat and the fish tied to it. She approached the stern, dug into the fish, began to tear it apart. The old man hit her with a harpoon. She sinks to the bottom, taking with her a harpoon, part of the rope and a huge piece of fish. “Man is not made to fail. Man can be destroyed, but not defeated.

Served with a piece of fish. Notices the fins of a whole flock of sharks. They are approaching at great speed. The old man meets them by raising an oar with a knife tied to it. Sharks pounce on fish. The old man joins them in battle. One of the sharks is killed. Finally the sharks left. They had nothing to eat. When he entered the bay, everyone was asleep. As he unmasted and lashed the sail, he felt tired. Behind the stern of his boat rose a huge fish tail. All that was left of her was a skeleton.

On the shore, the boy meets a tired, crying old man. He reassures Santiago, assures that from now on they will fish together, because he still has a lot to learn. He believes that he will bring good luck to the old man. The next morning rich tourists come to the shore. They are surprised to notice a long white spine with a huge tail. The waiter tries to explain to them, but they are very far from understanding the drama that happened here.

This is interesting: The story "The Bronze Bird" by Rybakov was written in 1956 and became the second book in the author's trilogy ("Dagger", "Shot"). To get acquainted with the plot of the fascinating work of the master of "teenage" prose will help for the reader's diary.

The old man was fishing alone in the Gulf Stream. For 84 days he did not catch a single fish. The first 40 days he had a boy with him. But the boy's parents, deciding that the old man now " unlucky”, told Manolin to go to the sea in another boat -“ happy». « The old man was thin and emaciated, deep wrinkles cut through the back of his head.”, and cheeks are covered with patches of harmless skin cancer caused by the sun. There were old string scars on his arms.

Once a boy and an old man were sitting on the terrace and drinking beer. The boy remembered how he caught his first fish at the age of 5 - he remembered everything from the very first day when the old man took him to the sea. Santiago shared that he would go to sea before dawn tomorrow.

The old man lived very poorly in a hut made of royal palm leaves. The boy brought Santiago dinner - he did not want the old man to fish without eating. After supper the old man went to bed. " He dreamed of the Africa of his youth", her smell, brought from the shore," distant lands and lion cubs coming ashore».

Early in the morning, after drinking coffee with the boy, Santiago went to sea. " The old man decided in advance that he would go far from the shore». « Mentally, he always called the sea la mar, as the people who love him call him in Spanish.». « The old man constantly thought of the sea as a woman". Santiago decided to try his luck there today, " where flocks of bonito and albacore go". He cast the hooks with the bait and slowly swam downstream. Soon the old man caught a tuna and threw it under the stern deck, concluding that it would be good bait.

Suddenly, one of the rods trembled and bent down to the water - the old man realized that the marlin had been baited. After waiting a little, he began to pull the line. However, the fish turned out to be too big and dragged the boat behind it in tow. "FROM Soon she will die, thought the old man. - She can't swim forever". But after 4 hours, the fish still went to sea, and the old man was still standing, holding the stretched line. He carefully sat down on the mast, resting and trying to conserve his strength.

It got colder after sunset, and the old man threw a sack over his back. The lights of Havana began to fade, from which Santiago concluded that they were moving further and further east. The old man regretted that the boy was not with him. " It is impossible for a person to remain alone in old age, he thought. - However, it is inevitable.».

The old man thought about how much money this big fish would bring him if it had tasty meat. Before sunrise, he pecked at one of the baits behind his back. To prevent another fish from plucking a big one for him, he cut the line. The old man again regretted that the boy was not with him: You can only count on yourself". At some point, the fish pulled hard, he fell down and cut his cheek. At dawn, the old man noticed that the fish was heading north. It was impossible to pull the forest - from a jerk, the wound could expand and " if the fish comes up, the hook can break out completely».

The fish suddenly rushed and knocked the old man down. When he felt the forest, he saw that blood was flowing from his hand. Moving the line to his left shoulder, he washed away the blood - the abrasion was just on the part of the arm that he needed for work. This upset him. The old man cleaned the tuna he caught yesterday and began to chew. His left hand was completely cramped. " I hate it when my arm hurts, he thought. - Own body - and such a catch!».

Suddenly, the old man felt that the draft had weakened, the scaffolding slowly went up and fish began to appear on the surface of the water. " Her whole body burned in the sun, her head and back were dark purple.<…>Instead of a nose, she had a sword as long as a baseball stick and sharp at the end as a rapier.". The fish was two feet longer than the boat. old man saw many fish weighing more than a thousand pounds, and he himself caught two such fish in his time, but never before had he had to do it alone».

Although the old man did not believe in God, in order to catch this fish, he decided to read “Our Father” ten times and the same number of times “Virgin Mary”. The sun was setting and the fish were swimming.

The old man caught a mackerel - now he has enough food for the whole night and another day. The pain that the rope caused him turned into a dull ache. He could not tie the string to the boat - so that it would not break from the jerk of the fish, he had to constantly weaken the traction with his own body. The old man decided to sleep a little, taking the wood with both hands. He dreamed of a huge flock of porpoises, and then a yellow shoal and lions coming out on it. He woke up from a jerk - the forest was rapidly leaving for the sea. The fish began to jump, the boat rushed forward. The fish went with the flow. The old man regretted that his left hand was weaker than his right.

« The sun was rising for the third time since he went out to sea, and then the fish began to circle". The old man began to pull the line towards himself. Two hours passed, but the fish were still circling. The old man is very tired. By the end of the third lap, the fish surfaced thirty yards from the boat. Her tail was larger than the largest sickle". Finally, the prey was at the edge of the boat. The old man raised the harpoon high and plunged the fish into the side. She rose high above the water, it seemed that it was hanging in the air above the old man and the boat”, then threw herself into the sea, flooding the fisherman and the whole boat with water.

The old man felt ill, but when he came to his senses, he saw that the fish was lying on its back, and the sea around was stained with its blood. After examining the prey, the old man concluded: “ She weighs at least half a ton". The old man tied the fish to the boat and headed home.

An hour later, the first shark overtook him - he swam to the smell of blood that flowed from the wound of the dead fish. Seeing a shark, the old man prepared a harpoon. The predator plunged its jaws into the fish. The old man threw a harpoon at the shark and killed it. " She took with her about forty pounds of fish, the old man said aloud.". The shark dragged his harpoon and the rest of the rope to the bottom. Now the fish was bleeding again - others would come for this shark. It seemed to the fisherman as if the shark had rushed at him.

Two hours later, he spotted the first of two sharks. He raised an oar with a knife tied to it and hit the predator in the back, and then plunged the knife into her eyes. The old man lured out the second shark, he had to stab it several times before the predator died. The fish has become much lighter. " They probably took with them at least a quarter of the fish, and, moreover, the best meat.».

« The next shark came alone". The old man hit her with an oar with a knife, the blade broke. " The sharks attacked him again just before sunset.". There were two of them - the old man beat the predators with a club until they swam away. " He didn't want to look at the fish. He knew that half of her was gone».

The old man decided to fight until he died. He " I saw the glow of city lights around ten o'clock in the evening". At midnight, a whole flock of sharks attacked the fisherman. " He beat them on the heads with a truncheon and heard the jaws clang and the boat shake as they grabbed the fish from below.". When the club was gone, he tore the tiller out of its socket and began to beat the sharks with it. When one of the sharks swam up to the head of the fish, the old man realized that " its end". Now the boat was going easily, but " the old man thought of nothing and felt nothing». « At night, the sharks pounced on the gnawed carcass of the fish, like gluttons grabbing leftovers from the table. The old man ignored them.».

Santiago entered the little bay when the lights on the Terrace had already been extinguished. As he made his way to his hut, he turned and, in the light of the lantern, saw a huge fish tail and a bare line of spine. The boy came to him while he was still sleeping. Seeing the hands of the old man, Manolin began to cry.

« A lot of fishermen gathered around the boat, ”one of the fishermen measured the skeleton -“ From nose to tail, it was eighteen feet».

The boy brought hot coffee to the old man. The old man allowed Manolin to take the fish sword as a keepsake. The boy said that they were looking for the old man, and now they will fish together, because he still has a lot to learn. Manolin promised Santiago: " I will bring you happiness».

A tourist who came to the Terrace asked what kind of skeleton lay near the shore. The waiter replied: sharks and wanted to explain what happened. However, the woman only said to her companion in surprise: I didn't know that sharks have such beautiful, gracefully curved tails.!».

« Upstairs, in his hut, the old man slept again. He was sleeping face down again, with a boy guarding him. The old man dreamed of lions».

Conclusion

The protagonist of the story "The Old Man and the Sea" - the fisherman Santiago appears before the reader as a strong-willed, purposeful, internally strong person who does not give up even in the most difficult situation. The old man is depicted as part of the elemental world of nature, even in his appearance the author draws parallels with the sea, for a fisherman it is natural, “his own environment”. Although at the end of the story Santiago is actually defeated, in the highest sense he remains undefeated: “ But man is not made to suffer defeat. A man can be destroyed, but he cannot be defeated».

Poe's 1843 story The Golden Bug is often referred to as an early form of the detective genre. You can read chapter by chapter on our website. This is a fascinating story about the search for treasures, the key to the location of which had to be unraveled using a complex cipher. The retelling of the work is useful for the reader's diary and preparation for the literature lesson.

Video summary The old man and the sea

Hemingway The Old Man and the Sea is the last known work published during the life of the writer. The story was awarded the Pulitzer and Nobel Prizes.

Whose stories and novels are known all over the world. In this article, we will turn to the most famous of them and consider its summary. "The Old Man and the Sea" is a work that has become a legend. Even those who have not read Hemingway at all have probably heard the name.

About the book

The story "The Old Man and the Sea" was written in 1952. For the story of the Cuban fisherman Santiago Hemingway received two famous literary prizes: the Pulitzer in 1953 and the Nobel in 1954. The more valuable it will be for the reader to know its summary

"The Old Man and the Sea" is a work whose idea the author had been hatching for several years. So, in 1936, an episode was described that happened to a fisherman in the story "On Blue Water". Later, after the publication of the story, Hemingway said in an interview that his work could become a novel, since he is able to describe the lives and fates of all the inhabitants of that Cuban village.

Hemingway. "The Old Man and the Sea": a summary. Start

The story begins with a description of an old man fishing on a boat. He went to sea for 84 days, but he could not catch even one fish. The first 40 days a boy walked with him. But due to the fact that there was no catch, his parents told him to find another boat to help the fishermen there. And the old man, apparently, lost all his luck. The boy was lucky in a new place: already in the first week, the fishermen with whom he went to sea caught three big fish.

The boy looked at the old man's failures and felt sorry for Santiago. Therefore, every evening he waited for his friend, helped him carry tackle, a sail and a harpoon to the house.

main characters

It is necessary to consider the main characters of the work so that the summary is informative. "The Old Man and the Sea" - the title itself indicates the main character, this is the old man Santiago. He is emaciated and thin, “deep wrinkles cut through the back of his head”, “his cheeks are covered with brown spots of harmless skin cancer”, this disease is caused by the sun's rays reflected from the sea surface.

The second character found on the very first page is Manolin's boy. The old man taught him to fish. The boy is sincerely attached to Santiago and certainly wants to help him somehow. So, Manolina offers to catch sardines for bait, so that the next day the old man will have something to go to sea with.

The boy and Santiago go up to the old man's hut, poor and dilapidated, once built of palm leaves. Inside, the decoration is not rich: a chair, a table and a small recess in the floor for cooking. Santiago is poor and lonely. Of his friends, he only has a boy, and for dinner, yellow rice with fish.

In the evening, sitting at the old man's, they talk about fishing, about the fact that tomorrow the old man will certainly be lucky, about sports achievements. When the boy leaves, Santiago goes to bed. In a dream, he sees his youth, which he spent in Africa.

Exit to the sea

The next morning, the old man goes fishing again, this event continues our summary. "The Old Man and the Sea" - the title itself sets the course for the whole story.

This time, Santiago believes in his luck. The old man sees other boats leaving, thinks about the sea. He loves the sea, treats him like a woman, affectionately and gently. Mentally, Santiago communicates with fish and birds. He also knows the habits of marine life, to each of which he is attached in his own way. And having put the bait on the hook, he allows the current to carry his boat wherever it pleases. He had become so used to being alone all the time that he was used to talking to himself.

A fish

Very skillfully depicts the relationship between man and nature in his work Hemingway. “The Old Man and the Sea”, the summary of which is rich not so much in events as in the inner experiences of the hero, is a deeply lyrical and philosophical work.

The old man suddenly perks up: he perfectly feels what is happening deep under the water. The hero's intuition does not fail: the fishing line abruptly goes down, where a huge heaviness is felt, dragging it along with it. A long and dramatic duel begins between a huge caught fish and an old man.

Santiago fails to pull the string - the fish is too strong, she pulls the boat behind him, as if in tow. The old man is very sorry that Manolin is not with him this time. And one thing is good in the current situation - the fish does not pull to the bottom, but to the side. Noon is approaching, for about four hours the victim does not give up. Santiago hopes the fish won't last long and die soon. But the captive does not want to give up so easily, continuing to pull the boat.

Wrestling

Ernest Hemingway does not at all diminish the power of the natural elements before the will of man. The old man and the sea (a summary illustrates this perfectly) - these are two opponents who have come together in a fight for life, nature and man are fighting on the pages of the work.

Night falls, the fish still does not give up, pulling the boat further and further from the shore. The old man sees the fading lights of Havana, he is tired, but he holds tightly the rope thrown over his shoulder. He constantly thinks about the fish, for which at times he begins to feel sorry.

The summary of the story "The Old Man and the Sea" continues to develop. The fish begins to weaken, it is no longer able to pull the boat at the same speed. But Santiago's strength is also waning, and his hand goes numb. And now the fishing line goes up, and fish appears on the surface. Instead of a nose, she has a long sword like a baseball bat, her scales sparkle in the sun, and her back and head are cast in a deep purple. And it's a whole two feet longer than the boat in length.

Gathering the last of his strength, the slave again dives into the depths, dragging the boat behind him. The old man tries not to let her break, exhausted. He begins to read "Our Father" almost in despair, although he does not believe in God. He is seized by the thought of proving to the fish "what a man is capable of and what he can endure."

Wandering in the sea

Ernest Hemingway (“The Old Man and the Sea”) depicts the sea nature incredibly realistically. The summary, of course, does not convey the beauty of the author's style, but it allows you to make some impression.

The old man is left alone with the sea and the fish for another day. To distract himself, Santiago begins to reminisce about baseball games and his past. Here he is in Casablanca, and in one of the taverns he is offered to measure his strength by a Negro, who was considered the most powerful in the port. They sat for days, hands clasped, at the table, and in the end Santiago managed to win. More than once he happened to fight on his hands, and almost always he came out the winner. Until one day he decided to quit: his hands would be useful for catching fish.

The old man continues to fight, holding the line with his right hand, knowing that as soon as it gets tired, it will be replaced by the left. Fish from time to time emerges, then again goes to the depth. Santiago decides to finish her off and takes out a harpoon. But the blow fails: the prisoner goes to the side. The old man is tired, he begins to rave and turns to the fish, asking her to surrender: to die anyway, why drag him along with him to the next world.

Last act of struggle

The struggle continues between man and nature, the old man and the sea. E. Hemingway (a brief summary confirms these words) shows in this confrontation the unbending will of man and the incredible thirst for life that lurks in the creatures of nature. But finally, the final battle takes place.

The old man gathered all his strength, all his pain and pride, and "threw it all against the torments" of the fish, "then it turned over and swam on its side." Santiago plunged the harpoon into her surrendered body, feeling the point pierce her deeper.

He is tired, weakness seized him, nausea overcomes, everything is cloudy in his head, but with the last of his strength, the old man pulls his prey to the side of the boat. Having tied the fish, he begins to swim towards the shore. And the old man's thoughts are already directed to dreams about the money that he will receive for his catch. Focusing on the direction of the wind, Santiago chooses the path to the house.

sharks

But this is not the end of the work "The Old Man and the Sea" (E. Hemingway), the summary continues. Not far away, the old man manages to swim away, as a shark appears. She was lured by the smell of blood, which trails in a wide trail after the boat. The shark swam closer and began tearing at the tied fish. The old man tries to protect his prey by hitting the uninvited guest with a harpoon, she goes to the bottom, taking with her a weapon and a large piece of bloody prey.

More sharks appear, Santiago tries to fight back, even kills one of them. But predators lag behind only when there is nothing left of the fish.

Return

The story "The Old Man and the Sea" comes to an end. A summary of the chapters is also nearing completion. The old man approaches the bay already at night, when the whole village was sleeping. He wearily removes the mast and sails. From his catch, only one large fish skeleton remained.

The first boy he comes across, he comforts an old friend, says that now he will only fish with him, believes that he can bring good luck to Santiago.

In the morning, tourists notice the skeleton, not understanding what happened here. The waiter tries to explain the whole drama of what happened, but he fails.

Conclusion

A very difficult work "The Old Man and the Sea". The summary, analysis and reader's impressions allow us to conclude that there was no winner in the presented struggle. Although the desire of the author is undoubtedly to show the strength and power that lies in an ordinary person.

11 CLASS

ERNEST MILLER HEMINGWAY

THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA

(Summary)

It was an old fisherman who fished on the Gulf Stream alone in his boat. For eighty-four days he went out to sea and did not catch a single fish. For the first forty days he had a boy with him. And for those forty unhappy days, the parents told the guy that the old one was now resolutely and irrevocably salao 1, that is, completely mediocre, and ordered his son to go to another fisherman, with whom he caught three big fish in the first week. The guy was offended to see how the old day comes back with nothing, and every time he went to help him - to bring the coiled tackle, harpoon, awn or mast with a sail. The sail was tattered with burlap and wrapped around the mast like a flag of relentless defeat.

Old Santiago was “thin, emaciated, deeply wrinkled at the back of his head, and his cheeks were covered with brown spots of a harmless skin cancer caused by the sun's rays reflected by the smooth surface of the tropical sea. Those spots ran down her cheeks all the way to her neck. The old man's palms were cut with deep transverse scars from a braided fishing line, with which he pulled a large fish from the water. And none of those scars were fresh - they were all old, like furrows in parched earth. Everything in him was old, except for the eyes, and they were the color of the sea and shone cheerfully and irresistibly.

It was he who taught the boy Manolin to fish, and the boy loved the old man. He is ready to catch him sardines for his tomorrow's sailing. Together they go up to old Santiago's poor hut, built of strong royal palm shamrocks, and go through the open doors. “The old one leaned the mast against the wall, and the guy placed a box and other tools next to it. The mast was almost as long as the whole hut, molded from tenacious corymbs of the royal palm, known as guano. There was a bed, a table and a chair, but there was simply a hearth on the floor, where the old man kindled charcoal and cooked himself to eat. On the dark walls, from uneven and tightly fitted rough fibrous shields, hung a colored image of the Holy Heart of the Lord and another one - the Bronze Mother of God. Those were memos for his wife. When her tinted photograph hung on the wall, but the old man took that photo because, looking at it, he felt his loneliness too keenly, and now it lay on a shelf in the corner under his clean shirt.

The old man is lonely and poor: his meal is a bowl of yellow rice with fish. They talk to the boy about fishing, how the old man must be lucky, as well as the latest sports news, baseball scores and famous players like DiMaggio. When tired Santiago goes to bed, he sees in a dream the Africa of his youth, its long golden shores ... high cliffs and huge white mountains. He no longer dreams of fights, women, or great events. But often distant lands and lions come ashore in his dreams.

The next day, early in the morning, the old man goes on another fishing trip. The boy helps him pull down the sail, prepare the boat. Santiago tells him that since he "believes in luck". One by one, fishing boats leave the shore and go to the open sea. Rowing, the old meets the morning.

“It was still dark, but the old man felt that morning was coming; rowing, he heard quivering sounds over and over again, when a flying fish spluttered out of the water and, whistling through the air with its hard wings, poured thick into the darkness. He loved flying fish - they were his first friends in the ocean. But he felt sorry for the birds, especially the small and fragile sea swallows, which constantly scoured the water in search of food and almost never found it. Therefore, the old man thought: “The life of the birds is even harder than ours... Why are they created so small and frail, like these sea swallows, when the ocean can be terribly cruel? In general, he is kind and beautiful, but sometimes he becomes ruthless, and even so unexpectedly, and all these birds that fly over him, and rush down for bread, and scream with their thin sad voices - they are too fragile for the sea. .

He always mentally called the sea la mar, as those who love him say in Spanish. And although sometimes they remember him with a bad word, they always talk about him as a woman. Some of the younger fishermen, those who hooked buoys to their tackle instead of floats and had motor boats bought at a time when shark liver gave great profit, called him el mar - in the masculine gender. They spoke of him as a rival, as a soulless space, even as an enemy. And the old man always thought of the sea as a woman, a living being that can give great mercy, and deprive her, and if he does something bad or unkind, it is only because such is her nature. “There, and for a month, you disturb the sea in the same way as a woman,” thought the old one.

But then serious fishing begins, and all his attention is focused on the fishing line, its condition: he sensitively captures what is happening in the depths, how the fish reacts to the bait pinned on the hook.

“Yeah,” said the old man. - Yeah, - and quietly put down the oars. Then he reached for the vein and carefully took it with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He felt no tension, no weight, and states the vein freely, without effort. Suddenly she twitched again. This time - lightly, somehow uncertainly; and the old man knew well what that meant. There, in the depths, a hundred sazhens from the boat, the marlin was eating sardines strung on a point and a vigan of a hand-riveted hook that had come off the head of a small tuna, impaled on a rod.

The old man, carefully holding the fishing line with his left hand, quietly released the noose and removed it from the rod. Now he could freely pass the fishing line between his fingers, so that the fish did not feel any tension.

“In autumn, and so far from the coast, it must be a huge fish,” thought the old man. - eat, fish, eat sardines. Enjoy your health. They're so fresh, and you're out there somewhere over six hundred feet in the dark and cold. Swim around once, and then come and eat.

He felt the vein twitch again, lightly at first, then more violently, as if the head of one of the sardines was sitting tighter on the hook. Then the vein froze.

Come on, the old man said loudly. - Swim again. Treat them the right way. Do they smell bad? Now eat to your health, and then you'll take it to the tuna. It is so tight, cold, very tasty. Don't be afraid, fish, eat."

Old Santiago knows when to pull the line. “Pecked,” said the old man. “Now let him eat properly.” The vein continued to flow into him between his fingers, while he stretched out his left hand and firmly tied the free end of the two spare skeins to the loop of the two spare skeins of the second tackle. Now everything was ready. In addition to the vein on which the state of the fish, he had in stock three more skeins, forty fathoms each.

“Eat some more,” he said. - Eat right away. Eat as much so that the tip of the hook just drives into your heart and kills you, he continued mentally. - And then swim to the surface, and I will stick a harpoon in you. That's okay. Ready? Enough already with you?

The old one tries to pull up the fishing line, but it doesn't work. On the contrary, the fish pulls, as if in tow, the boat behind it, slowly shifting to the north-north-west. And the old man bitterly regrets that there is no boy next to him. But it's good that the fish also pulls to the side, and not down to the bottom. About four hours pass. Noon approaches. This cannot go on forever, the old man reflects, soon the fish will die and then it will be possible to pull it up. But the fish is too tenacious. “I would like to see her,” the old man thinks. “I would like to look at her with at least one eye, then I would know with whom I am dealing.”

“The whole night the fish swam just as steadily, without turning anywhere, the old man could see this from the stars. When the sun went down, the air cooled, and the sweat on the old man's back, shoulders, and legs quickly dried up. In the afternoon, he took the bag with which he covered the chest with bait, and spread it out in the sun to dry. And when the sun went down, he tied a bag around his neck, lowered it onto his back and carefully tucked it under the vein, which now states HER, having passed over his shoulders. The bag softened the pressure, and the old man managed to lean against the prow of the boat in a way that almost made him comfortable. In fact, this posture only slightly relieved the unbearable burden, but the old man believed that now he was almost comfortable.

He is very sorry that Manolin is not around to help him. “It is impossible for a person to remain alone in old age,” he says. "But it's inevitable." The thought of the fish never leaves him for a moment. Sometimes the old one feels sorry for her. “She is a wonderful, unusual fish, and who knows how old she is already,” he thought. “I have never had such a strong fish and behaved so strangely. Apparently, she is very smart and does not jump out. It is enough for her to jump out or pull hard - and I'm kapets. And, apparently, she had already fallen for the hook more than once and knew that this is how it was necessary to fight for the little one. she does not know that there is only one person against her, and even an old one. And what a huge fish it is, and what a good one it will bring in when it has delicious meat. She took live like a male, and pulls like a male, and competes not like a frightened one. I wonder if she does it consciously, or just out of desperation of the soul, like me?

Again and again, he regrets that his young assistant is not next to him. Refreshed by caught raw tuna, he continues to mentally talk to the fish. “I will not part with you until I die,” the old man tells her.

A new day has come, Santiago has eaten a little, but the fish pulls on full of strength, and his arm begins to hurt.

I hate driftwood, he thinks. - It's disgusting that your own body betrays you. When you hit some rotten stuff and you are attacked by diarrhea or vomiting, people are ashamed. And how snags attack, - he mentally called them calambre, - ashamed of himself, especially when no one is around.

If there was a guy here, he would rub my hand, and it would go down from above, from the elbow, - the old man thought. “And in vain, let go of your fingers.”

At that moment, without noticing how the inclination of the vein in the water had changed, he felt with his right hand that the tension was weakening. Then, pulling on the tackle and with might and main threshing with his left hand on the thigh, he saw how the vein slowly rises higher and higher above the water.

“Now she will swim out,” said the old man. - Come on, hand, call. Call, please."

The vein continued to appear little by little, but constantly, from the water, and then the surface of the ocean in front of the boat was blown away, and the fish swam out into the light. It flowed out for a long time, as if there was no end to it, and water flowed along its sides. The fish glittered in the sun, its head and back were deep purple, and the wide stripes on its sides appeared pale lilac in the sun, its long sword, like a baseball bat, and pointed at the end, looked like a rapier. The fish emerged from the water to its full length, and then dived again - without a splash, like an experienced diver - and the old man saw how for the last time its large, scythe-like tail flashed, and immediately the vein quickly ran into the water after the fish.

“The fish is huge, and I must curb it,” thought the old man. “You can’t let her feel how strong she is and what she is capable of when she starts to run away. Being her, I would now go to the despair of the soul and give cravings until something would be interrupted. And, thank God, the fish are not as smart as we are, we kill them, but they are much more noble and nimble.

The old man happened to see a lot of big fish. He also saw a lot of fish, weighing over a thousand pounds, and he himself caught two of them in his life, but he never fished alone. And now, himself a friend far from the shore, was tied to the biggest fish he had ever seen or heard of, and his left hand was still completely bewildered, like the clenched claws of an eagle.

In the meantime, the fish again slowed down its course and swam smoothly, as before.

Not believing in God, the old man begins to mechanically repeat prayers. Sometimes he felt so lost that he couldn't remember the words, and then he began to speak very quickly so that they would speak by themselves. "Theotokos" is easier to pronounce than "Our Father," he noted mentally.

Having said his prayers and having heard himself much better, although his suffering did not ease at all, and perhaps even increased, the old man leaned on the nasal plating and began to mechanically bend and unbend the fingers of his left hand.

He understands that the fish is huge, that he needs to conserve his strength. Although this is unfair, he convinces himself, but I will prove to her what a person is capable of and what he can endure. Santiago refers to himself as "quirky old" and has to prove it.

Another day passes. To somehow distract himself, he recalls playing in baseball leagues and how once in a Casablanca tavern he measured his strength with a mighty black man:

“When the sun went down, the old man, to add to his confidence, began to recall how once in a tavern in Casablanca he measured his strength with a stout Negro from Cienfuegos, who was the first strongman in the port there. All day and all night they sat with their elbows on the line drawn in chalk on the table, and tightly clasped their hands placed upright, and each tried to bend the opponent's hand to the table. At dawn, when the spectators went to the establishments, they began to ask the referee to declare a draw, and he only silently shook his head, the old man made the last jerk of effort and began to bend the negro's hand lower and lower until it lay on a wooden table top. The competition started on Sunday morning and ended on Monday morning. Many of the spectators were already demanding a draw, because they had to go to work - to load sacks of sugar to the port, and to the Havana Coal Company. If not for this, they would all gladly wait for the end of the competition. And the old man finished it on time before they had to go to work.

Subsequently, he held several more such competitions, but later abandoned them, because he entertained as he really wanted, he could defeat anyone, and in the meantime, all of it harmed his right hand in fishing.

For many hours, his battle with the fish continues. How much he needs a boy at this moment. But he alone in the vast ocean is fighting with unprecedented sizes of fish. Finally, the fish, having made several circles, begins to come to the surface. She then approaches the boat, then moves away from it. The old one prepares a harpoon to finish off the fish. But she steps aside. From fatigue, thoughts are confused in the head of the old man. “Listen, fish,” he tells her. - After all, you still die. Why do you want me to die too.”

The last act of their duel is coming. “He gathered all his pain, and all the rest of his strength, and all his long-lost pride, and threw it all against the torment that the fish endured, and then it turned over and quietly swam on its side, almost reaching the side of the boat with a sword; she almost swam past, long, wide, silver, entwined with purple stripes, and it seemed there would be no end to her. Raising the harpoon, he, with all his might, sticks it to the side of the fish. He feels how the iron enters her flesh, and plunges it deeper and deeper ...

“The old one dropped the tackle to the ground, stepped on it with his foot, raised the harpoon as high as he could, and how much power was left in him, and the one he called for help at that moment, shielding him in the side of the fish, just behind pectoral fin, which was placed above the water at the level of the human chest. He felt the iron tip go into the fish, and, leaning against the harpoon, he moved it even deeper, and then with his whole body he thrust onto the shaft.

And suddenly the fish, already shocked by death, came to life and emerged high above the water, as if showing all its size, power and beauty. It seemed to hang in the air above the old man's head and his boat. And then, with a grim splash, she fell into the sea, dousing the old and the whole boat with a hail of spray.

The old philosophers were blissful and nauseous, and he saw almost nothing. And yet he freed the rope of the harpoon and began to bypass it little by little with his skinned, bloody hands; and when his eyes cleared a little, he saw that the fish was lying on its back, with its silvery belly up. A long harpoon shaft protruded obliquely from under her pectoral fin, and the sea around her turned red with blood from his heart. At first it was big dark spot like a school of fish in blue water that reached a mile into the abyss. Then she vanished like a cloud. And the fish, silvery, imperturbable, gradually moved behind the waves.

He is overcome by nausea and weakness, his head is foggy, but he still pulls the fish to the side.

Now the old man ties the fish to the boat and starts moving towards the shore. Mentally, he estimates: the fish weighs at least fifteen hundred pounds, which can be sold for thirty cents a pound. Referring to the famous baseball player, he says to himself, "I think the great DiMaggio would be proud of me today." And even though his hands are still bleeding, he is tired, exhausted, but he defeated the fish. The direction of the wind tells him which way to swim to get home.

An hour passes before the first shark shows up. She, either appearing or disappearing in the depths, rushes after the boat and the fish tied to it. She is in a hurry because the prey is close.

“The shark did not appear by chance. She rose from the depths even when a dark bloodstain was swirling in the sea and gen-gen spilled from the surface. It rose so swiftly and fearlessly that it cut through the surface of the blue water and surfaced against the sun. Then she again dived under the water, felt the spirit of blood, which stretched after the boat and the fish, and set off in pursuit with all her legs.

When the old man saw her, he realized that this shark knows no fear and will do as it pleases. While he waited for her to swim closer, he prepared the harpoon and tied the end of the rope tightly.

The shark was already near the stern, and when she ran up to the fish, the old man saw her open mouth, and strange eyes, and hanging her teeth, clapped right up, digging into the fish in front of the tail. The shark's head was above the water, and the back appeared behind it, and, hearing how the shark tears the skin and flesh of a large fish, the old harpoon is in her head, at the place where the line drawn between her eyes intersects with the line running up from the nose. There, in that place, was the brain, and the old man hit there. He struck with wounded, bloody hands, throwing a sharp harpoon with all his might. Struck without hope, but full of determination and heart-rending rage.

The shark rolled over on its back... it flailed its tail, snapped its jaws, and then suddenly rushed away, furrowing the water like a speedboat... at that moment: the rope bulged tightly, trembled and immediately burst. The shark lay motionless on the water for a moment, while the old man looked at it. Then she slowly sank to the bottom.

She took forty pounds of fish from me,” said the old man. “And also the harpoon and all the line,” he added mentally. “And now my fish is bleeding again, which is attracting other sharks.”

But man was not made for defeat, the old man said aloud. “A person can be destroyed, but not defeated.”

These words of the old fisherman have become a motto for many people.

Santiago fortified himself with a piece of meat from the fish caught in the part of it where the shark's teeth had been. And at that very moment I noticed the fins of a whole flock of spotted predators. They were approaching at great speed. The old man met them by lifting an oar with a knife tied to it...

The old man thought with pleasure about the fish and how it would deal with the shark if it swam free now. I should have cut off her sword and used it to fight the sharks, he thought. But he did not have an ax, and then there was no knife.

“And if I cut it off and somehow managed to tie it to the oar, that would be a weapon. Then we would fight them together. But what are you going to do now, how will they attack at night? What can you do?

“Fight them,” he said. “I will fight them until I die.”

At midnight he fought the sharks again, and this time he knew that this fight was not for life, but for death. Sharks attacked him in a whole flock, and he saw only the stripes on the water that their fins traced, and the glow when they rushed to tear the fish. “He hit the heads with a club and heard the jaws clang and the boat shake as they grabbed the fish from below. He desperately beat with a club on something invisible that he could only hear and touch, and suddenly he felt something grab the club, and the club was gone. Finally the sharks were gone. they had nothing to eat.

Somewhere at night, sharks attacked the skeleton of a fish, like those gluttons greedily grabbing the last crumbs from the table. The old man paid no attention to them, and in general did not pay attention to anything, except for the sail and the rudder. He only noted to himself how easily the boat goes, having lost its huge load.

“I have a good boat,” he thought. - Sturdy, not damaged at all, except for the tiller. And the tiller is easy to replace.”

The old man felt that he had already swum with the current, and now he clearly saw the lights of coastal villages ahead. He already knew where he was - it was very close to the house from there.

When the boat entered a small bay, the "Terrace" no longer shone, and the old man realized that everyone had been sleeping for a long time. The wind, and before that everything was getting stronger, now it's really booming. However, it was comfortable in the bay, and the old man moored to a narrow patch of rhini under the rocks. There was no one to help, and he himself pushed the boat as far as he could out of the water. Then he went ashore and pressed him to the rock.

“Going into the hut, he leaned the mast against the wall. In the dark, he found a bottle of water and drank. And then he lay down on the bed. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders, wrapped his back and legs, and immediately fell asleep downstairs on the newspapers, straightening his arms, palms up.

When the guy looked in the door in the morning, the old man was still asleep. The wind whirled so that the fishing boats could not go to sea, and the guy got up late, and then went to the old man's hut, as he did every morning. He saw that the old man was breathing, and then he looked at his hands and began to cry. Then he quietly left the hut to fetch some old coffee, and wept all the way.

A lot of fishermen stood around the boat, looking at what was stuck to the side, and one, rolling up the trousers of his trousers again, went into the water and measured the bones with a long rope.

How is he there? one of the fishermen called out to the guy below.

Asleep! - the guy shouted back. He was not at all ashamed of his tears. - Don't let anyone bother him.

Eighteen feet from nose to tail, the fisherman who measured the bones called out to him.

He took the hot can of coffee to the old man's hut and sat by the bed until he woke up...

Don't get up, the guy told him. - Here, have a drink. -

And he poured coffee into a glass.

The old man took the coffee and drank it.

They overpowered me, Manolina, he said. - They won.

She didn't beat you. Not a fish.

No. Your truth. That was later.

Now we will fish together again.

No. I am untalented. He became completely untalented.

To hell with that talent, - said the guy. - You will be lucky with me.

What will they say at home?

That is indifferent. I brought them two fish yesterday. And now I'll be with you again, because I still have a lot to learn.

Bring some newspaper for the days when I was gone, - said the old man.

Get well soon, I still have a lot to learn, and you can teach me everything I need. Was it very hard for you?

Terribly hard, - said the old man.

Well, I'll go for food and newspapers, - the guy said. - Rest, grandfather. I'll buy some ointment for your hands at the pharmacy.

When the guy went out the door and moved down the beaten black-haired road, he began to cry again.

On that day, a group of tourists visited the Terrace, and one guest, looking down at the sea, saw in the water near the shore, among empty beer cans and dead barracudas, an ancient white spine with a huge tail at the end, which swayed on the high waves of the surf , which were heard in the bay with a raging strong east wind of the ocean.

What it is? she asked the waiter and pointed to the long skeleton of a large fish, which was now its own garbage, and it was soon to be carried away by the outflow.

Tiburon, the waiter said. - One shark... - He wanted to explain what happened.

I didn't know that sharks have such beautiful, perfectly shaped tails.

I didn't know either," her companion said.

And upstairs, in his hut by the road, the old man slept again. He slept right downstairs, and a guy was sitting with him, guarding his sleep. The old man dreamed of lions.

It was an old fisherman who fished on the Gulf Stream alone in his boat. For eighty-four days he went out to sea and did not catch a single fish. The first forty days he had a guy with him. And after forty unlucky days, the parents told the boy that the old one was now resolutely and irrevocably salao1, that is, completely mediocre, and ordered the son to go to another fisherman, with whom he caught three good fish in the first week. The guy was offended to see how the old man returned on the day with nothing, and every time he went to help him present the coiled tackle, harpoon, awn or mast with a sail. The sail was tattered with burlap and wrapped around the mast like a flag of relentless defeat.

The old man was lanky, emaciated, the back of his head was covered in deep wrinkles on his face brown spots harmless skin cancer that appears from a sunbeam reflected by a tropical sea. Those spots ran down her cheeks all the way to her neck.

The old man's palms were cut with deep transverse scars from a braided fishing line, with which he pulled a large fish from the water. I. none of those scars were fresh - all old, like furrows in parched earth.

Everything about him was old except for his eyes, which were the color of the sea and shone merrily and irresistibly.

Grandfather Santiago, - the guy said to him when they got up from the shore where they left the boat, - I could go to sea with you again. Now we have collected some money.

The old man taught the guy to fish, and he loved him.

No, said the old man. - You are now on a happy boat. Stay there.

But remember how you used to come back eighty-seven days in a row with nothing, and then for three weeks we caught a huge fish every day.

I remember, said the old man. “I know you didn’t leave me because you were desperate.

Dad ordered. And I'm still a minor and must obey him.

I know, said the old man. - That's the way it should be.

They went up the road to the old man's hut and went through the open door. The old man stretched the mast to the wall, and the guy placed a box and other tools nearby. The mast was almost as long as the whole hut, molded from tenacious corymbs of the royal palm, known as guano. There was a bed, a table and a chair, but there was just a hearth on the floor, where the old one kindled charcoal and cooked his own food. On the dark walls, from uneven and tightly fitting rough fibrous shields, hung a colored image of the Holy Heart of the Lord2 and another one - the Bronze Mother of God3. Those were memos for his wife. When there was also a tinted photograph of her on the wall, but the old man took that photo because looking at it, he felt his loneliness too keenly, and now it lay on a shelf in the corner under his clean shirt.

Eighty-five is a lucky number, said the old man. - What do you say if I bring a thousand pounds of net weight ribisco tomorrow?

Well, I take the net and go for the sardines. Will you sit here on the threshold against the sun?

Yeah. I have yesterday's newspaper, then I read about baseball.

When he returned, the sun had already set, and the old man was asleep in his chair. The guy took an old soldier's blanket from the bed and threw it over his shoulders over the back of a chair.

They were amazing shoulders - and still powerful, though old - and the neck was still strong too, and now, when the old man slept with his head bowed on his chest, the wrinkles on the back of his head were not so distinct. His shirt was as patched and patched as the sail, and the patches, unevenly blooming in the sun, were full of different colors. But the face was very old and with closed eyes it seemed completely lifeless. The newspaper lay in his lap, and his hand, falling on it, did not let the evening wind blow it away. The old man's feet were bare.

He soon fell asleep, and in his dream he remembered Africa of his youthful years: long shores, golden and white - so white that it hurts his eyes - high capes and huge dark mountains. Now every night he found himself on those shores, and in his sleep he heard the roar of the waves of the surf, and saw how the boats of the natives open them. He heard the spirit of resin and tow that stood above the deck, he heard the spirit of Africa that he was brought from the shore by the morning breeze.

He no longer dreamed of storms, or women, or outstanding events, or big fish, or fights, or strongman competitions, or his wife. I only dreamed of distant landscapes and more lions on the shore. They played like kittens in the late afternoon, and he loved them as much as he loved the boy. And the guy never dreamed of him.

The old man woke up, looked through the open door for a month, then unfolded his pants and pulled them on. Coming out of the hut, he relieved himself of a small need, then went along the road to wake the guy. The morning cold made him shiver. And he knew that he would soon warm the procession, and there soon to row...

He always mentally called the sea la mar, as those who love him say in Spanish. And although sometimes they remember him dashingly, they always talk about him as a woman. Some of younger age fishermen, those who hooked buoys instead of floats on their tackle and had motor boats bought at a time when shark liver gave great benefits called it el mar - in the masculine gender4. They spoke of him as a rival, as a soulless space, bah, even as an enemy. And the old man always thought of the sea as a woman, a living being, who can both give great mercy and deprive her, and if he does something bad or unkind, it is only because such is her nature. “There, for a month, you disturb the sea as well as a woman,” thought the old man.

He rowed measuredly, without much effort, because he was good at keeping a constant speed, and the surface of the ocean was smooth, except for occasional eddies in the currents. The old one taxied for water leaving a good third of his work on the current, so when he began to study into the light, he saw that he swam much further than he had hoped for this time.

He no longer remembered when he started talking out loud, fishing alone. Once before, being alone, he sang; time he sang at night, keeping watch on fishing sailboats and hunting ships that walked on turtles. And he began to talk to himself, apparently, when the guy left him. But he didn't remember for sure. Fishing together, she and the guy of course did not respond to each other unnecessarily. They talked mostly at night or staying on the shore in bad weather. It was considered shameful among fishermen to chat in the sea, and the old one always approved and respected this custom. But now he often expressed his thoughts aloud - after all, it didn’t hurt anyone.

If anyone had heard me talking out loud like that, they would have thought that I had lost my mind,” he said. “However, I’m in my right mind, so I don’t care so much.

He did not take his eyes off the veins and it was at that moment that he saw how one green rod over the side jerked sharply down.

Yeah, said the old man. - Yeah, - and silently put down the oars. Then he reached for the vein and carefully took it with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He felt no tension, no weight, and states the vein freely, without effort. Suddenly she twitched again. This time - lightly, somehow uncertainly; and the old man knew well what that meant. There, in the depths, a hundred fathoms from the boat, the marlin was eating sardines strung on the point and the bend of a hand-riveted hook that twisted from the head of a small tuna, impaled on the rod.

The vein continued to slowly twitch between his fingers, and the old one rejoiced at that, and suddenly felt how it tensed from a huge, simply incredible weight. It was the weight of the fish, and he let the line go deeper, deeper, deeper, and the first of two spare skeins quickly spun. The vein easily slipped between his fingers, and the old man, although he hardly held it, still felt a huge heaviness at the other end.

This is a fish, he said. - The hook stuck into her mouth, and now she runs away with him.

The fish steadily dragged forward, and they slowly walked on a calm sea. The rest of the hooks were baited and still remained in the water, but it was difficult to do anything with this.

It's a pity that I don't have a boy with me, - said the old man. - The fish pulls me in tow, and I seem to be tied to it with a cable. You can, of course, tie a fishing line to the boat. But then the fish can snatch it. Therefore, it is necessary to hold until there is strength, and let go of the fishing line when it pleases to pull. Thank God that she swims forward, and does not go into the abyss.

“I don’t know what to do, how she decides to go down. And what will I do, how will she be pulled to the bottom and she will die there! Eh, I'll do something. Are there any ways?!”

The old one held the vein back and watched it cut the water obliquely as the boat steadily moved further northwest.

This truth will finish her off, he thought of the fish. “She can’t swim without end.” And another four hours passed, and the fish still swam steadily into the open sea, dragging the boat behind it, and the old man still firmly rested against the bench, holding the tackle pulled back with his back.

It was noon when I picked her up,” he said. - I still haven't seen her.

The whole night the fish swam just as steadily, not looking anywhere, the old man could see it from the stars. When the sun went down, the air cooled, and the sweat on the old man's back, shoulders, and legs quickly dried up. In the afternoon, he took the bag with which he covered the chest with bait, and spread it out in the sun to dry. And when the sun went down, he tied the bag around his neck, lowered it onto his back and carefully tucked it under the vein, which now states it, passing it over his shoulders. The bag relieved the pressure, and the old man managed to tie himself to the prow of the boat in such a way that he was almost comfortable. In fact, this position only slightly relieved the unbearable burden, but the old man believed that now he was almost comfortable.

I can't help her, and she can't help me either, he thought. “At least as long as it pulls straight ahead.”

Then he said aloud:

Too bad I don't have a boyfriend. Help me see it all.

“It is impossible for a man to live out his days in solitude,” he thought. - But nothing can be done.

"I wonder why she recoiled so," he thought. - Perhaps, the leash pulled her on the dorsal hump, she, of course, is not so callous on her back as it is for me. However, she cannot endlessly pull the boat, no matter how big and strong. Now I have removed everything that could interfere with me, and I have a lot of vein in reserve, therefore, there is nothing better to wish for.

Ribot, - he said softly, - as long as I live, I will not leave you.

"Yes, and she probably won't leave me," thought the old man, waiting for her to see her. It got even colder in this pre-dawn time, and he leaned against the boards to warm himself a little. "Whatever she is weak, I can do," he thought. It lit up in the light, and he saw how the vein, extending from his shoulder, indirectly entered the water. The boat moved steadily forward, and when the edge of the sun poked over the horizon, its rays fell on the old man's right shoulder.

A small bird flew up to the boat from the north. It was some kind of songbird, and it flew very low over the water. The old man noticed that she was completely exhausted.

The bird sat on the stern to rest. Then she fluttered into the old man above her head and sat down on the fishing line where she felt more comfortable.

How old are you? asked the old man. - Is this your first trip?

When he answered, the bird looked at him. She was so tired that she did not even try on, sitting on the vein, and now she swayed, tenaciously clasping her with her fragile pazurs.

The line is tight, the old man told her. - Too hard. Why are you so tired of windless water? And what is it with the birds?

And there are also hawks, he thought. “They fly out more by sea to cut you off.” But the birds did not say this, and still she would not have understood him, and soon she would have to find out about the hawks herself.

Have a good rest, had a bird, - said the old man. - And then turn back to the shore and look for your fate, as everyone is looking for it - people, birds, and fish.

The conversation had cheered him up a little, because his back had been completely numb during the night and now it really hurt.

When you want, stay with me here, bird, - he said. - It's a pity that I can't set the sail and take you away, - just the breeze is removed. And, unfortunately, I am not alone, but with a friend.

It was at that moment that the fish suddenly snarled its vein so that the old man fell on the bow of the boat and would certainly have fallen overboard if he had not rested on the boards and let the tackle go.

When the fish jerked, the bird fluttered away, and the old man did not notice how she disappeared. He carefully felt the vein with his right hand and saw blood on his palm.

Apparently, something got through to her, - the old man said and pulled the tackle towards him, trying to return the fish back. And, pulling on the vein to the pore, he sat down again, as before, only holding back its tension.

I see, ribot, that it is nevertheless given to you to know,” he said. Me too, God knows.

He looked around for a bird, because he was glad at least for her company. However, the bird has disappeared.

“A huge fish, and I must tame it,” thought the old man. “You can’t let her feel how strong she is and what she is capable of when she starts to run away. Being her, I would now go to the despair of the soul and give cravings until something would burst. And, thank God, the fish are not as smart as we kill them, but much more noble and more.”

The old one happened to see a lot of large fish. He also saw a lot of fish, weighing over a thousand pounds, and he himself caught two of them in his life, but he never fished alone. And now, alone, far from the shore, tied to the biggest fish he had ever seen or heard of, his left hand was still completely bewildered, like the clenched claws of an eagle.

“Nothing, it will go away,” he thought. - He will definitely step aside and help with his right hand. All of them and three are like sisters - a fish and my two hands. Must leave. It's just not fair that she's behaving like that."

In the meantime, the fish slowed down again and swam smoothly, as before.

“I wonder what she came up with,” thought the old man. - As if just to show me how big she is. Yes, now I know it. It would be nice to show her what kind of person I am. But then she would have seen my twisted hand. No, let him think that I'm stronger than I really am, and I'll try not to make a mistake. Oh, if I were her and had everything she has against my only weapon - will and reason.

“Well, if she fell asleep, then I could sleep and dream of lions,” he thought. “Why are those lions the most important thing I have left? Get those thoughts out of your head, old man,” he told himself. - Sit quietly here by the side, rest and don't think about anything. The fish is wasting power. And you should spend it as little as possible.

When the sun went down, the old man, to give himself confidence, began to recall how once in a tavern in Casablanca he measured his strength with a stout Negro from Cienfuegos, who was the very first strong man in the port there. All day and all night they sat with their elbows on the line drawn in chalk on the table, and tightly clasped their hands and stood upright, and each tried to bend the opponent's hand to the table. Almost everyone was arguing about who would win, people came and went from the tavern, lit by kerosene lamps, and he stared intently at the negro's hand and at his face. After the first eight hours, the judges began to change every four hours to get some sleep. Both he and the negro were bleeding from under their fingernails, and they continued to look into each other's eyes and hands, while the spectators came and went, sat on high chairs along the wall and waited. The wooden walls of the tavern were painted light blue, and the lamps cast the shadows of both opponents on them. And when the wind swayed the lamps outside, the huge shadow of the black man chimed on the wall.

During the whole night the advantage of times leaned from one to the other; Rum was brought to the Negro and cigarettes were smoked for him. After drinking rum, he drank with might and main, and once almost three inches rejected the hand of the old man, who was then not "old", but Santiago El Campeon5. However, the old one was able to put his hand still again. After that, He no longer doubted that he would defeat the enemy, even though the Negro was good person and an uncommon strongman. At dawn, when the spectators went to the establishments, they began to ask the judge to declare a draw, and he only silently shook his head, the old man made the last jerk of his effort and began to bend the negro's hand lower and lower until it lay on a wooden table top. The competition started on Sunday morning and ended on Monday morning. Many of the spectators were already demanding a draw, because they had to go to work - some to load sacks of sugar into the port, and some to the Havana Company. If not for this, they would all willingly wait for the end of the competition. And the old man finished it on time, before they had to go to work.

It was already completely dark, as it always happens in September, when darkness comes immediately after sunset. The old man leaned his chest against the tattered bow planks and tried to rest as best he could. He did not know the name of the star Rigel6, but he saw it and knew that soon all the other stars, his distant friends, would light up and be with him again.

And the fish is also my friend,” he said aloud. - I have never seen such a fish, never even heard of such. Still, I have to kill her. It's good that we don't have to hunt at dawn.

“What if a person had to kill a month every day? thought the old man. - And a month would run away from her. Or if she had to chase the sun daily to kill it? So, we are not so mediocre yet,” he entertained.

Then he felt sorry for the big fish, which had nothing to eat; although he sympathized with the fish, he did not for a moment leave his firm intention to kill her. “This is how many people she will feed,” the old man thought. - And are they worth eating it? No, not at all. No one should eat this fish that behaves so intelligently, with such great dignity. I'm not very good at all these things, he thought further. - Still, it's good that we don't have to measure ourselves to kill the sun, moon or stars. It is enough that we live by the sea and beat our sincere brothers.

For an hour now dark spots had flickered in the eyes of the old man, salty sweat flowed into his eyes and burned them painfully and burned the scratches on his forehead just as painfully. The old man was not afraid of dark spots - that was a natural thing with such tension with which he pulled the tackle. And now, twice, he's had a headache, and it bothered him.

It can't be that I got angry and died through this fish, - he said. - And even now, when she does everything that I need. God help me to endure. I will say "Our Father" a hundred times and "Theotokos" a hundred times. I just can't right now.

The old one saw Rybin when she turned for the third time. At first he saw a dark shadow - she swam under the boat for so long that the old one could not believe his eyes.

No, he said. - It can't be that big. And the fish really was so big, and when, completing this circle, it rose to the surface only thirty yards from the boat, the old man saw its tail above the water. It was taller than the blade of the largest scythe, tilted back, and against the background of dark water it seemed slightly tinted lilac. While the fish swam like this near the surface, the old man managed to see its huge body and purple stripes that encircled it. Her dorsal fin was lowered, and the huge fins on her chest spread wide apart.

For each smooth, leisurely turn of the fish, he picked out more and more vein and was already sure that in no more than two circles he could drive a harpoon into it.

“We just need to pull her even closer, as close as possible,” he thought. - You don't have to hit it in the head. Need Ukrainian. vluchity) just in the heart.

Be calm and strong, old man, he told himself.

And when he, all tensed even before the fish caught up with the boat, began to pull with all his might, she only fell on her side, but immediately regained her balance and swam away.

Ribot, said the old man. - Ribot, you don't care to die. Do you want to kill me too?

No, I won't do anything like that, he thought. His mouth was completely dry, and he could no longer speak, but now he could not get out a bottle of water. “If we need to pull her up to the side,” he thought. “I don’t have enough strength for these turns anymore ... No, enough,” he reined in himself. “You have enough power for everything.”

At the next turn, he almost finished. But the fish straightened out again and slowly swam away.

“You are killing me, ribo,” thought the old man. - But you have a right to it. Never before have I seen such a majestic, beautiful, calm and noble creature as you, my sister. Okay, kill me. I don't care who kills who...

Your head is throbbing,” he stopped himself. - You need to keep your head clear. So watch your thoughts and learn to endure hardships like a man. Or like this fish, ”the old man added mentally in the same way.

Clear up, head, - he said and barely heard his own voice. - Come on, be clear.

Two more circles did not give any consequences.

“I don’t know what to do,” thought the old man. For each new failure, it seemed to him that he was about to let go of the spirit. - I just do not know. But I'll try again."

He tried again, and as he tossed the fish to its side, he felt himself losing consciousness. And the fish straightened up and again slowly swam away, waving its huge tail above the water.

“I'll try again,” the old man promised himself, even though his hands were completely exhausted, and it was dark in his eyes, and only occasionally cleared up for a moment.

The old man dropped the tackle to the ground, stepped on it with his foot, raised the harpoon as high as he could, and how much power was left in him, and the one he called for help at that moment, blocking him in the direction of the fish, just behind the chest fin that was placed above the water at the level of the human chest. He felt the iron point go into the fish, and, leaning against the harpoon, he moved it even deeper, and then with his whole body he thrust on the shaft.

And suddenly the fish, already stricken with death, came to life and emerged high above the water, as if showing all its size, power and beauty. It seemed to hang in the air above the old man's head and his boat. And then, with a grim splash, she fell into the sea, pouring a shower of spray over both the old one and the whole boat.

Cumulus clouds were moving high in the sky, and even higher above them one could see a lot of feasts, and the old man knew that the wind would not stop all night. He kept looking at the fish to make sure that it really was. Another hour passed when the first shark came.

The shark did not appear by chance. She rose from the depths even when a dark bloodstain was swirling in the sea and gen-gen spilled from the surface. She rose so swiftly and fearlessly that she cut through the surface of the blue water and surfaced against the sun. Then she dived under the water again, felt the spirit of blood that followed the boat and the fish, and rushed after her.

At times she lost track. But each time she found him again - if not the most followed, then his barely audible spirit - and steadily rushed forward.

When the old man saw her, he realized that this shark knows no fear and will do as it pleases. While waiting for her to swim closer, he prepared the harpoon and tied the end of the rope tightly.

The shark was already near the stern, and when it rushed towards the fish, the old man saw its open mouth, and strange eyes, and drooping teeth, clapped right up, plunging into the fish in front of the tail.

There was only a massive, pointed dove's head, and big eyes, and predatory, grungy, omnipotent jaws. But right there, in that place, was the brain, and the old man hit there. He struck with wounded, bloody hands, throwing a sharp harpoon with all his might. Struck without hope, but full of determination and heart-rending rage.

The shark rolled over on its back, and the old man saw that its eyes were no longer alive; then she rolled over again, wrapping the rope around her twice. The old man knew she was dead, and the shark didn't want to accept that. Already lying on her back, she flailed her tail, snapped her jaws, and then suddenly rushed away, plowing the water like a speedboat. The sea along it became white from the foam whipped by its tail, and the shark itself was three-quarters above the surface, and at that moment: the rope snarled tightly, trembled and immediately burst. The shark lay motionless on the water in some kind of wave, and the old man looked at it. Then she slowly sank to the bottom.

She took forty pounds of fish from me,” said the old man. And also the harpoon and all the rope, he added mentally. “And now my fish is bleeding again, which is attracting other sharks.”

For two hours now he had been swimming comfortably in the stern, occasionally chewing on the flesh of a large marlin and trying to rest a little and get stronger when he suddenly saw the first of two new sharks.

Galanos, he said.

The sharks swam closer. One turned aside and disappeared under the boat, and then the old man felt the boat shake as the shark began to shred the fish. The second stared intently at the old man for a moment with its narrow yellow eyes, and then, wide-opening rounded jaws, with acceleration bit its teeth into the already worn-out side of the fish. At the very top of her brown head and back, where the brain connects with the spinal cord, a straight line was clearly visible, and the old one drove his tied to the oars with what exactly in that place. Then he pulled out the knife and struck again, this time - in yellow, like a cat, shark's eyes. The shark instantly broke away from the fish and silently went under the water. Already dying, she fussily swallowed what she managed to snatch.

Meanwhile, the boat continued to shake - the first shark was furiously chopping the fish - and the old man let go of the sheet to tilt the boat on its side and get to the shark. And when he finally saw her, he leaned over the side and stabbed her with a knife. And he hit the soft, and, stumbling upon the dense skin, he barely pierced it with anything.

He could no longer address the fish: it was too mutilated. And suddenly a thought flashed through his mind.

Pivribi, he said. - Former ribo. I'm sorry I swam this far. I killed us both. But how many sharks have we killed and how many maimed. And you yourself killed a lot of them in your life, ha, old ribo? No wonder you wear your sword on your head.

The old man thought with pleasure about the fish and how it would have dealt with the shark if it were now swimming free. I should have cut off her sword and used it to fight the sharks, he thought. But he did not have an ax, and then there was no knife.

“And if I cut it off and somehow managed to tie it to the oar, that would be a weapon. Then we would fight them together. But what will you do now, how will they attack at night? What can you do?

Fight them, he said. I will fight them until I die.

Finally, one shark jumped up to the very head, and the old man realized that this was the end. He swung his tiller and hit the shark in the muzzle, in the place where its jaws were stuck in the tight, intractable fish head. Hit once, then again and again. But suddenly he heard the tiller clapping in his hands, and slapping the shark in the muzzle with the broken end. Feeling how a sharp fragment crashed into something soft, the old one slapped again. The shark opened its jaws and swam away, the last of the whole flock, they had nothing more to eat.

The old man could hardly keep his breath and felt some strange taste in his mouth. It smelled like copper and something sweet, and for a moment he was scared. And soon it was all gone.

He spat into the ocean and said:

Eat that too, galanos. And imagine that you ate a person.

The old man knew that now he was completely and hopelessly defeated, and returned to the stern. Sticking a piece of tiller into the opening of the stubble, he saw that he could steer. Then he wrapped his bag around his shoulders and again directed the boat to the shore. The boat was now moving quite easily, and the old man sat to himself, thinking of nothing and feeling nothing. Now he was indifferent, and he only bothered to bring the boat safely and rightly to his native bay. Somewhere at night, sharks attacked the skeleton of a fish, like those gluttons greedily grabbing the last crumbs from the table. The old man paid no attention to them, and in general did not pay attention to anything, except for the sail and the rudder. He only noted to himself how easily the boat goes, having lost its huge load.

“I have a good boat,” he thought. - Sturdy, not damaged at all, except for the tiller. And the tiller is easy to replace.”

The old man felt that he had already floated into the current, and now he clearly saw the lights of coastal villages ahead. He knew where he was - it was very close to the house from there.

“As it is, but the wind is still a friend to us,” he thought, and then corrected himself: “It happens to be a friend. And the endless sea - in it we have both friends and enemies. And the bed, he remembered. The bed is also my friend. Yes, exactly the bed, - he confirmed mentally. - A bed is a wonderful thing ... And how easy it becomes on the soul when you are defeated, - he suddenly thought. I never knew how easy it is. And who defeated you? the old man asked himself.

Nobody, he said. “I swam too far out to sea, that’s all.

When the boat entered a small bay, there was no light on the "Terrace", and the old man realized that everyone had been sleeping for a long time. The wind, and before that everything was getting stronger, now it's really booming. However, it was comfortable in the bay, and the old one moored to a narrow patch of rhini under the rocks. There was no one to help, and he himself pushed the boat as far as he could out of the water. Then he went ashore and pressed him to the rock.

He took down the mast, wrapped the sail around it and tied it with a rope. Then he put the mast on his shoulder and moved up. It was only now that he realized how tired he was. He paused for a moment, looked back and in the reflection of a street lamp he saw a huge tail of a fish that was placed high above his stern of the boat. I saw a white stripe of a grimy spine, and a dark mass of a head with a sword whipping forward, and the whole naked skeleton.

When the guy looked in the door in the morning, the old man was still asleep. The wind whirled so that the fishing boats could not go to sea, and the guy got up late, and then went to the old hut, as he did every morning. He saw that the old man was breathing, and then he looked at his hands and began to cry. Then he quietly left the hut to fetch some old coffee, and wept all the way.

A lot of fishermen stood around the boat, looking at what was stuck to the side, and one, rolling up the trousers of his trousers again, Went into the water and measured the skeleton with a long rope.

How is he there? one of the fishermen called out to the guy below.

Asleep! - the guy shouted back. He was not at all ashamed of his tears. - Don't let anyone bother him.

Eighteen feet from nose to tail, the fisherman who measured the bones called out to him.

That's what I thought," the guy said.

Finally the old man woke up.

Don't get up, the guy told him. - Here, have a drink. - Pouring coffee into a glass. The old man took the coffee and drank it.

They overpowered me, Manolina, he said. - They won.

She didn't beat you. Not a fish.

No. Your truth. That was later.

Now we will fish together again.

No. I am untalented. He became completely untalented.

To hell with that talent, - said the guy. - You will be lucky with me.

What will they say at home?

That is indifferent. I brought them two fish yesterday. And now I'll be with you again, because I still have a lot to learn.

That day, a group of tourists came to the Terrace, and one guest, looking down at the sea, saw in the water near the shore, among empty beer cans and dead barracudas, an ancient white ridge with a huge tail at the end, which swayed on the high waves of the surf. , wafting into the bay with a raging strong east wind of the ocean.

What it is? she asked the waiter and pointed to a long bone of a large fish, which was now its usual garbage, and it was soon to be carried away by the outflow.

Tiburon7 - said the waiter. - One shark... - He wanted to explain what happened.

I didn't know that sharks have such beautiful, perfectly shaped tails.

I didn't know either, said her companion.

And upstairs, in his hut by the road, the old man slept again. He also slept downstairs, and a guy was sitting with him, guarding his sleep. The old man dreamed of lions.

Loser (Spanish).

An image of Jesus Christ with a dissected chest, where a flaming heart is visible.

The so-called Madonna of the copper mines, respected in Cuba as a substitute for those at sea, fishermen and Cuba in general.

IN Spanish the word "sea" can be used with both masculine and feminine articles.

Champion (Spanish).

A large star in the constellation Orion.

Tiburon - Shark

Translation by V. Mitrofanov