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
on to 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.
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