All language subtitles for The.Old.Man.And.The.Sea.1958.640x352.24fps.1030kbs.96mp3.MultiSub.WunSeeDee-eng

He was an old man who fished alone
in a skiff in the Gulf Stream...

... and he had gone 84 days now
without taking a fish.

In the first 40 days,
a boy had been with him.

But after 40 days without a fish,
the boy's parents had told him...

... that the old man was now
definitely and finally salado...

... which is the worst form of unlucky.

The boy had gone, at their orders,
in another boat...

... which caught three good fish
the first week.

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

The old man was gray and wrinkled,
with deep furrows on the back of his neck.

And his hands had deep-creased scars
from handling heavy fish on the cords.

But none of these scars were fresh.

They were as old as erosions
in a fishless desert.

Everything about him was old
except his eyes.

They were the same color as the sea,
cheerful and undefeated.

It made the boy sad to see the old man
come in each day with his skiff empty.

He always went down to help him carry
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.

No one would steal from the old man,
but it was better to take the sail...

... and the heavy lines home,
as the dew was bad for them.

Though he was sure no local people
would steal from him...

... the old man felt that a gaff and
a harpoon were needless temptations...

... to leave in a boat.

The successful fishermen of that day
were already in...

... and had butchered their marlin...

... and carried them laid full-length
across two planks to the fish house...

... where they waited for the ice truck
to carry them to the market in Havana.

"Can I offer you a beer on the terrace?"
the boy asked.

"Why not?" the old man said,
"Between fisherman."

Two beers, Martin, please.

They sat on the terrace and many
of the fisherman made fun of the old man...

... but he was not angry.

He did not remember
when he had attained humility...

... but he knew he had attained it.

And he knew it was not disgraceful
and it carried no true loss of pride.

Some of the older fishermen
looked at him and were sad.

But they didn't show it.

They spoke politely of the currents and
the depths they had drifted their lines at...

... and the steady good weather,
and of what they had seen.

Can I go out and get the sardines
for you tomorrow?

You play ball. I can still row.
And I can still throw the net.

I know where I can get four fresh baits.

I still have mine from today.

Let me get four fresh ones.

- One.
- Two.

Two.

You didn't steal them, did you?

I would, but I bought these.

If I cannot fish with you,
I'd like to serve in some way.

You bought me a beer.
You are already a man.

They walked up the road together.

The old man stood the mast
outside his shack.

In the old man's shack there was a bed,
a table, some chairs...

... and a place to cook with charcoal.

On the brown walls 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.

Tomorrow is the 85th day.

Eighty-five is a lucky number.

How would you like to see me bring one in
that dresses out over 1,000 pounds?

Are you strong enough now
for a truly big fish?

I think so.

And there are many tricks.

I could go with you again.
We've made enough money.

No, no. You are in a lucky boat,
you stay with them.

Remember how long we went
without fish before?

Then we caught big ones
every day for three weeks.

I remember.

I know you did not leave me
because you lost confidence.

It was my papa who made me leave.
I'm a boy and I must obey him.

Of course. It is quite normal.

He hasn't much faith.

- But we have, haven't we?
- Yes.

If you were my boy,
I would take you out again.

But you're your father's and your mother's,
and you are in a lucky boat.

What do you have to eat?

I have a pot of yellow rice and some fish.
Would you like some?

No, I'll eat at home.
May I take the cast net?

Of course.

I have yesterday's newspaper.
I'll read the baseball.

There was no cast net. 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.

He didn't know whether yesterday's paper
was a fiction, too.

But the old man had brought it out
from under the bed.

Keep warm, old man. Sit in the sun.
Remember we're in September.

The month of the big fish.

Anybody can be a fisherman in May.

I'll be back when I get the sardines,
then you can tell me about the baseball.

- Hey, Manolin, come on!
- Play first base.

Hey, yeah, come on!

A dinner for two, please. To take out.

You don't eat at home anymore?

How much do you have to spend?

Sixty cents.

No luck yet, eh?

Maybe it's not luck at all.
Maybe he's too old.

He's not too old. You'll see!

I said "maybe."

Not even "maybe."

I only hope when I'm an old man
I have a boy to fish for me.

When the boy came back,
the old man was asleep in a chair...

... and the sun was going down.

His shoulders were still powerful,
although very old.

The neck was still strong, too.

The creases did not show so much
when the old man was asleep.

His head was very old, though.

And with his eyes closed,
there was no life in his face.

Wake up, old man.

The old man opened his eyes,
and for a long moment...

... he was coming back
from a long way away.

Then he smiled.

What have you got?

We're gonna have supper.

I'm not very hungry.

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

I have.

You won't fish and not eat while I'm alive.

You live a long time
and take good care of yourself.

Who gave this to you?

Martin, at the terrace.

I must be sure and thank him.

I thanked him already.
You don't need to thank him.

They had eaten with no light
on the table and it was dark now.

The old man had talked to the boy
about the baseball, as they always did.

About the great DiMaggio,
and how he was himself again...

... and about the other men on the team.

Tell me about the great John J. McGraw.

He used to come to the terrace sometimes,
in the olden days, too.

His mind was on the horses, I think,
as much as it was on the baseball.

At least he used to carry lists of horses
in his pocket at all times.

And frequently he would speak
the names of horses on the telephone.

He was a great manager.
My father thinks he was the greatest.

That's because he came here
the most times.

If Durocher had continued coming here...

...your father would think
he was the greatest manager.

Who is the greatest manager, really?

I think they are all equal.

Sometime I would like to take
the great DiMaggio fishing.

They say his father was a fisherman.

Maybe he was poor, like we are,
and he would understand.

You ought to go to bed,
so that you'll be fresh in the morning.

I'll take these things back to the terrace.

Goodnight. See you in the morning.

You're my alarm clock.

Age is my alarm clock.

Sleep well, old man.

Thank you.

The boy went out and the old man thought,
"Why do old men wake so early?

"Is it to have one longer day?"

Then the old man rolled up his trousers
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.

He dreamed of 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.

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 to 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 island
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,
and he loved them as he loved the boy.

He never dreamed about the boy.

In the dawn the old man simply woke...

... looked out the open door
at the dying moon...

... unrolled his trousers and put them on.

Then he went down 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.

The door of the house
where the boy lived was unlocked.

He opened it and walked in quietly
with his bare feet.

The boy was asleep on a cot
in the first room...

... and the old man could see him clearly.

He took hold of one foot gently
and held it...

... until the boy woke
and turned and looked at him.

The boy was sleepy,
and the old man said, "I'm sorry."

"It is what a man must do,"
the boy answered.

They walked down the road,
and all along the road in the dark...

... barefoot men were moving,
carrying the masts of their boats.

How did you sleep?

Very well, Manolin. I feel confident today.

I do, too.

I'll get the sardines. I'll be right back.

Have another cup. We have credit here.

The old man drank his coffee slowly.

It was all he would have all day,
and he knew that he should take it.

For a long time now,
eating had bored him...

... and he never carried a lunch.

He had a bottle of water
in the bow of the skiff...

... and that was all he needed.

Good luck, old man.

Good luck.

There were other boats from
the other beaches going out to sea...

... and the old man heard
the dip and push of their oars.

In the dark, the old man could feel
the morning coming.

And as he rowed, he heard the trembling
sound as flying fish left the water...

... and the hissing
their stiff, set wings made...

... as they soared away in the darkness.

He was very fond of flying fish...

... as they were his principal friends
on the ocean.

He was sorry for the birds,
especially the small, delicate, dark terns...

... that were always flying and looking,
and almost never finding.

And he thought: " The birds have
a harder life than we do...

"...except for the robber birds
and the heavy, strong ones.

" Why do they make birds
so delicate and fine...

"...when the ocean can be so cruel?
She is kind and very beautiful...

"...but she can be so cruel."

The sun rose thinly from the sea, and
the old man could see the other boats...

... low on the water and well in toward
the shore, spread out across the current.

He always thought of the sea as la mar...

... which is what people call her in Spanish
when they love her.

Sometimes those who love her
say bad things of her...

... but they are always said
as if she were a woman.

Some of the younger fishermen
spoke of her as a contestant...

... or a place, or even an enemy.

But the old man had always thought
of her as feminine...

... and as something that gave
or withheld great favors.

" The moon affects her as it does
a woman," he thought.

Before it was really light,
he had his baits out...

... and was drifting with the current.

One bait was down 40 fathoms.
The second was at 75.

And the third and the fourth were down
in the blue water at 100 and 125 fathoms.

The sun was brighter and the glare came
on the water. And as it rose clear...

... the flat sea sent it back to his eyes
so that it hurt sharply...

... and he rowed without looking into it.

He looked down into the water,
and watched the lines...

... that went straight down
into the dark of the water.

Each bait hung head-down,
with the shank of the hook...

... inside the bait fish, tied and sewed solid.

All of the projecting part of the hook
was covered with fresh sardines.

Each sardine was hooked through
both eyes, so that they made...

... a half-garland of the projecting steel.

There was no part of the hook
that a great fish could feel...

... that was not sweet-smelling,
and good-tasting.

"I keep them with precision," he thought.

" Only I have no luck anymore.

" But who knows, maybe today.

" Every day is a new day.

" It is better to be lucky,
but I would rather be exact.

"Then when luck comes, you are ready."

The sun was two hours higher now...

... and it did not hurt his eyes so much
to look into the east.

Just then he saw a man-o'-war bird.

He made a quick drop, slanting down
on his back-swept wings...

... and then circled again.

He's not just looking.
He's found something.

Bonito.

He will make a beautiful bait.

He didn't recall when he had first started
to talk to himself aloud.

In the old days, he had sung at night
sometimes, when he was alone...

... steering out his watch
on the turtle boats.

He had probably started to talk aloud
when alone, when the boy had left.

But he did not remember.

It was considered a virtue
not to talk unnecessarily at sea...

... and the old man had always
considered it so and respected it.

But now he said his thoughts aloud
many, many times...

... since there was no one
that they could annoy.

"If the others heard me," he thought,
"they'd think I am crazy.

" But since I am not crazy, I do not care.

" The rich have radios
to talk to them in their boats...

"...and to bring them the baseball."

Then he felt something hard
and unbelievably heavy.

It was the weight of the fish.

And he let the line slip down,
down, down...

... unrolling off the first
of the two reserve coils.

This far out, he must be huge
in this month.

Eat them, fish. Eat them.

Please, eat them.

How fresh they are!

And you, deep down
in that cold dark water.

Go on now, make another turn.

Then, eat them! Just smell the sardines.

Then there is the tuna,
cold and hard and lovely.

Come on, fish, eat them! Don't be shy.

He'll take it.

God help him to take it!

He can't have gone!

God knows he can't have gone.
He must be making another turn.

Perhaps he's been hooked before
and he remembers part of it.

He was just turning, he's going to take it.

What a fish!

Now he has it sideways in his mouth
and he's going away with it.

As it went down, slipping lightly
through the old man's fingers...

... he could still feel the great weight...

... though the pressure of his thumb
and finger was almost imperceptible.

He's taken it!

Now let him eat it.

Eat it good now, fish!

Go on, eat it.

Eat it until the point of the hook
goes into your heart and kills you.

Then come up, nice and easy...

...and let me put the harpoon into you.

Now, are you ready?

Have you been long enough at table?

Now the fish was struck and the old man
could feel that he was hooked.

Now he should run with the line,
orjump or sound to the depths below.

But nothing happened.

The fishjust moved away slowly,
and the old man couldn't raise him an inch.

His line was strong,
and made for heavy fish...

... and he held until it was so taut
that beads of waterjumped from it.

Then the boat began to move...

... slowly off toward the northwest.

The old man leaned back against the pull.

The fish moved steadily and
they traveled slowly on the calm water.

The other baits were still in the water,
but there was nothing to be done.

This will kill him.

He can't keep this up forever.

But four hours later, the fish was
still swimming steadily out to sea...

... towing the skiff...

... and the old man was still braced solidly.

"What a fish, to pull like that!" he thought.

" He must have his mouth
shut tight on the wire.

" I wish I could see him only once,
to know what I have against me."

There was no land in sight now.
"That makes no difference," he thought.

" I can always come in on the glare
off the lights from Havana."

It was noon when I hooked him,
and I have not yet seen him.

I wish the boy was here.

I'm being towed by a fish
and I'm the towing bitt.

" What I'll do if he decides
to go down, I don't know.

" What I'll do if he sounds and dives,
I don't know.

" But I'll do something.
There are plenty of things I can do.

"I could make the line fast,"
he thought, "but then he could break it.

" I must hold him all I can, and then
give him line when he must have it.

" Thank God he's traveling
and not going down."

It was cold after the sun went down...

... and the old man's sweat dried cold
on his back and his arms, and his old legs.

"He didn't come up when the sun set,"
he thought.

" He may come up with the moon.

" If he does not do that, maybe he will
come up with the sunrise.

" I wish I could see him.

" I wish I could see him only once,
to know what I have against me."

Two porpoises came round the boat
and he heard them rolling and blowing.

He could tell the difference between
the blowing noise the male made...

... and the sighing blow of the female.

"They're good," he thought.

" They play, and makejokes
and love one another.

"They are our brothers, like the flying fish."

Then he began to pity the great fish
he had hooked.

" He is wonderful and strange.

"And who knows how old he is."

Never have I had such a strong fish.

Or one that acted so strangely.

Maybe he is too wise to jump.

He could ruin me with a jump.

Or one quick rush.

Maybe he's been hooked
many times before...

...and he knows this is how
he must make his fight.

He took the bait like a male.

He moves like a male.

There is no panic in his fight.

I wonder if he has a plan,
or if he is as desperate as I am now.

I wish the boy was here.

The fish never changed his course
nor his direction all that night...

... as far as the old man could tell
from watching the stars.

He felt the strength of the fish
through the line, moving steadily...

... toward whatever he had chosen,
and he thought:

" When once, through my treachery,
he had to make a choice...

"...he chose to stay in the deep water,
far out beyond all snares and traps.

"My choice was to go there and find him
beyond all people...

"...beyond all people in the world.

"And now we'rejoined together
and have been since noon.

"And no one to help either one of us."

" I've lost 200 fathoms of good line
and hooks and leaders," he thought.

" That can be replaced.

" But who replaces this fish
if another fish cuts him off?

" I don't know what fish
took the baitjust now.

"Maybe it was a marlin or a shark.
I never felt him.

" I had to get rid of him too fast.

" I wonder what he made that lurch for?

" The wire must have slipped
on the great hill of his back.

" Certainly his back cannot feel
as badly as mine does.

"And he cannot pull this skiff forever,
no matter how strong he is.

"Please, God, let himjump.

"Maybe if I increase the tension,
it'll hurt him and he'lljump.

" Let himjump so that he will fill
the sacks along his backbone with air.

"Then he cannot go deep to die."

Fish, I love you and I respect you
very much...

...but I will kill you before this day ends.

A small bird came toward the skiff
from the north.

He was a warbler,
flying very low over the water.

The old man could see
that he was very tired.

How old are you?

Is this your first trip?

Why are you so tired?

What are birds coming to, anyway?

"The hawks," he thought,
"that come out to sea to meet them."

But he said nothing of this to the bird,
who could not understand him anyway...

... and who'd learn about hawks
soon enough.

It is all right, small bird.
You rest for a minute.

But then you must go in
and take your chances.

Like every man, every fish,
every bird must do.

I wish I could hoist my sail and take you in.
A small breeze is rising.

But I'm with a friend.

Something hurt him.

You are feeling it now, fish.

And so, God knows, am I.

" How did I let the fish cut me
with one pull he made?" he thought.

" I must be getting very stupid.
I'd better pay attention to my work.

"And I must eat the bonito,
so I won't have a failure of strength.

" I wish the boy was here to cut up
the bonito and I wish I had some salt.

"I don't think I can eat an entire one."

What kind of a hand is that?

Go on, cramp if you want to!

Make yourself into a claw,
it will do you no good.

I must eat the bonito.
I must not lose my strength.

Do not blame the hand,
it is not the hand's fault.

You have been a long time with the fish.

How do you feel, hand?
Or is it too early to know?

Maybe it will open with the sun.

If I have to open it, I will open it.

Cost whatever it cost!

" God help me to have the cramp go.
Who knows what the fish will do?

" He is calm, he follows his plan.
What is his plan?

" What is mine?

"Mine I must improvise to his
because of his great size.

"If he willjump," he thought,
"I can kill him!"

Hand, come on, hand.
He's coming up! Hand!

He is longer than the skiff!

He is a great fish.

Thank God, they are not as intelligent
as we who kill them.

Although they are more noble.

And more able.

I wonder why he jumped?

It's almost as though he jumped
to show me how big he was.

Bad news for you, fish.

It was getting late in the day
and the skiff still moved steadily.

The old man was suffering, although
he didn't admit to suffering at all.

I am not religious...

...but I will say ten "Our Fathers"...

...and ten "Hail Marys,"
that I may catch this fish.

I will also make a pilgrimage
to the Virgin of Cobre.

That is a promise.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven,
hallowed be Thy name..."

He started to say his prayers mechanically.

Sometimes he'd be too tired
to remember the prayer.

Then he'd say them so fast
that they would come automatically.

" 'Hail Marys' are easier to say
than 'Our Fathers,'" he thought.

The old man felt very tired and he knew
that the night would come soon...

... and he tried to think of other things.

He thought of the big leagues,
the "Grandes Ligas."

He knew that the Yankees of New York
were playing the Tigers of Detroit...

" This is the second day...

"...that I do not know the results
of the games," he thought.

To give himself more confidence...

... he remembered the time
in a Casablanca tavern...

... when he played the hand game
with a Negro...

... the strongest man on the docks.

He wasn't an old man then,
he was in his prime.

He and the Negro had gone
one day and one night...

... with their elbows
on a chalked line on the table.

There was much betting
and the odds changed all night.

Referees were changed every four hours
so they'd get some sleep.

They fed the Negro rum.

Once, after the rum,
the Negro made his all-out bid.

But the old man raised his hand
up to dead even, again.

He was sure that he had the Negro...

... who was a fine man
and a great athlete, beaten.

Finally, at daylight, when the betters
were asking him to call it a draw...

... because they had to go to work
on the docks...

... the old man unleashed
his greatest effort.

He knew he had broken
the Negro's confidence.

He finished the bout
before anyone had to go to work.

For a long time after that,
everyone had called him "The Champion."

How do you feel, fish?

I feel fine.

My left hand is better.

Pull the boat, fish.

Just before dark, as they passed
the great island of sargasso weed...

... that heaved and swung in the light sea...

... as though the ocean were making love
with something under a yellow blanket...

... his small line hooked a dolphin
and he brought it into the skiff.

What an excellent fish
dolphin is to eat cooked...

...and what a miserable fish raw.

" I'd better keep the fish quiet
and not disturb him at sunset.

" The setting of the sun
is a difficult time for all fish."

It was darker now, as it becomes dark
quickly after the sun sets in September.

The first stars were out.

He did not know the name of Rigel,
but he saw it...

... and knew soon they would be out,
and he would have all his distant friends.

"The fish is my friend, too," he thought.

Never have I seen or heard of such a fish.

But I must kill him.

I'm glad I do not have to kill the stars.

Imagine if every day a man
had to try to kill the moon?

The moon runs away.

But think what it would be if every day
you had to try to kill the sun?

You were born lucky.

" It was half a day and a night...

"...and now another day,
and you have not slept.

" If you do not sleep,
your head will become unclear."

Rest now, old man.

Let him do the work.

Until it is time...

...for your next duty.

He lay forward, cramping himself
against the line with his body...

... putting all his weight on his left hand,
and he was asleep.

He didn't dream of the lions,
but of a vast school of porpoises.

It stretched for miles
and it was in their mating time.

They leaped high into the air
and returned into the very same hole.

Then he dreamed he was
in the village on his bed...

... and there was a norther
and he was very cold.

And his arm was asleep, because his head
had rested on it instead of a pillow.

After that, he began to dream
of the long yellow beach...

... and he saw the first of the lions.

He waited to see if there would be
more lions and he was happy.

Then he dreamed of the whales
that passed along this coast in the fall...

... and of their mating, too...

... and of their friendliness with each other
and of their play.

The moon had been up for a long time,
but he slept on.

The fish pulled on steadily, and the boat
moved into a tunnel of clouds.

He woke with ajerk of his fist coming up...

... and the line burning out
through his hand.

This is what we waited for.

Now let us take it.

Make him pay for the line.
Make him pay for it!

" I will show him what a man can do
and what a man endures," he thought.

The thousand times he had proved it
meant nothing.

Now he was proving it again.

Each time was a new time...

... and he never thought about the past
when he was doing it.

" If the boy were here he could wet
the coils of the line," he thought.

" Yes, if the boy were here.
If the boy were here."

" Now he hasjumped and filled the sacks
along his back with air.

" Now he cannot go down deep to die.

" He will start circling soon.
Then I must start working on him."

You didn't do so badly...

...for something that is worthless.

Now I have done my best.

He will begin to circle soon.

Let the fight come.

The sun rose for the third time
since he had put out to sea.

The fish was circling slowly...

... and the old man was wet with sweat
and tired deep into his bones.

I could not fail myself...

...now and die on a fish like this.

Now that he is coming so beautifully,
God help me to endure.

I will say 100 "Our Fathers"
and 100 "Hail Marys."

But I cannot say them now.

Please consider them said.

I will say them later.

For an hour he had seen
spots before his eyes.

Twice he had felt faint and dizzy,
and that had worried him.

Then suddenly he saw a dark shadow...

... that took so long to pass the boat
that he couldn't believe its length.

He can't be that big!

But he was that big.

He felt faint again.

"I moved him," he thought.

"Maybe this time I can get him over."

Pull, hands! Hold on, legs!

"I must get him alongside this time,"
the old man thought.

Next time, I'll pull him over.

He tried it once more and felt himself
going when he turned the fish.

"I'll try again," he thought.
He could only see well in flashes.

Fish, you are going to die anyway.
Must you kill me, too?

He took all his pain and what was left
of his strength and his long-gone pride...

... and put it against the fish's agony.

"I must get him close, close, close,"
he thought.

" I mustn't try for the head.
I must get the heart."

Now I have killed this fish
who was my brother.

Now I must do the slave work.

Get to work, old man.

The old man didn't need a compass
to tell him where southwest was.

He only needed the feel of the trade wind
and the drawing of the sail.

He could see the fish.

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.

"The hands cure quickly," he thought.
"I've bled them clean.

" The salt water will heal them.

" The dark water of the Gulf
is the greatest healer that there is."

His head became unclear
and he asked himself:

" Is he bringing me in,
or am I bringing him in?"

They sailed together, lashed side by side.

And the old man thought,
"Let me bring him in, if it pleases him.

" I'm only better than him through trickery.
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.

He looked at the fish constantly
to make sure it was true.

It was an hour before
the first shark hit him.

He was a very big mako shark...

... built to swim as fast
as the fastest fish of the sea.

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 this was a shark
that had no fear at all...

... and would do exactly what he pleased.

It was too good to be true.
It might just as well have been a dream.

Now my fish bleeds again
and there will be others.

It was too good to be true.

The old man did not look at the fish
anymore, since it had been mutilated.

When the fish was hit, it was
as if he himself had been hit.

"But I killed the shark that hit my fish,"
he thought.

"And he was the biggest I ever saw.

"It was too good to last!"

He knew eachjerking bump of the shark
had been meat torn away...

... and the fish now made a trail of blood
for all sharks...

... as wide as a highway through the sea.

He knew well the pattern
of what could happen...

... when he reached the inner part
of the current.

But there was nothing to be done.

"Yes, there is," he thought.

" I can lash my knife to the butt
of one of the oars.

" I should have brought a stone
for the knife," he thought.

" You should've brought many things,
but you didn't.

" Now is no time to think
of what you do not have.

" Think of what you can do
with what you have.

"You give me good counsel," he thought,
"I'm tired of it."

I am still an old man.
But I will not be unarmed!

I went out too far, fish.

No good for you, nor for me.

I'm sorry, fish.

I still have almost half of him left.

Maybe I will have the luck
to bring that much of him in.

I should have some luck.

No. You violated your luck
when you went too far out.

Don't be silly.

Stay awake and steer.

You still may have some luck.

I'd like to buy some...

...if there is a place where they sell it.

What would I buy it with?

A lost harpoon, a broken knife?
Two bad hands?

You might.

You tried to buy it with 84 days at sea.

They almost sold it to you, too.

I must not think such nonsense.

Luck is a thing that comes in many forms...

...and who can recognize her?

I wish I could see the lights of Havana.

I wish for too many things.

But that is what I wish now.

He saw the reflected glare
of the light of the city...

... at what must have been
around 10:00 at night.

He was stiff and sore now.

And his wounds and all the strained
parts of his body hurt.

He could no longer talk to the fish.
It was ruined too badly.

Then something came into his head.

Half-fish.

Fish that you were...

I am sorry I went out too far.

It ruined us both.

But we have killed many sharks, you and I.

And ruined many more.

How many have you ever killed, old fish?

You do not have that spear for nothing.

" What will you do now
if they come in the night?" he thought.

What will I do if they come in the night?

I'll fight them!

I'll fight them until I die!

"But I hope I do not have to fight again,"
he thought.

" I hope so much I do not
have to fight again!"

But he fought again, and this time
he knew the fight was useless.

He knew he was beaten now,
finally and without remedy.

I'm sorry, fish.

He could feel he was
inside the current now.

And he could see the lights of
the beach colonies along the shore.

He knew where he was now,
and it was nothing to get home.

"The wind is our friend," he thought.

Then he added, " Sometimes.

"And the great sea,
with our friends and our enemies.

"And bed.

" Bed is my friend. Just bed.

"Bed will be a great thing."

It is easy when you are beaten.

What beat you?

Nothing. I just went out too far.

Man is not made for defeat.

Man can be destroyed, but not defeated.

It was quiet in the harbor...

... and he sailed up onto the little patch
of shingle below the rocks.

There was no one to help him.

He unstepped the mast, furled the sail...

... and he shouldered the mast
and started to climb. It was then...

... that he knew the depth of his tiredness.

He had to sit down five times
before he reached the shack.

In the morning, it was blowing so hard
that the drifting boats...

... would not be going out.
And the boy had slept late...

... then had come to the old man's shack...

... as he had come each morning
while the old man was gone.

The old man was asleep.
The boy saw he was breathing.

Then he saw the old man's hands
and started to cry.

He went out quietly to bring some coffee...

... and all the way down the road
he was crying.

Many fishermen were around the skiff
looking at what was beside it.

One was in the water, measuring
the skeleton with a length of line...

... and preparing to take off the head.
The boy did not go down.

He had been there before.

A can of coffee,
with plenty of milk and sugar in it.

What a fish that was!

There has never been such a fish.

Although those were two fine fish
you took yesterday.

Never mind about my fish.

Does he want a drink of any kind?

No. If he does, I'll be back.

Tell him how sorry I am.

Thanks.

I'll get the coffee.

They beat me, Manolin.
They truly beat me.

He didn't beat you. Not the fish.

Did you suffer much?

Now we'll fish together again.

I am not lucky anymore.

To hell with luck!
I'll bring the luck with me.

What will your father say?

I don't care what he says!

We must get a killing lance
and keep it on board at all times.

It must be very sharp.

And not tempered so it will break
like my knife broke.

I'll get another knife.
How long will the heavy wind last?

Maybe three days, maybe more.

I'll have everything in order.

You get your hands well, old man.

They will be all right in a couple of days.

I know how to care for them.

During the night,
I spat up something strange.

It felt like something in my chest
was broken.

Get that well, too.

Drink your coffee.
I'll get you something to eat.

And bring me the papers
from the time I was away.

That afternoon, there were tourists
from Havana at the caf�.

One looked down at the water...

... and among the empty beer cans
and dead barracuda...

... she saw the long backbone of
the great fish that was nowjust garbage...

... waiting to go out with the tide.

"What's that?" she asked the waiter.

"Shark," he said, trying to explain
what happened to the marlin.

" I didn't know sharks had such handsome...

"...beautifully formed tails,"
the woman said.

"I didn't, either,"
her male companion answered.

Up the road in his shack,
the old man was sleeping again.

He was still sleeping on his face
and the boy was watching him.

The old man was dreaming about the lions.