He jammed the tiller,made the sheet fast and reached under the stern for the club. It was an oar handle from a broken oar sawed off to about two and a half feet in length. He could only use it effectively with one hand because of the grip of the handle and he took good hold of it with his right hand,flexing his hand on it,as he watched the sharks come. They were both galanos.
But in the dark now and no glow showing and no lights and only the wind and the steady pull of the sail he felt that perhaps he was already dead.He put his two hands together and felt the palms.They were not dead and he could bring the pain of life by simply opening and closing them.He leaned his back against the stern and he knew he was not dead.His shoulders told him.
I cannot be too far out now,he thought.I hope no one has been too worried. There is only the boy to worry, of course.But I am sure he would have confidence.Many of the older fishermen will worry.Many others too,he thought.I live in a good town.
“You're tired,old man,”he said.“ You're tired inside.”
The old man watched for him to come again but neither shark showed.Then he saw one on the surface swimming in circles.He did not see the fin of the other.