“That's easy. I can always borrow two dollars and a half.”
“Can you really remember that or did I just tell it to you?”
“It is strange,”the old man said.“He never went turtle-ing.That is what kills the eyes.”
“Santiago,”the boy said to him as they climbed the bank from where the skiff was hauled up.“I could go with you again.We've made some money.”
“I would like to go.If I cannot fish with you,I would like to serve in some way.”
“He hasn't much faith.”
“Five and you nearly were killed when I brought the fish in too green and he nearly tore the boat to pieces.Can you remember?”
“Do you think we should buy a terminal of the lottery with an eighty-five?Tomorrow is the eighty-fifth day.”
“Santiago,”the boy said.
“A pot of yellow rice with fish.Do you want some?”
“I'll try to get him to work far out,”the boy said.“ Then if you hook something truly big we can come to your aid.”
He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.In the first forty days a boy had been with him.But after forty days without a fish the boy's parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao,which is the worst form of unlucky,and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first week.It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast.The sail was patched with flour sacks and,furled,it looked like the flag of permanent defeat.