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From

The Old Man and the Sea ( I )

by Ernest Hemingway

    Hemingway's novelette tells of the Cuban fisherman Santiago who for 84 luckless days has rowed his skiff into the Gulf Stream in quest of marlin. Aged and solitary, he goes far out and hooks a great fish. As he sails slowly homewards sharks attack his catch and he keeps fighting them. When he makes land his marlin is but a skeleton. Yet the old man remains proud in defeat. The following is the beginning section of the story.

    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.

    The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

    "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."

    The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him.

    "No," the old man said. "You're with a lucky boat. Stay with them."

    "But remember how you went eighty-seven days without fish and then we caught big ones every day for three weeks."

    "I remember," the old man said, "I know you did not leave me because you doubted."

    "It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him."

    "I know," the old man said. "It is quite normal."

    "He hasn't much faith."

    "No," the old man said. "But we have. Haven't we?"

    "Yes," the boy said. "Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then we'll take the stuff home."

    "Why not?" the old man said. "Between fishermen."

    They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the old man and he was not angry. Others, of the older fishermen, looked at him and were sad. But they did not show it and they spoke politely about the current and the depths they had drifted their lines at and the steady good weather and of what they had seen.

    When the wind was in the east a smell came across the harbor from the shark factory; but today there was only the faint edge of the odor because the wind had backed into the north and then dropped off and it was pleasant and sunny on the Terrace.

    "Santiago," the boy said.

    "Yes," the old man said. He was holding his glass and thinking of many years ago.

    "Can I go out to get sardines for you for tomorrow?"

    "No. Go and play baseball. I can still row and Rogelio will throw the net."

    "I would like to go. If I cannot fish with you, I would like to serve in some way."

    "You bought me a beer," the old man said. "You are already a man."

    "How old was I when you first took me in a boat?"

    "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?"

    "I can remember the tail slapping and banging and the thwart breaking and the noise of the clubbing. I can remember you throwing me into the bow where the wet coiled lines were and feeling the whole boat shiver and the noise of you clubbing him like chopping a tree down and the sweet blood smell all over me."

    "Can you really remember that or did I just tell it to you?"
 
    "I remember everything from when we first went together."

    The old man looked at him with his sunburned, confident loving eyes.

    "If you were my boy I'd take you out and gamble," he said, "But you are your father's and your mother's and you are in a lucky boat."

    "May I get the sardines? I know where I can get four baits too."

    "I have mine left from today. I put them in salt in the box."

    "Let me get four fresh ones."

    "One," the old man said. His hope and his confidence had never gone. But now they were freshening as when the breeze rises.

    "Two," the boy said.

    "Two," the old man agreed. "You didn't steal them?"

    "I would," the boy said. "But I bought these."

    "Thank you," the old man said. He was too simple to wonder when he had attained humility. But he knew he had attained it   and he knew it was not disgraceful and it carried no loss of true pride.

    "Tomorrow is going to be a good day with this current," he said.

    "Where are you going?" the boy asked.

    "Far out to come in when the wind shifts. I want to be out before it is light."

    "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 does not like to work too far out."
 
    "No," the boy said. "But I will see something that he cannot see such as a bird working and get him to come out after dolphin."

    "Are his eyes that bad?"

    "He is almost blind."

    "It is strange," the old man said. "He never went turtle-ing. That is what kills the eyes."

    "But you went turtle-ing for years off the Mosquito Coast and your eyes are good." 

    "I am a strange old man."

    "But are you strong enough now for a truly big fish?"

    "I think so. And there are many tricks."

    "Let us take the stuff home," the boy said. "So I can get the cast net and go after the sardines."

    They walked up the road together to the old man's shack and went in through its open door. The old man leaned the mast with its wrapped sail against the wall and the boy put the box and the other gear beside it. The mast was nearly as long as the one room of the shack. The shack was made of the tough bud-shields of the royal palm which are called guano and in it there was a bed, a table, one chair, and a place on the dirt floor to cook with charcoal. On the brown walls of the flattened, overlapping leaves of the sturdy fibered guano there was a picture in color of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and another of the Virgin of Cobre. These were relics of his wife. Once there had been a tinted photograph of his wife on the wall but he had taken it down because it made him too lonely to see it and it was on the shelf in the corner under his clean shirt.

    "What do you have to eat?" the boy asked.

    "A pot of yellow rice with fish. Do you want some?"

    "No, I will eat at home. Do you want me to make the fire?"

    "No. I will make it later on. Or I may eat the rice cold."

    "May I take the cast net?"

    "Of course."

    There was no cast net and the boy remembered when they had sold it. But they went through this fiction every day. There was no pot of yellow rice and fish and the boy knew this too.

    "Eighty-five is a lucky number," the old man said. "How would you like to see me bring one in that dressed out over a thousand pounds?"

    "I'll get the cast net and go for sardines. Will you sit in the sun in the doorway?"

    "Yes. I have yesterday's paper and I will read the baseball."

    The boy did not know whether yesterday's paper was a fiction too. But the old man brought it out from under the bed.

    "Perico gave it to me at the bodega," he explained.

    "I'll be back when I have the sardines. I'll keep yours and mine together on ice and we can share them in the morning. When I come back you can tell me about the baseball."

    When the boy came back the old man was asleep in the chair and the sun was down. The boy took the old army blanket off the bed and spread it over the back of the chair and over the old man's shoulders. They were strange shoulders, still powerful although very old, and the neck was still strong too and the creases did not show so much when the old man was asleep and his head fallen forward. His shirt had been patched so many times that it was like the sail and the patches were faded to many different shades by the sun. The old man's head was very old though and with his eyes closed there was no life in his face. The newspaper lay across his knees and the weight of his arm held it there in the evening breeze. He was barefooted.

    The boy left him there and when he came back the old man was still asleep.

    "Wake up, old man," the boy said and put his hand on one of the old man's knees.

    The old man opened his eyes and for a moment he was coming back from a long way away. Then he smiled.

    "What have you got?" he asked.

    "Supper," said the boy. "We're going to have supper."

    "I'm not very hungry."

    "Come on and eat. You can't fish and not eat." 

    "I have," the old man said getting up and taking the newspaper and folding it. Then he started to fold the blanket.

    "Keep the blanket around you," the boy said. "You'll not fish without eating while I’m alive."

    "Then live a long time and take care of yourself," the old man said. "What are we eating?"

    "Black beans and rice, fried bananas, and some stew."

    The boy had brought them in a two-decker metal container from the Terrace. The two sets of knives and forks and spoons were in his pocket with a paper napkin wrapped around each set.

    "Who gave this to you?"

    "Martin. The owner."

    "I must thank him."

    "I thanked him already," the boy said. "You don't need to thank him."

    "I'll give him the belly meat of a big fish," the old man said. "Has he done this for us more than once?"

    "I think so."

    "I must give him something more than the belly meat then. He is very thoughtful for us."

    "He sent two beers."

    "I like the beer in cans best." "I know. But this is in bottles, Hatuey beer, and I take back the bottles."

    "That's very kind of you," the old man said. " Should we eat?"

    "I've been asking you to," the boy told him gently. "I have not wished to open the container until you were ready."

    "I'm ready now," the old man said. "I only needed time to wash."

    Where did you wash? the boy thought. The village water supply was two streets down the road. I must have water here for him, the boy thought, and soap and a good towel. Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another blanket.

    "Your stew is excellent," the old man said.

    "Tell me about the baseball," the boy asked him.

    "In the American League it is the Yankees as I said," the old man said happily.

    "They lost today," the boy told him.

    "That means nothing. The great DiMaggio is himself again."

    "They have other men on the team."

    "Naturally. But he makes the difference. In the other league, between Brooklyn and Philadelphia I must take Brooklyn. But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives in the old park."

    "There was nothing ever like them. He hits the longest ball I have ever seen."

    "Do you remember when he used to come to the Terrace? I wanted to take him fishing but I was too timid to ask him. Then I asked you to ask him and you were too timid."

    "I know. It was a great mistake. He might have gone with us. Then we would have that for all of our lives."

    "I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing," the old man said. "They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand."

    "The great Sisler's father was never poor and he, the father, was playing in the big leagues when he was my age."

    "When I was your age I was before the mast on a square rigged ship that ran to Africa and I have seen lions on the beaches in the evening."

    "I know. You told me."

    "Should we talk about Africa or about baseball?"

    "Baseball I think," the boy said. "Tell me about the great John J. McGraw." He said Jota for J.

    "He used to come to the Terrace sometimes too in the older days. But he was rough and harsh-spoken and difficult when he was drinking. His mind was on horses as well as baseball. At least he carried lists of horses at all times in his pocket and frequently spoke the names of horses on the telephone."

    "He was a great manager," the boy said. "My father thinks he was the greatest."

    "Because he came here the most times," the old man said. "If Durocher had continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager."

    "Who is the greatest manager, really, Luque or Mike Gonzalez?"

    "I think they are equal."

    "And the best fisherman is  you."

    "No. I know others better."

    "Qué va," the boy said. "There are many good fishermen and some great ones. But there is only you."

    "Thank you. You make me happy. I hope no fish will come along so great that he will prove us wrong."

    "There is no such fish if you are still strong as you say."

    "I may not be as strong as I think," the old man said.

    "But I know many tricks and I have resolution."

    "You ought to go to bed now so that you will be fresh in the morning. I will take the things back to the Terrace."

    "Good night then. I will wake you in the morning."

    "You're my alarm clock," the boy said.

    "Age is my alarm clock," the old man said. "Why do old men wake so early? Is it to have one longer day?"
 
    "I don't know," the boy said. "All I know is that young boys sleep late and hard."

    "I can remember it," the old man said. "I'll waken you in time."
 
    "I do not like for him to waken me. It is as though I were inferior."

    "I know."

    "Sleep well, old man."

    The boy went out. They had eaten with no light on the table and the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark. He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow, putting the newspaper inside them. He rolled himself in the blanket and slept on the other old newspapers that covered the springs of the bed.

    He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it. He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.

    Usually when he smelled the land breeze he woke up and dressed to go and wake the boy. But tonight the smell of the land breeze came very early and he knew it was too early in his dream and went on dreaming to see the white peaks of the Islands rising from the sea and then he dreamed of the different harbors and roadsteads of the Canary Islands.

    He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on. He urinated outside the shack and then went up the road to wake the boy. He was shivering with the morning cold. But he knew he would shiver himself warm and that soon he would be rowing.

    (2 820 words) TOP

课文一

老人与海 (I)

厄内斯特•海明威

    海明威的中篇小说《老人与海》讲述了古巴渔夫圣地亚哥的故事。圣地亚哥把小船划进墨西哥湾流寻找马林鱼，84天过去了,运气一直不好。年老孤独的他把船划得很远，叉到了一条大鱼。他慢慢地返航时，鲨鱼袭击了他的猎物，他一直不停地搏斗。抵岸时，他的马林鱼只剩一堆骨架。然而老人虽败犹荣。下面是故事的开始部分。

    他是个老人，独自一人驾只小船在墨西哥湾流打鱼，已经连续84天没有捕到一条鱼了。前40天里，有个男孩跟着他。但一连40天没捕到鱼，孩子的父母就对他说，老人现在一定是“倒了血霉”，那是形容一个人倒霉的最坏字眼，于是在父母的命令下，孩子搭上另一只渔船， 这只船头一个星期就捕到3条大鱼。看到老人每天划着小船空手而归，男孩心里非常难过，他总是走下岸，帮他收拾卷起的钓绳，或是鱼钩、鱼叉，和绕在桅杆上的帆。帆用面粉袋打了一些补丁，收起来的时候，看上去就象一面标志着永远失败的旗帜。

    老人很瘦，形容憔悴，后颈上满是一道道深深的皱纹。老人一副老态龙钟的样子，但那双眼睛除外，眼睛海水般湛蓝，透着愉快，不屈不挠。

    “圣地亚哥，”男孩系好船，爬上岸时，对他说：“我又能跟你一起出海啦。我们已攒了些钱。”

    老人教会了男孩捕鱼，男孩爱他。

     “不，”老人说。“你跟了条走运的船。跟着他们吧。”

    “但是你该记得，有一次，你一连87天一条鱼也没捕到，后来却接连3个星期，每天我们都捕到大鱼。”

    “我记得，”老人说。“我知道你离开我不是因为不信任我。”

    “是爸爸让我走的。我还是个孩子，必须听他的。”

    “我知道，”老人说。“这是情理中的。”

    “他没多大的信心。”

    “是的，”老人说。“可我们有，不是吗？”

    “对，”孩子说。“我请您在露台饭店喝瓶啤酒，然后我们把鱼具带回家 。”

    “好啊，”老人说。“打鱼的都是一家人。”

    他俩坐在露台饭店，许多渔夫拿老人开玩笑，他也不生气。其他一些上了年纪的渔夫看着他，心中难过。不过他们并没有流露出来，只是礼貌地谈论海流，谈论他们把钓鱼绳抛入大海的深度，谈论一直很好的天气，还有他们的见闻。

    刮东风的时候，海湾对岸的鲨鱼加工厂会飘来一股味；今天只有一丝淡淡的腥味，因为已经转成北风，接着风停了。露台饭店阳光明媚，天气怡人。

    “圣地亚哥，”男孩说。

    “哦，”老人应道。他手里拿着酒杯，心里想着多年前的往事。

    “我去给你拿些明天用的沙丁鱼来，好不好？”

    “不。去打棒球吧。我还可以划船呢，罗吉利奥会撒网的。”

    “我想去。假如不能跟你一道打鱼，我想替你做些事儿。”

    “你已给我买了啤酒，”老人说。“你是个大人啦。”

    “你第一次带我上船时，我多大？”

 
    “5岁。那天，我把一条活蹦乱跳的鱼拖上船，你也险些送了命，它差点把船撞得粉碎。还记得吗？”

 
    “我记得鱼尾巴叭哒叭哒地直扑腾，船上坐板也给打断了，还有你用棍棒敲鱼的声音。我记得你把我推到船头上，那儿放着湿钓绳卷，我感到整只船都在颤动，听到你用棍子打鱼，象砍树似的，我全身散发着甜丝丝的血腥味儿。”

    “你是真记得，还是我告诉你的？”

    “从我们第一次出海起，每件事我都记得清清楚楚。”

    老人那日晒风吹的双眼，坚定而又慈爱地看着男孩。

    “你要是我的孩子，我准会带你出海搏一下，”他说。“可是，你是你爸爸妈妈的儿子，你搭的又是一只交了好运的船。”

    “我去拿沙丁鱼好吗？我还知道去哪儿拿四条鱼饵来。”

    “今天我的还有剩余。我都放进盒子里用盐腌上了。”

    “那么我去弄4条新鲜的来吧。”

     “一条，”老人说。他的希望和信心从未消失，现在又像微风初起时那么清新了。

    “两条，”男孩说。

    “就两条吧，”老人同意了。“不是偷来的吧？”

     “偷我也愿意，”男孩说。“不过，我可是买的呢。”

    “谢谢你，”老人说。他很纯朴 ，不会想过自己什么时候变得谦卑。但是，他知道他自己已经变得谦卑，他还知道这并不丢脸，并不有损真正的自尊心。

   “看这样的海流，明天会是个好日子，”他说。

    “你打算到哪儿去？”男孩问。

    “驶得远远的，风向转了就回来。我想天亮前就出发。”

    “我也设法叫他驶得远远的，”男孩说。“这样，要是你捕到一条真正的大鱼，我们就可以赶去帮你了。”

    “他不愿意把船划得太远。”

    “是啊，”男孩说。“可是我会看见他看不见的东西，像觅食的鸟儿，我还会叫他去追海豚。”

    “他的眼睛那么不好使吗？”

    “他几乎瞎了。”

    “这倒奇怪了，”老人说。“他从不去捉海龟的，那才伤眼睛呢。”

    “你在摩斯基多海湾捉了那么多年的海龟，可眼睛还是好好的。”

    “我是个不同寻常的老头啊。”

    “可是，现在你有足够的力气对付一条真正的大鱼吗？”

    “我想还有。何况还有好多诀窍呢。”

    “我们把东西拿回家吧，”男孩说。“这样，我才能够拿网去捉些沙丁鱼来。”

    他俩沿着大路来到老人的茅棚。门开着，他们走了进去。老人把缠着帆的桅杆靠在墙上，孩子把盒子和其他船具放在桅杆旁。桅杆差不多有茅棚的一间屋子那么长。茅棚是用坚硬的被称作“海鸟粪”的棕榈树苞壳做成的。屋里有一张床，一张饭桌，一把椅子，泥地上还有一块用木炭烧饭的地方。在用一片片具有硬纤维质的“海鸟粪”叶子相互交叠而成的褐色墙壁上，有一幅彩色的耶稣圣心节图，还有一幅柯布雷圣母图。这些是他老婆的遗物。过去，墙上曾挂了一幅他老婆的彩照。但是看见照片，他倍觉凄凉，所以把它拿掉了，放在屋角架子上一件干净的衬衫下面。

    “你有什么吃的吗？”男孩问。

    “一锅鱼煮黄米饭。你也吃点吧？”

    “不。我回家去吃。要我给你生火吗？”

    “不用了。等会我自个儿生。不然吃冷饭也可以。”

    “我拿网去好吗？”

    “当然好。”

    事实上并没有网，男孩记得他们是什么时候把网卖掉的。可是，他们每天都要编一套这样谎话。也没有一锅鱼煮黄米饭，男孩也是知道的。

    “85是个吉利数，”老人说。“你想看见我捉到一条去掉下脚料后重1000多磅的鱼吗？”

    “我拿网捞沙丁鱼去。你坐在门口晒太阳，好不好？”

    “好的。我有张昨天的报纸，我看看棒球的消息。”
  

    男孩搞不清老人所说的昨天报纸是否也是编出来的。不过，老人还真的从床底下拿了出来。

    “帕利哥在杂货铺给我的，”他解释说。 

    “我捞了沙丁鱼就回来。我要把你的鱼跟我的鱼一起放在冰上冷冻着，明天早上我俩就可以分着用了。等我回来，你就给我讲讲棒球赛的消息。”

    男孩回来的时候，老人在椅子上睡着了，太阳已经落山了。男孩从床上拿了一条旧军毯，铺在椅背上，盖住老人的双肩。那两个肩膀真奇怪，人虽老了，可肩膀依然结结实实的，颈部也是如此。老人睡着时，头向前耷拉着，皱纹看不大出来。他的衬衫不知道补过多少次了，就像他船上的那面帆，补钉也被太阳晒得褪成各种深浅不一的颜色。老人的头也非常苍老，眼睛闭着时脸上一点生气也没有。报纸平摊在他的膝盖上，一只胳膊压着，才没被晚风吹走。他光着脚。
　

    男孩又走开了，回来时，老人还在熟睡。  

    “醒醒，老爷爷，”男孩喊着，一只手放在老人的膝盖上。

    老人睁开双眼。一时，他好象正从老远的地方回来似的。接着他笑了。

    “你拿什么来啦？”他问。

    “晚饭，”男孩说。“我们吃晚饭吧。”

    “我不太饿。”

    “来，吃吧。你不能只打鱼不吃饭。”      

    “我曾这么做过，”老人说着，站起身来，拿起报纸叠好。然后他又动手去叠那条军毯。

    “把毯子披在身上吧，”男孩说。“只要我活着，我决不会让你不吃饭就去打鱼的。”

    “那么，祝你长寿，好好照顾自己吧，”老人说。“我们吃什么？”

    “黑豆饭，煎香蕉，还有一点儿莼菜。”

    男孩从露台饭店拿来这些放在两层的铁盒子里的饭菜，他的衣袋里有两副刀叉和汤匙，每副都用一块餐巾纸包着。

    “这是谁给你的？”

    “马丁。老板。”

    “我得谢谢他。”  

    “我已谢过了，”男孩说。“你不必再谢他了。”

    “我要给他一块大鱼肚子上的肉，”老人说。“他帮助我们不止一次了吧？”

    “我想是的。”

    “那么，除了鱼肚子的肉，我还要送他些东西。他对我们真关心。”

    “他送了我们两瓶啤酒。”

    “我喜欢罐装啤酒。”“我知道。不过，这是瓶装的，哈杜威牌，我要把瓶子拿回去。”

    “你真好，”老人说。“我们现在就吃？”
    “我已经问过你啦，”男孩温和地说。“你没准备好，我是不会打开饭盒的。”

    “现在准备好啦，”老人说。“我原来只需时间洗一洗。” 

    你在哪儿洗的？男孩想。村里的水龙头在大路那边，有两条街那么远。我应该把水给他提来，男孩想，还应该带一块肥皂和一条象样的毛巾来。我怎么这么粗心呢？我应该再给他弄一件衬衫和茄克衫过冬，给他一双什么鞋子，一条毯子。

    “莼菜味道真不错，” 老人说。

    “告诉我棒球赛的消息吧，”男孩说。

    “在美国联赛中，就象我说的，扬基队赢了，”老人高兴地说。

    “他们今天可输啦，”男孩告诉他。

    “那没关系。了不起的狄马吉奥又恢复本色了。”

    “他队里还有其他好手呢。”

    “当然。但有了他就不同了。在另一个联赛里，布鲁克林队对费拉得尔菲亚队，我认为布鲁克林队一定会赢。但是接着我又想起狄克•西斯勒和他在老公园打出的那几球，棒极了。”

    “那几球谁也比不上。象他打得那么远的球，我还是第一次看见呢。”

    “你还记得他过去常来露台饭店吗？我想带他去打鱼，可又不敢对他说，就让你去问，你也不敢。” 

    “我记得。真是一大失误。也许他会跟我们一道去的。那样一来，我们一辈子也忘不了。”

    “我很想带了不起的狄马吉奥去打鱼，”老人说。“他们说，他父亲以前就是个打鱼的。也许他跟我们一样穷，会懂我们的心意。”

    “那了不起的西斯勒的爸爸可从未穷过，他爸爸象我这么大的时候，就已经在一个联赛里打球了。”

    “我象你这么大的时候，在一艘去非洲去的方帆船上当水手，我还见过傍晚到海滩上来的狮子呢。”

    “我知道。你对我讲过。”

    “我们是谈非洲呢？还是谈棒球？”

    “棒球吧，”男孩说。“给我讲讲高手约翰•J•麦格劳的事情。”他把“J”说成了西班牙读法的“何塔”。

    “以前他有时也来露台饭店。但他一喝酒就变得粗暴，说话又生硬又刺耳，性子执拗。他满脑子的赛马和棒球。至少，不管什么时候他的口袋里总是揣着赛马的名单，还经常在电话里提到马的名字。”

    “他是个了不起经理，”男孩说。“我爸爸认为他是个最伟大的经理。”

    “因为他来这儿的次数最多，”老人说。“要是杜洛彻也继续每年来这儿，你爸爸也会认为他是个最伟大的经理的。”

    “说真的，谁是最了不起的经理呢？鲁克，还是迈克•冈萨雷斯？”
    “我觉得他俩不相上下。”

    “不过，要说打鱼，最了不起的还得数你。”

    “不。我知道有不少比我强的。”

    “怎么会呢，”男孩说。“好渔夫很多，打鱼的能手也不少。可是了不起的只有你一个。”

    “谢谢你。你真让我开心。我希望跑来的鱼不要大得叫我们对付不了，证明我们不行。”

    “要是你还是象你讲的那么强壮，不会有那样的鱼。”

    “也许我的身子没我想的那么壮，”老人说。

    “可是我懂得好多诀窍，我也有决心。” 

    “你该上床去睡啦，这样，早上才有精神。我也要把东西送回露天饭店去。”

    “那么祝你晚安，明早，我去叫醒你。”

  
    “你是我的闹钟，”男孩说。

    “年岁是我的闹钟，”老人说。“为什么上了年纪的人醒得那么早呢？是为了白天比别人过得更长一些吗？”

    “我不知道，”男孩说。“我只知道孩子们爱睡懒觉，睡不醒。”

    “我会记住这点，”老人说。“到时候我去喊醒你。”

    “我不愿意让他来喊我，好象我比他差似的。”

    “我知道。”

    “好好睡吧，老大爷。”

    男孩走了。他俩吃饭的时候，桌上没点灯，男孩走后，老人摸黑脱下裤子，上了床。他把裤子卷起当枕头，把那张报纸塞在里面，然后用军毯裹住身子，在盖着弹簧垫的一些旧报纸上睡下。

    不一会儿，他就睡着了，梦见了孩提时见到的非洲，梦见迤长的金色海滩和白色海滩，白得刺眼，还梦见高耸的海岬和巍峨的褐色山峰。现在，他每晚都住在那海边。在梦中，他听到海浪的怒号，看见当地的船只在海浪中穿行。睡着的时候，他闻到甲板上柏油和填絮的味道，还闻到早晨陆地上风送来的非洲气息。

    通常，一闻到地面上吹来的晨风，他就醒来，穿上衣服，前去叫醒男孩。但是今晚地面上的风吹得早，他在梦里知道时间还早，又继续梦下去。他梦见白茫茫的海岛 尖顶从海上升起，随后梦见加那利群岛的各个港口和抛锚地。

    他不再梦见风暴，不再梦见女人，不再梦见伟大的事件，不再梦见大鱼、搏斗、角力，也不再梦见他的老婆。他现在只梦见一些地方和海滩上的狮子。它们象小猫一样在黄昏中嬉戏，他爱它们，象爱那个男孩一样。他从未梦见过那个男孩。他完全清醒了，透过敞开的大门，望望月亮，把当枕头用的裤子抖开，穿上。在茅棚外面小便后，他就顺着大路去叫醒男孩。早晨的寒气冷得他发抖。但是他知道抖 过以后，身上就会暖和些，而且马上他就要把船划到海里去了。

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Text 2

From

The Old Man and The Sea (II)

by Ernest Hemingway

    It was on the third turn that he saw the fish first.

    He saw him first as a dark shadow that took so long to pass under the boat that he could not believe its length.

    "No," he said. "He can't be that big."

    But he was that big and at the end of this circle he came to the surface only thirty yards away and the man saw his tail out of water. It was higher than a big scythe blade and a very pale lavender above the dark blue water. It raked back and as the fish swam just below the surface the old man could see his huge bulk and the purple stripes that banded him. His dorsal fin was down and his huge pectorals were spread wide.

    On this circle the old man could see the fish's eye and the two gray sucking fish that swam around him. Sometimes they attached themselves to him. Sometimes they darted off. Sometimes they would swim easily in his shadow. They were each over three feet long and when they swam fast they lashed their whole bodies like eels.

    The old man was sweating now but from something else besides the sun. On each calm placid turn the fish made he was gaining line and he was sure that in two turns more he would have a chance to get the harpoon in.

    But I must get him close, close, close, he thought. I mustn't try for the head. I must get the heart.

    "Be calm and strong, old man," he said. On the next circle the fish's back was out but he was a little too far from the boat. On the next circle he was still too far away but he was higher out of water and the old man was sure that by gaining some more line he could have him alongside. He had rigged his harpoon long before and its coil of light rope was in a round basket and the end was made fast to the bitt in the bow.

    The fish was coming in on his circle now calm and beautiful looking and only his great tail moving. The old man pulled on him all that he could to bring him closer. For just a moment the fish turned a little on his side. Then he straightened himself and began another circle.

    "I moved him," the old man said. "I moved him then."

    He felt faint again now but he held on the great fish all the strain that he could. I moved him, he thought. Maybe this time I can get him over. Pull, hands, he thought. Hold up, legs. Last for me, head. Last for me. You never went. This time I'll pull him over.

    But when he put all of his effort on, starting it well out before the fish came alongside and pulling with all his strength, the fish pulled part way over and then righted himself and swam away.

    "Fish," the old man said. "Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?"

    That way nothing is accomplished, he thought. His mouth was too dry to speak but he could not reach for the water now. I must get him alongside this time, he thought. I am not good for many more turns. Yes you are, he told himself. You're good for ever.

    On the next turn, he nearly had him. But again the fish righted himself and swam slowly away.

    You are killing me fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who.

     Now you are getting confused in the head, he thought. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man. Or a fish, he thought.

    "Clear up, head," he said in a voice he could hardly hear. "Clear up." 

    Twice more it was the same on the turns.

    I do not know, the old man thought. He had been on the point of feeling himself go each time. I do not know. But I will try it once more.

    He tried it once more and he felt himself going when he turned the fish. The fish righted himself and swam off again slowly with the great tail weaving in the air. 

    I'll try it again, the old man promised, although his hands were mushy now and he could only see well in flashes.

    He tried it again and it was the same. So, he thought, and he felt himself going before he started; I will try it once again.

    He took all his pain and what was left of his strength and his long gone pride and he put it against the fish's agony and the fish came over onto his side and swam gently on his side, his bill almost touching the planking of the skiff and started to pass the boat, long, deep, wide, silver and barred with purple and interminable in the water.

    The old man dropped the line and put his foot on it and lifted the harpoon as high as he could and drove it down with all his strength, and more strength he had just summoned, into the fish's side just behind the great chest fin that rose high in the air to the altitude of the man's chest. He felt the iron go in and he leaned on it and drove it further and then pushed all his weight after it.

    Then the fish came alive, with his death in him, and rose high out of the water showing all his great length and width and all his power and his beauty. He seemed to hang in the air above the old man in the skiff. Then he fell into the water with a crash that sent spray over the old man and over all of the skiff.

    The old man felt faint and sick and he could not see well. But he cleared the harpoon line and let it run slowly through his raw hands and, when he could see, he saw the fish was on his back with his silver belly up. The shaft of the harpoon was projecting at an angle from the fish's shoulder and the sea was discoloring with the red of the blood from his heart. First it was dark as a shoal in the blue water that was more than a mile deep. Then it spread like a cloud. The fish was silver and still and floated with the waves.

    The old man looked carefully in the glimpse of vision that he had. Then he took two turns of the harpoon line around the bitt in the bow and laid his head on his hands.

    "Keep my head clear," he said against the wood of the bow. "I am a tired old man. But I have killed this fish which is my brother and now I must do the slave work."

    Now I must prepare the nooses and the rope to lash him alongside, he thought. Even if we were two and swamped her to load him and bailed her out, this skiff would never hold him. I must prepare everything, then bring him in and lash him well and step the mast and set sail for home.

    He started to pull the fish in to have him alongside so that he could pass a line through his gills and out his mouth and make his head fast alongside the bow. I want to see him, he thought, and to touch and to feel him. He is my fortune, he thought. But that is not why I wish to feel him. I think I felt his heart, he thought. When I pushed on the harpoon shaft the second time. Bring him in now and make him fast and get the noose around his tail and another around his middle to bind him to the skiff.

    "Get to work, old man," he said. He took a very small drink of the water. "There is very much slave work to be done now that the fight is over."

    He looked up at the sky and then out to his fish. He looked at the sun carefully. It is not much more than noon, he thought. And the trade wind is rising. The lines all mean nothing now. The boy and I will splice them when we are home.

    "Come on, fish," he said. But the fish did not come. Instead he lay there wallowing now in the seas and the old man pulled the skiff up onto him.

    When he was even with him and had the fish's head against the bow he could not believe his size. But he untied the harpoon rope from the bitt, passed it through the fish's gills and out his jaws, made a turn around his sword then passed the rope through the other gill, made another turn around the bill and knotted the double rope and made it fast to the bitt in the bow. He cut the rope then and went astern to noose the tail. The fish had turned silver from his original purple and silver, and the stripes showed the same pale violet color as his tail. They were wider than a man's hand with his fingers spread and the fish's eye looked as detached as the mirrors in a periscope or as a saint in a procession.

    "It was the only way to kill him," the old man said. He was feeling better since the water and he knew he would not go away and his head was clear. He's over fifteen hundred pounds the way he is, he thought. Maybe much more. If he dresses out two thirds of that at thirty cents a pound?

    "I need a pencil for that," he said. "My head is not that clear. But I think the great DiMaggio would be proud of me today. I had no bone spurs. But the hands and the back hurt truly." I wonder what a bone spur is, he thought. Maybe we have them without knowing of it.

    He made the fish fast to bow and stern and to the middle thwart. He was so big it was like lashing a much bigger skiff alongside. He cut a piece of line and tied the fish's lower jaw against his bill so his mouth would not open and they would sail as cleanly as possible. Then he stepped the mast and, with the stick that was his gaff and with his boom rigged, the patched sail drew, the boat began to move, and half lying in the stern he sailed southwest.

    He did not need a compass to tell him where southwest was. He only needed the feel of the trade wind and the drawing of the sail. I better put a small line out with a spoon on it and try and get something to eat and drink for the moisture. But he could not find a spoon and his sardines were rotten. So he hooked a patch of yellow gulf weed with the gaff as they passed and shook it so that the small shrimps that were in it fell onto the planking of the skiff. There were more than a dozen of them and they jumped and kicked like sand fleas. The old man pinched their heads off with his thumb and forefinger and ate them chewing up the shells and the tails. They were very tiny but he knew they were nourishing and they tasted good.

    The old man still had two drinks of water in the bottle and he used half of one after he had eaten the shrimps. The skiff was sailing well considering the handicaps and he steered with the tiller under his arm. He could see the fish and he had only to look at his hands and feel his back against the stern to know that this had truly happened and was not a dream. At one time when he was feeling so badly toward the end, he had thought perhaps it was a dream. Then when he had seen the fish come out of the water and hang motionless in the sky before he fell, he was sure there was some great strangeness and he could not believe it. Then he could not see well, although now he saw as well as ever.

    Now he knew there was the fish and his hands and back were no dream. The hands cure quickly, he thought. I bled them clean and the salt water will heal them. The dark water of the true gulf is the greatest healer that there is. All I must do is keep the head clear. The hands have done their work and we sail well. With his mouth shut and his tail straight up and down we sail like brothers. Then his head started to become a little unclear and he thought, is he bringing me in or am I bringing him in? If I were towing him behind there would be no question. Nor if the fish were in the skiff, with all dignity gone, there would be no question either. But they were sailing together lashed side by side and the old man thought, let him bring me in if it pleases him. I am only better than him through trickery and he meant me no harm.

    They sailed well and the old man soaked his hands in the salt water and tried to keep his head clear. There were high cumulus clouds and enough cirrus above them so that the old man knew the breeze would last all night. The old man looked at the fish constantly to make sure it was true. It was an hour before the first shark hit him.

    The shark was not an accident. He had come up from deep down in the water as the dark cloud of blood had settled and dispersed in the mile deep sea. He had come up so fast and absolutely without caution that he broke the surface of the blue water and was in the sun. Then he fell back into the sea and picked up the scent and started swimming on the course the skiff and the fish had taken.

    Sometimes he lost the scent. But he would pick it up again, or have just a trace of it. And he swam fast and hard on the course. He was a very big Mako shark built to swim as fast as the fastest fish in the sea and everything about him was beautiful except his jaws. His back was as blue as a sword fish's and his belly was silver and his hide was smooth and handsome. He was built as a sword fish except for his huge jaws which were tight shut now as he swam fast, just under the surface with his high dorsal fin knifing through the water without wavering. Inside the closed double lip of his jaws all of his eight rows of teeth were slanted inwards. They were not the ordinary pyramid-shaped teeth of most sharks. They were shaped like a man's fingers when they are crisped like claws. They were nearly as long as the fingers of the old man and they had razor-sharp cutting edges on both sides. This was a fish built to feed on all the fishes in the sea, that were so fast and strong and well armed that they had no other enemy. Now he speeded up as he smelled the fresher scent and his blue dorsal fin cut the water.

    When the old man saw him coming he knew that this was a shark that had no fear at all and would do exactly what he wished. He prepared the harpoon and made the rope fast while he watched the shark come on. The rope was short as it lacked what he had cut away to lash the fish.

    The old man's head was clear and good now and he was full of resolution but he had little hope. It was too good to last, he thought. He took one look at the great fish as he watched the shark close in. It might as well have been a dream, he thought. I cannot keep him from hitting me but maybe I can get him. Dentuso, he thought. Bad luck to your mother.

    The shark closed fast astern and when he hit the fish the old man saw his mouth open and his strange eyes and the clicking shop of the teeth as he drove forward in the meat just above the tail. The shark's head was out of water and his back was coming out and the old man could hear the noise of skin and flesh ripping on the big fish when he rammed the harpoon down onto the shark's head at a spot where the line between his eyes intersected with the line that ran straight back from his nose. There were no such lines. There was only the heavy sharp blue head and the big eyes and the clicking, thrusting all-swallowing jaws. But that was the location of the brain and the old man hit it. He hit it with his blood-mushed hands driving a good harpoon with all his strength. He hit it without hope but with resolution and complete malignancy.

    The shark swung over and the old man saw his eye was not alive and then he swung over once again, wrapping himself in two loops of the rope. The old man knew that he was dead but the shark would not accept it. Then, on his back, with his tail lashing and his jaws clicking, the shark plowed over the water as a speed-boat does. The water was white where his tail beat it and three-quarters of his body was clear above the water when the rope came taut, shivered, and then snapped. The shark lay quietly for a little while on the surface and the old man watched him. Then he went down very slowly.

    "He took about forty pounds," the old man said aloud. He took my harpoon too and all the rope, he thought, and now my fish bleeds again and there will be others.

    He did not like to look at the fish anymore since he had been mutilated. When the fish had been hit it was as though he himself were hit.

    But I killed the shark that hit my fish, he thought. And he was the biggest dentuso that I have ever seen. And God knows that I have seen big ones.

    It was too good to last, he thought. I wish it had been a dream now and that I had never hooked the fish and was alone in bed on the newspapers.

    "But man is not made for defeat," he said. "A man can be destroyed but not defeated." I am sorry that I killed the fish though, he thought. Now the bad time is coming and I do not even have the harpoon. The dentuso is cruel and able and strong and intelligent. But I was more intelligent than he was. Perhaps not, he thought. Perhaps I was only better armed.

    "Don't think, old man," he said aloud. "Sail on this course and take it when it comes."

    (3 328 words)  TOP

课文二

老人与海 （II）

厄内斯特•海明威

    鱼转到第三圈，他才第一次看到它。

    他最初看到的是个黑乎乎的影子，那个影子很长，从船底下过去用了很长时间，长得叫他不敢相信。

    “不，”他说。“它不可能那么大。”

    但是它就有那么大，绕完这一圈后，它出现在只有30码开外的水面上，老人看见它的尾巴露在水面上。那条尾巴比一把大镰刀的刀刃还要高，是浅浅的淡紫色，竖在深蓝色的水面上。他的尾巴向后倾斜着，鱼在水下游时，老人能看得见它庞大的身段和 周身紫色的条纹。它的脊鳍向下耷拉着，巨大的胸鳍大张着。

    这一次鱼打转的时候，老人看见了它的眼睛和在它身旁游来游去的两条灰色的乳鱼。它们有时紧紧地跟着它，有时倏然游开，有时它们又在大鱼的阴影下自在地游来游去。两条鱼都有3英尺多长，游得快的时候，它们就象黄鳝一样急摆着整个身子。

    老人现在冒汗了，但除了太阳，还有别的缘故。大鱼每次从容平静地转弯时，他就收进一点钓绳，他深信鱼再转两个圈，他就可以有机会把鱼叉攮进去了。

    可是我得让它游得近些，近些，更近些，他想。不能戳它的头，应该扎它的心脏。

    “要沉着，要有力，老家伙，”他说。又绕了一圈，鱼的脊背露出来了，不过离船有点远。再一转，仍旧太远，但是它已经高高凸出水面。老人相信，只要再收进一些钓丝，他就可以把它拉到船边来了。他早已收拾好了鱼叉，鱼叉把上的一卷软绳放在一个圆篮子里，绳子另一头系在船头的短桩上。

    现在鱼又转回来了，从容不迫，体态优美，只有那条大尾巴在摆动。老人用力去拽，想把它拽近些。只有一会儿光景，鱼朝他这边侧过一点。然后它又摆直了身子，开始打起转来。

    “我拉动它啦，”老人说。“刚刚我拉动它了。”

    他又感到头晕，可是他依旧使出浑身力气去拽住那条大鱼。我拉动它了，他想。也许这一次我就可以把它拉到跟前来。拉吧，手啊，他想。站稳啦，腿。为我撑下去，头啊。为我撑下去。你从未昏倒过。这一次我要把它拉过来。

    他使出浑身力气，在鱼游到船旁之前就开始动手，然后用力去拉。那鱼却稍稍侧过身来，又摆正身子游开了。

    “鱼啊，”老人说。“鱼，你迟早要死。难道你也非得把我害死不成？”

    这个样子什么也办不成，他想。他口干得说不出话来，可是现在他不能去拿水喝。这一次我一定要把它拉到跟前来，他想。它再转几圈，我可撑不住了。不，你行的，他又对自己说，你永远不会垮的。

    鱼又一转，他几乎把它拽到身边了。但是鱼又摆正了身子，慢慢游走了。

    鱼啊，你要把我给搞死啦，老人想，但你有这个权利。老弟，我从没见过比你更大、更好看、更沉着、更高贵的东西。来，搞死我。管它谁搞死谁。

    现在你脑子糊涂啦，他想。你必须保持头脑清醒。保持清醒，才知道怎样去忍受，象个男子汉。或者，象一条鱼那样，他想。
  

    “清醒过来吧，脑子，”他说话的声音几乎连自己也听不见。“清醒过来吧。”

     鱼又转了两个圈儿，还是老样子。

    我摸不透，老人想。每次他都感到自己要垮了。我摸不透，但我还要试一下。

    他又试了一次，把鱼拉转过来的时候，他觉得自己真的垮了。那条鱼又摆正了身子，慢慢地游开了，它的大尾巴在水面上摇来摆去。

    我要再试一次，老人下了狠心，虽然这时他的双手已经软弱无力，双眼一会看得清，一会看不清。

     他又试了一次，还是老样子。还没动手他就觉得垮了，“那么，我再来试一次吧，”他想。

    他忍住一切疼痛，抖擞抖擞当年的雄风，把剩余的力气统统拚出来，对付大鱼的痛苦挣扎。那条鱼朝他游来，轻轻地游到他身边，嘴几乎碰到了船舷。它开始从船边游过，身子那么长，那么高，那么宽，银光闪闪，浑身紫色的条纹，在海水里长长地伸展开去。

    老人放下了钓绳，踩在脚下，然后尽可能高举鱼叉，使出全身的力气，把鱼叉正好扎进巨大胸鳍后鱼的一侧，那个胸鳍挺在空中，与老人的胸部齐高。他感到铁叉扎进去了，于是他靠在叉把上，用力扎得更深些，再用尽全身的力气把它推进去。

    接着，鱼又作了一番垂死挣扎。它高高跃出水面，尽显它的身长、体宽、威力和美感。它仿佛悬在空中，悬在船上老人的头顶上空。随后，哗的一声落入水中，溅了老人一身，溅了一船。

    老人感到恶心，头昏眼花，看不清楚。但他松开鱼叉上的绳子，让它从他那粗糙的双手中慢慢滑下去。等他看得清时，只见那条鱼仰身朝天，银白色的肚皮朝上。鱼叉的把子露在外面，斜插在鱼的前背上。大鱼心脏里流出的鲜血把海水染得殷红，起初象是蓝色海水里一英里深的一座黑糊糊的浅滩，然后它象云彩似的扩散开去。那条鱼是银白色的，一动不动地随着海浪飘来荡去。

    看得清的一瞬间老人仔细看了看。然后他把鱼叉的绳子在船头的短桩上绕了两圈，双手捧头。

    “保持头脑清醒，”他靠着船头的木板说。“我是个疲惫的老人。但我已经杀死了这个鱼老弟，现在我得干点辛苦活了。”

    现在我得准备套索和绳子，把它绑在船旁，他想。虽然只有我们两个，这只小船还是装不下它。哪怕装下它，船漫水后再舀出去的话，也不行。我必须安排一切，然后把它拖到跟前来，绑好，竖上桅杆，挂起帆，把船驶回去。

    他动手把鱼拖到船旁，好把一根绳子从它的鳃里穿进去，再从嘴里拉出来，把它的头绑在船头上。我想看看它，他想，想碰碰它，想摸摸它。它是我的财产。他想。然而这不是我想摸摸它的原因。我碰到了他的心脏，他想。当我第二次拿着鱼叉把子往里推的时候。现在要把它拉到跟前来，绑紧，用一个套索拴住它的尾巴，另一个套索拴住它的腰，把它捆在船边。

    “动手干吧，老家伙，”他说。他喝了一小口水，“仗虽然打完了，还有好多辛苦活儿得干呢。”

    他抬头望望天，然后看看鱼。他仔细看了看太阳。还不过是晌午，他想。信风也正刮起。现在这些钓丝都没用处了。回家后，我要和男孩把它们接起来。

    “来吧，鱼，”他说。可是鱼偏不到他跟前来。它反而在海里翻滚，老人把小船划到它身边。

    等他划到鱼的旁边，让鱼头靠着船头的时候，他真不敢相信鱼竟有那么大。他把鱼叉上的绳子从船头的短桩上解开，打鱼鳃里穿进去，再打鱼嘴里拉出来，在它嘴上绕了一道，又打另一边的鱼鳃里穿进去，再在嘴上绕一道，把两股绳子打个结，紧紧地系在船头的短桩上。然后，他把绳子割断，又走到船梢去套住鱼尾巴。大鱼已经从原来的紫色和银白色变成了纯银色，身上的条纹跟尾巴一样现出淡紫色。条纹比一个人揸开五指的宽度还要宽。鱼的眼睛看上去冷漠得象潜望镜的镜头，又象是礼拜行列中的圣徒。

    “要杀死它只有这个办法，”老人说。喝了水后，他现在觉得好些了，他知道自己不会垮掉，头脑也很清醒。看样子，它足有1500多磅，他想。也许还要重。假如剔出头尾和下脚， 还有2/3是肉，卖它3角钱一磅，该赚多少钱啊？

    “我需要支铅笔算一算，”他说。“我的头脑不怎么清醒。不过我想了不起的狄马吉奥今天会为我骄傲的。我没鸡眼。可是双手跟背脊实在痛得很。”我不懂什么叫鸡眼，他想。也许我们有鸡眼还不知道吧。

    他把鱼牢牢地系在船头、船梢和中间的坐板上。那条鱼可真大，就象小船旁边绑着一只比它大得多的船。他割下一段绳子，又把鱼的下颌跟长长的上颚绑住，使它的嘴张不开，好让船尽可能行得平稳。然后，他竖起桅杆，用绳索拴住那根用做鱼 叉的棍子和下桁，张起带补钉的帆。船开始移动了，他半躺在船梢，向西南方驶去。

    他不需要指南针告诉他西南方在哪儿。他只消感觉到信风和帆的牵引就够了。我倒不如放根带匙钩的小钓丝从海里钓点东西吃吃，润润嘴。但他找不到匙钩，他的沙丁鱼也都腐臭了。因此他在船行驶的时候，用鱼叉钩上一堆黄黄的马尾藻，抖了抖，把上面一些小虾抖到船板上。虾有十几只，蹦来跳去，象沙蚤一样。老人用拇指和食指把它们的头掐掉，送进嘴里，连壳带尾嚼下去。这些小虾虽然小得可怜，但他知道它们富有营养，味道也不错。

    老人的瓶里还有两口水，他吃下小虾后，喝了半口。虽然船旁的那条鱼成了不小的累赘，这只船走得还算稳，他把舵柄夹在腋下来掌舵。他看得见那条鱼。他只要看一看双手，用脊背顶一下船梢，就知道这是真的，不是一场梦。有次在事情快临了时，他的感觉糟糕极了，以为或许这是一场梦。后来，他看见鱼跃出水面，落下 之前一动不动地悬在半空，他觉得这里面有点玄，因此他无法相信。但是那时他看不清楚，尽管现在他跟往常一样看得清清楚楚。

    现在，他知道鱼果真在他身旁，他的双手和脊背的疼痛都证明他不是在做梦。手很快就会痊愈的，他想。我已经让手上的血流干净了，盐水会治愈它们的。纯正的黑色海湾水实际上是最好的药品。我只要保持头脑清醒就行。双手已经完成了它们的任务，船也行得很顺。看它闭着嘴，尾巴一上一下地挺得笔直，我俩真象亲兄弟一样，在大海上航行。这时，他的脑子又开始有点不清楚了，他想，是它在带着我走呢，还是我在带着它走？如果我把它栓在船后，拖着它，那是没有疑问的。要是把鱼放在船上，它没了体面，那也没有疑问。可是老人和鱼是并排地拴在一起在海上航行，老人想，只要它高兴，让它带着我回家吧。我不过手段比它高明些，它对我并无恶意。

    他们在海里航行顺利，老人把手泡在咸咸的海水里，而且尽力保持头脑清醒。天上是高高的积云，还有很多卷云，老人知道还要刮一整夜的微风。老人不停地看看大鱼，以确信这是真的。这时候离第一条鲨鱼朝他袭来还有一个小时。

    鲨鱼的出现绝非偶然。当那股暗黑色的血团沉在一英里深的海里，扩散开去的时候，它就从深水中窜了上来。它游得那么快，什么也不放在眼里，冲出蓝色水面，涌现在阳光下。然后它又钻回水中，嗅出踪迹，顺着船和鱼的航线跟开始随而至。

    有时候它迷失了臭迹。但它很快就嗅出来，或者嗅出一点影子。一路上它游得快跟得紧。这是一条巨大的鲭鲨，生来就跟海里游速最快的鱼游得一样快。它周身的一切都很美，除了上下颚。它的脊背象旗鱼的脊背一般碧蓝，肚子是银白色的，皮光滑、漂亮。它生得跟旗鱼一样，除了它那巨大的两颚，游得快的时候它们紧闭着。现在它在水面下游，高耸的脊鳍象刀子似的一动不动地划破水面。在它紧闭的嘴巴里，8排牙齿全部内倾。跟大多数鲨鱼不同，它的牙齿不是普通的角锥形。当它们爪子般缩在一起时，形状如同人的手指。那些牙齿几乎跟老人的手指一般长， 和双面刀片一样锋利。这种鱼天生要吃海里所有的鱼类，它游起来那么快，身子那么强壮，武器那么齐备，所向无敌。现在，当它嗅出了新的臭迹的时候，它加快了速度，它那蓝色的脊鳍划破水面。

    老人看着它游来，知道这是一条毫无畏惧且为所欲为的鲨鱼。他一边准备好鱼叉，系紧绳子，一边眼睛一眨不眨地盯着鲨鱼游来。绳子被割了一段系大鱼，所以变短了。

    老人现在头脑清醒、正常，他的决心坚定，但是希望不大。好景是不会长久的，他想。看着鲨鱼越来越近，他又看了那条大鱼一眼。这简直是一场梦，他想。我不能阻止它袭击我，但也许我能弄死它。“鲭鲨”（Dentuso是西班牙语，意为“牙齿锋利的”，是当地对灰鲭鲨的俗称。译者注），他想。你他妈交上霉运了。

    鲨鱼飞快地逼近船尾。在咬那条大鱼时，老人看见它张大嘴巴，在它猛力朝鱼尾巴上的肉咬去的当口，老人看见它奇异的双眼和咬得格崩格崩响的排排牙齿。鲨鱼的头露出水面，它的脊背也正要出水，老人用鱼叉攮到鲨鱼头的时候，他听到那条大鱼身上皮开肉裂的声音。他攮进的地方，是两眼之间的那条线和从鼻子笔直通向脑后的那条线的交叉处。事实上并没有这两条线。有的只是那又重又尖的蓝色鱼头，两只大大的眼睛，和那咬得格崩崩响、伸得长长的、吞噬一切的两颚。但那儿正是脑子的所在，老人就朝那个地方扎了下去。他鼓起全身的力气，用血染的双手把一杆锋利无比的鱼叉扎了进去。扎下去的时候，并没有抱什么希望，但带着决心和 完全的狠心。

    鲨鱼在海里翻了个身。老人看出它的眼睛里已经没有生气了，但是它又翻了个身，不料给绳子缠了两遭。老人知道它是死定了，鲨鱼却不甘心。接着，它肚皮朝上，尾巴猛烈地扑打着水面，两颚格崩直响，象只快艇似的破浪而去。海水被它的尾巴扑打得白浪滔天，它身子的3/4都脱出了水面，这时绳子一紧，不住地抖动，突然啪得断了。鲨鱼在水面上静静地躺了一会儿，老人注视着。然后它就慢慢地沉了下去。

    “它咬掉了大约40磅肉，”老人大声说。它还把我的鱼叉、所有绳子都带走，他想。现在我的鱼又开始淌血了，恐怕还会有别的鲨鱼窜来。

    他不忍再多看一眼那条死去的大鱼，因为它已被咬得残缺不全。大鱼被袭的时候，他感觉就像是自己被袭。

    但是我已把那条袭击大鱼的鲨鱼给扎死了，他想。它是我看过的最大的“鲭鲨”。老天知道，我见过不少大鱼呢。

    好景是不会长久的，他想。现在但愿这是一个梦，但愿自己从未钓到这条鱼，我还是独自躺在床上的报纸上。

    “可是一个人并不是生来要给打败的，”他说。“一个人可以被毁灭，但不能被打败。”杀死那条鱼，我有些过意不去，他想。现在倒霉的时刻就要来了，可我连鱼叉都没了。 “鲭鲨”可是既残忍又能干，既强壮又聪明。但是我比它更聪明。也许未必，他想。也许我只是武器比它强。

   “别想啦，老家伙，”他又放开嗓子说。“顺着这条航线行驶吧，有了事就担下来。”

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