“He's coming up,”he said.“Come on hand.Please come on.”
He thought of how some men feared being out of sight of land in a small boat and knew they were right in the months of sudden bad weather.But now they were in hurricane months and,when there are no hurricanes,the weather of hurricane months is the best of all the year.
“Something hurt him then,”he said aloud and pulled back on the line to see if he could turn the fish.But when he was touching the breaking point he held steady and settled back against the strain of the line.
There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much phosphorescence in the night.
“What kind of a hand is that,”he said.“Cramp then if you want.Make yourself into a claw.It will do you no good.”Come on,he thought and looked down into the dark water at the slant of the line.Eat it now and it will strengthen the hand.It is not the hand's fault and you have been many hours with the fish.But you can stay with him forever.Eat the bonito now.
He was comfortable but suffering,although he did not admit the suffering at all.
If there is a hurricane you always see the signs of it in the sky for days ahead,if you are at sea.They do not see it ashore because they do not know what to look for,he thought.The land must make a difference too,in the shape of the clouds. But we have no hurricane coming now.