The fog stuck to the outer layer of the ocean like a cover as Santiago paddled
his little, squeaking boat into the sunrise. Each muscle in his matured body
strained, both from the work of paddling and from a feeling of something tricky
sneaking just past sight. The air was thick with salt, and the skyline extended
wide and mysterious.
"Today," he mumbled, his voice scarcely stronger than the beat of the waves.
"Today, I feel it. There's an out thing there."
Santiago's endured hands held the paddles with a commonality that was
however consoling as it seemed to be unexceptional — until a delicate sprinkle
undulated close by. He stopped, going to check the interminable territory of
blue.
"Did you hear that, elderly person?" a tranquil voice asked, appearing to ascend
from the actual sea.
Alarmed, Santiago glanced around, seeing only ocean and sky.
"Who's there?" he answered, his voice bound with both interest and
watchfulness. It wasn't each day that the actual ocean appeared to talk.
"You look for me, Santiago," the voice replied, each word very nearly a piece of
the breeze, sneaking all through the calm. "I'm here, and I have been pausing."
Santiago chuckled, shaking his head. "It's been quite a while since I've heard
stories of ocean spirits. They say the ocean is just as quiet or as uproarious as
we let it be."
There was a quiet, a long, calm delay that settled like mist on the water.
Santiago fixed his hold on his fishing line, projecting it out into the unexplored
world. The line vanished into the profundities, quiet regardless, until —
Snap!
The line pulled wildly, pulling Santiago nearly to the edge of his boat. He
paused his breathing, grasping more tight, feeling the beat of something
invigorated and strong on the opposite end.
"Ok, so you're not kidding," he mumbled, a flash of fire in his drained eyes.
"Alright, show me your solidarity."
The fish on the line whipped fiercely, sending shockwaves through the water,
and Santiago retaliated with all of solidarity he could summon. Hours passed,
yet, neither would yield. The sun bursted high, thumping on the elderly person
as sweat streamed down his temple.
"What keeps not entirely settled?" the fish appeared to ask, however its voice
was an inclination instead of sound.
Santiago giggled, an unpleasant, short of breath laugh. "You wouldn't
comprehend. The battle... it's all I know. The main thing checked out."
The fish's solidarity flabbergasted him, even scared him. How long had it swum
these waters, watching and pausing, falling through shadows, hitting the dance
floor with the light? The fish had the beauty of an old animal, the sort that could
recollect ages long past.
"Are you desolate, Santiago?" came that peaceful voice once more, as though
the actual ocean were asking, consuming the space with a delicate, constant
force.
He delayed, grasping the line considerably more tight, as though his response
relied upon it. "I have the ocean," he answered. "What more might I at any point
care about?"
The fish pulled more diligently, jumping further, and Santiago felt his heart race.
At that time, he understood that his response had maybe never been altogether
evident. Was it friendship he looked for, or was it triumph? Did he need to
vanquish the ocean, or did he need to be essential for its story?
His considerations obscured with the cadence of the waves, the fish's solidarity
tireless and unflinching.
"Do you figure you will win?" Santiago asked resoundingly, not certain
assuming he was addressing himself, the fish, or the immense field around him.
"Win? What is winning to one who has known just opportunity?" the fish
appeared to answer, its voice reverberating to Santiago, mixing with the surge of
the sea.
Santiago's hold fixed as he contemplated that inquiry, an unusual disquiet
prickling at his skin. What number of fights had he battled, accepting that each
catch, each victory, each take could be the one that filled the hole inside him?
Furthermore, he was right here, once more, in a battle that had no unmistakable
end.
The waves lapped against his boat, mumbling insider facts just the ocean could
be aware.
"Are you prepared to give up, elderly person?" the ocean murmured.
Santiago's look floated to the skyline, where the sky and ocean met,
interminably interweaved.
"Give up?" he repeated, as though the idea was unfamiliar to him. "Or then
again hang on more tight?"
The sun plunged lower, creating long shaded areas across the water as Santiago
hung tight, feeling the beat of life on the opposite end.
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