“Hewasagreatmanager,”theboysaid。“Myfatherthinkshewasthegreatest。”
“Becausehecameherethemosttimes,”theoldmansaid。“IfDurocherhadcontinuedtocomehereeachyearyourfatherwouldthinkhimthegreatestmanager。”
“Whoisthegreatestmanager,really,LuqueorMikeGonzalez?”
“Ithinktheyareequal。”
“Andthebestfishermanisyou。”
“No。Iknowothersbetter。”
“Queva,”theboysaid。“Therearemanygoodfishermenandsomegreatones。Butthereisonlyyou。”
“Thankyou。Youmakemehappy。Ihopenofishwillcomealongsogreatthathewillproveuswrong。”
“Thereisnosuchfishifyouarestillstrongasyousay。”“ImaynotbeasstrongasIthink,”theoldmansaid。“ButIknowmanytricksandIhaveresolution。”
“Yououghttogotobednowsothatyouwillbefreshinthemorning。IwilltakethethingsbacktotheTerrace。”
“Goodnightthen。Iwillwakeyouinthemorning。”
“Youremyalarmclock,”theboysaid。
“Ageismyalarmclock,”theoldmansaid。“Whydooldmenwakesoearly?Isittohaveonelongerday?”
“Idontknow,”theboysaid。“AllIknowisthatyoungboyssleeplateandhard。”
“Icanrememberit,”theoldmansaid。“Illwakenyouintime。”
“Idonotlikeforhimtowakenme。ItisasthoughIwereinferior。”
“Iknow。”
“Sleepwelloldman。”
Theboywentout。Theyhadeatenwithnolightonthetableandtheoldmantookoffhistrousersandwenttobedinthedark。Herolledhistrousersuptomakeapillow,puttingthenewspaperinsidethem。Herolledhimselfintheblanketandsleptontheotheroldnewspapersthatcoveredthespringsofthebed。
HewasasleepinashorttimeandhedreamedofAfricawhenhewasaboyandthelonggoldenbeachesandthewhitebeaches,sowhitetheyhurtyoureyes,andthehighcapesandthegreatbrownmountains。Helivedalongthatcoastnoweverynightandinhisdreamsheheardthesurfroarandsawthenativeboatscomeridingthroughit。HesmelledthetarandoakumofthedeckashesleptandhesmelledthesmellofAfricathatthelandbreezebroughtatmorning。
Usuallywhenhesmelledthelandbreezehewokeupanddressedtogoandwaketheboy。ButtonightthesmellofthelandbreezecameveryearlyandheknewitwastooearlyinhisdreamandwentondreamingtoseethewhitepeaksoftheIslandsrisingfromtheseaandthenhedreamedofthedifferentharborsandroadsteadsoftheCanaryIslands。
Henolongerdreamedofstorms,norofwomen,norofgreatoccurrences,norofgreatfish,norfights,norcontestsofstrength,norofhiswife。Heonlydreamedofplacesnowandofthelionsonthebeach。Theyplayedlikeyoungcatsintheduskandhelovedthemashelovedtheboy。Heneverdreamedabouttheboy。Hesimplywoke,lookedouttheopendooratthemoonandunrolledhistrousersandputthemon。Heurinatedoutsidetheshackandthenwentuptheroadtowaketheboy。Hewasshiveringwiththemorningcold。Butheknewhewouldshiverhimselfwarmandthatsoonhewouldberowing。
Thedoorofthehousewheretheboylivedwasunlockedandheopeneditandwalkedinquietlywithhisbarefeet。Theboywasasleeponacotinthefirstroomandtheoldmancouldseehimclearlywiththelightthatcameinfromthedyingmoon。Hetookholdofonefootgentlyandheldituntiltheboywokeandturnedandlookedathim。Theoldmannoddedandtheboytookhistrousersfromthechairbythebedand,sittingonthebed,pulledthemon。
Theoldmanwentoutthedoorandtheboycameafterhim。Hewassleepyandtheoldmanputhisarmsacrosshisshouldersandsaid,“Iamsorry。”
“Queva。”Theboysaid。“Itiswhatamanmustdo。”
Theywalkeddowntheroadtotheoldmansshackandallalongtheroad,inthedark,barefootmenweremoving,carryingthemastsoftheirboats。
Whentheyreachedtheoldmansshacktheboytooktherollsoflineinthebasketandtheharpoonandgaffandtheoldmancarriedthemastwiththefurledsailonhisshoulder。
“Doyouwantcoffee?”theboyasked。
“Wellputthegearintheboatandthengetsome。”
Theyhadcoffeefromcondensedmilkcansatanearlymorningplacethatservedfishermen。
“Howdidyousleepoldman?”theboyasked。Hewaswakingupnowalthoughitwasstillhardforhimtoleavehissleep。
“Verywell,Manolin,”theoldmansaid。“Ifeelconfidenttoday。”
“SodoI,”theboysaid。“NowImustgetyoursardinesandmineandyourfreshbaits。Hebringsourgearhimself。Heneverwantsanyonetocarryanything。”
“Weredifferent,”theoldmansaid。“Iletyoucarrythingswhenyouwerefiveyearsold。”
“Iknowit,”theboysaid。“Illberightback。Haveanothercoffee。Wehavecredithere。”
Hewalkedoff,barefootedonthecoralrocks,totheicehousewherethebaitswerestored。
Theoldmandrankhiscoffeeslowly。Itwasallhewouldhavealldayandheknewthatheshouldtakeit。Foralongtimenoweatinghadboredhimandhenevercarriedalunch。Hehadabottleofwaterinthebowoftheskiffandthatwasallheneededfortheday。
Theboywasbacknowwiththesardinesandthetwobaitswrappedinanewspaperandtheywentdownthetrailtotheskiff,feelingthepebbledsandundertheirfeet,andliftedtheskiffandslidherintothewater。
“Goodluckoldman。”
“Goodluck,”theoldmansaid。Hefittedtheropelashingsoftheoarsontothetholepinsand,leaningforwardagainstthethrustofthebladesinthewater,hebegantorowoutoftheharborinthedark。Therewereotherboatsfromtheotherbeachesgoingouttoseaandtheoldmanheardthedipandpushoftheiroarseventhoughhecouldnotseethemnowthemoonwasbelowthehills。