He waited with the line between his thumb and his finger, watching it and the other lines at the same time for the fish might have swum up or down. Then came the same delicate pulling touch again.
"He'll take it,” the old man said aloud. "God help him to take it. "
He did not take it though. He was gone and the old man felt nothing.
"He can't have gone,” he said. "Christ knows he can’t have gone. He's making a
turn. Maybe he has been hooked before and he remembers something of it."
Then he felt the gentle touch on the line and he was happy.
"It was only his turn, ”
he said. "He'll take it. "
He was happy feeling the gentle pulling and 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. As it went down, slipping lightly through the old man's fingers, he still could feel the great weight, though the pressure of his thumb and finger were almost imperceptible.
"What a fish,” he said. "He has it sideways in his mouth now and he is moving off with it. "
Then he will turn and swallow it, he thought. He did not say that because he knew that if you said a good thing it might not happen. He knew what a huge fish this was and he thought of him moving away in the darkness with the tuna held crosswise in his mouth. At that moment he felt him stop moving but the weight was still there. Then the weight increased and he gave more line. He tightened the pressure of his thumb and finger for a moment and the weight increased and was going straight down.
''He's taken it, ”
he said. "Now I'll let him eat it well. "
He let the line slip through his fingers while he reached down with his left hand and made fast the free end of the two reserve coils to the loop of the two reserve coils of the next line. Now he was ready. He had three forty-fathom coils of line in reserve now, as well as the coil he was using.
"Eat it a little more,” he said. "Eat it well. "
Eat it so that the point of the hook goes into your heart and kills you, he thought, Come up easy and let me put the harpoon into you. All right. Are you ready? Have you been long enough at table?
"Now! "He said aloud and struck hard with both hands, gained a yard of line and then struck again and again, swinging with each arm alternately on the cord with all the strength of his arms and the pivoted weight of his body.
Nothing happened. The fish just moved away slowly and the old man could not raise him an inch. His line was strong and made for heavy fish and he held it against his back until it was so taut that beads of water were jumping from it. Then it began to make a slow hissing sound in the water and he still held it, bracing himself against the thwart and leaning back against the pull. The boat began to move slowly off toward the northwest.
The fish moved steadily and they travelled slowly on the calm water. The other baits were still in the water but there was nothing to be done.
"I wish I had the boy,” the old man said aloud. "I'm being towed by a fish and I'm the towing bitt. I could make the line fast. But then he could break it. I must hold him all I can and give him line when he must have it. Thank God he is travelling and not going down. "(the towing bitt: a post fastened in the deck to hold a cable or rope.)
What I will do if he decides to go down, I don't know. What I'll do if he sounds and dies I don't know. But I'll do something. There are plenty of things I can do.
He held the line against his back and watched its slant in the water and the skiff moving steadily to the northwest.
This will kill him, the old man thought. He can't do this 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 with the line across his back.
"It was noon when I hooked him, ”
he said. "And I have never seen him. "
He had pushed his straw hat hard down on his head before he hooked the fish and it was cutting his forehead. He was thirsty too and he got down on his knees and, being careful not to jerk on the line, moved as far into the bow as he could get and reached the water bottle with one hand. He opened it and drank a little. Then he rested against the bow. He rested sitting on the unstepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to endure.(the unstepped mast and sail: the sail and mast that had been removed from the step, which is the socket, frame, or platform for supporting the lower end of a mast. Notice how the passing of time is suggested.)
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