The Old Man and the Sea

The Old Man and the Sea Summary | Detailed Summary

The old man, a fisherman, has gone for 84 days without catching a single fish. This is considered salao, or extreme unluckiness, in the small Cuban fishing village where he lives. After the first 40 days, the parents of the boy who normally fishes with him force him to switch to a more profitable boat, and they catch three good fish in the first week he is on board. The boy is sad to have had to leave the old man he has fished with for so long, and each evening when the old man comes in empty-handed, the boy goes to help him bring in his equipment.

On the 85^th day, the boy tells the old man that he can rejoin his boat, thanks to the lucky week of fishing he had had on the other boat. The old man is the one who taught the boy to fish, and the boy has a deep love and feeling of loyalty towards the old man. The old man tells him to stay on the lucky boat while the luck runs. The boy reminds him of the last dry spell they had had together, and of how on the 87^th day their luck had changed and they caught large fish every day for three weeks. The old man remembers this well, and tells the boy that he knows the boy did not leave him out of disloyalty.

The boy and the old man sit and have a beer on the Terrace. Some of the fishermen make fun of the old man, and others are sad for him. The old man is not angry at being made fun of, and is happy for the simple pleasure of having a beer with his friend. As they sit drinking their beer, the boy offers to go out and get sardines for the old man for the following day. The old man declines, telling him to go and play baseball with his friends. The boy returns that he would like to help the old man in any way he can. The boy asks the old man how old he was when he first took him out to sea. The old man does not hesitate, remembering it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He tells the boy that he was five, and that the boy had nearly been killed by a fish that the old man caught that was too large for the boat. The boy says that he remembers the tail slapping, banging, the thwart breaking and the noises of the old man, then not so old, clubbing the fish to death. He questions the boy remembering so vividly, but the boy tells him that he remembers everything from when they first started fishing together. He once again asks the old man to let him get sardines and bait for the following day. The old man consents. The boy asks where he'll be fishing the next day, and the old man tells him that he'll be far out, and hopes to be out at sea before it's light. The boy tells him that he will tell the owner of the lucky boat to go far out as well, in case the old man catches a big fish and needs help.

Together they take the old man's equipment up to his small shack. They go through the same motions that they have gone through for years. "May I take the cast net?" the boy asks, knowing that the cast net was sold long ago. "What do you have to eat?" the boy asks, knowing that the old man will answer that he will eat a fictitious pot of yellow rice with fish, when in reality he has nothing. The boy goes out to get the sardines and bait, leaving the old man sitting in the sun reading the newspaper about the baseball scores. They are both Yankees fans, but while the boy is concerned about the Indians of Cleveland defeating the Yankees, the old man has faith in the abilities of the great DiMaggio to overcome any adversary.

When the boy comes back from getting the sardines, the old man is asleep. He notes the man's powerful but old shoulders as he lays an army blanket over him, and his tattered shirt that has been patched so many times that it looks like a boat sail.

When the boy comes back again, the old man is still sleeping. He wakes him gently, and tells him he has brought him some supper. The old man tries to say he is not hungry, but the boy encourages him, telling him "You'll not fish without eating while I'm alive." The old man finally consents to eating what the boy has brought him. They sit down to eat, and the boy asks the old man about the baseball. The old man tells him that in the American League the Yankees are ahead. The boy tells him that they lost today, but the old man shrugs it off happily, telling the boy that the great DiMaggio has recovered from his injury. They reminisce about the day that the great Dick Sisler came to the Terrace, and both the old man and the boy were too shy to invite him to go fishing with them. He comments to the boy that when he was the boy's age, he had already sailed to Africa and had seen the lions on the beach in the evening. The boy patiently tells the old man that he had already told the boy about Africa, and suggests that they continue talking about baseball. They talk about the greatest managers, and the boy suddenly comments that the old man is the greatest fisherman ever. The old man is happy for the compliment, and thanks the boy. The boy urges the old man to get some sleep for the following day, and the old man promises to wake the boy in the morning.

The old man falls asleep almost immediately. He dreams vividly however, not of women, or great occurrences, of fights or fish, but of Africa. He dreams of the Africa of his youth, of the hot white beaches, the high capes, the great brown mountains, and the lions on the beach. "They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy."

When he wakes, he pulls on his trousers and shivering with cold walks to the boy's house. He enters through the unlocked door, and gently touches the boy's foot to wake him. He sees the boy struggling against his boyish sleepiness, and apologizes softly.

They put the gear in their respective boats, and then drink coffee with condensed milk. The old man drinks his coffee slowly, as he knows it is all he will have until he returns from sea. Finally, they rise, wish each other good luck, and the old man sets off alone in his boat.

The old man has decided that he will stake the outer lying areas of the sea as his fishing grounds for the day, so he rows swiftly, with only the dipping of other fishermen's paddles in the water for company in the still dark early morning air. Soon even those sounds are gone as he pulls farther away than many will venture that day. The man-made sounds are replaced by the hissing of the flying fish hurling themselves through the air.

The old man rows steadily and when the sun begins to rise he finds that he is further out than he thought. He lets down his bait, one down forty fathoms, the second at seventy-five, the third at one hundred and the fourth at one hundred and twenty-five.

The old man sees a man-of-war bird circling in the sky close to his boat, an indication that there are fish close by. He sees flying fish jump out of the water, and thinks that there must be a dolphin chasing the flying fish that the man-of-war bird is eyeing. The dolphin chases the fish away from the boat, but soon after he sees that, the man-of-war bird has spotted some more fish. He catches an albacore tuna, which he can use as bait for larger fish. "He'll weigh ten pounds," he says aloud to himself.

He does not know how long he has been talking aloud to himself. He remembers that he used to sing aloud to himself when he worked on the turtle hunting boat, but thinks that he may have started talking to himself just since the boy had left. A tug on his line interrupts his musings. There is a fish eating his sardine bait, and he begins to pray and hope wildly that the fish will bite. The tugging stops for a moment, and then starts again moments later.

When he is satisfied that the fish has taken hold of the bait, he pulls hard on the line. The line does not give an inch, and it is stretched taut almost to breaking point. The fish begins to swim slowly, pulling the boat along with him. The old man wishes fervently for the boy, but is grateful that at least the fish is traveling parallel to the surface and not down. The old man thinks to him self that the pace will kill him, but four hours later, they are still traveling steadily northwestward. He feels strong, and is confident that he can outlast his adversary, although he wishes for a glimpse of the fish to know what he is facing. The fish keeps the same pace in the same direction all throughout the night. The old man drinks some water, changes position and urinates over the side of the boat, but apart from that does not move all his energy and attention focused on the fish at the other end of his line. He wishes again for the boy, and thinks briefly that no one should be alone in his or her old age. He reminds himself that in the morning he must eat the tuna he caught earlier in the day, for strength.

Before daylight, he feels another fish take the bait on one of his other lines. He cuts it swiftly, not wanting to take the risk that it would interfere with his fish. He makes the necessary adjustments of his line to ensure that it would not happen again. "Fish," he says, "I'll stay with you until I am dead." He tightens the line slightly, trying to force the fish to jump out of the water, enabling him to see his opponent and forcing the fish to fill his air sacks with air, ensuring that he would not swim down into the depths of the sea to die. However, the line is already tight to the point of breaking, and the old man eases up.

When daylight comes, he sees that the fish has not allowed him self to be turned by the current, but continues to swim northward steadily. "Fish," he vows aloud once again, trying to bring himself courage, "I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends."

A warbler comes and settles on the line, and the old man begins to talk to him. He is happy for the companionship, as his back is now causing him great pain. Suddenly the fish gives a mighty pull, almost tipping the old man overboard. The old man notices that his hand has been cut and his bird friend has flown away. "You're feeling it now, fish," says the old man, "and so, God knows, am I." He chides himself for allowing himself to be caught off guard, and reminds himself that he must eat the tuna before it begins to rot. He wishes once again for the boy. He sticks his hand in the ocean to wash the blood away, and notices by the flow of the water against his hand that the fish has slowed considerably.

He cuts his tuna into six slimy red pieces, throwing the rest of the carcass overboard. As he is cutting the tuna with his right hand, his left hand begins to cramp. He is disgusted with the betrayal of his own body. "What kind of a hand is that," he wonders aloud, angry. "Cramp then if you want. Make yourself into a claw. It will do you no good." He quickly forces down the tuna in an effort to bring strength back to his almost lifeless hand.

The hand continues to cramp, and he hopes fervently that when the sun comes out and when he digests his fish and the sun comes out his fingers will unfurl from their useless position. "I hate a cramp," he thinks. "It is the treachery of one's own body. It is humiliating before others to have a diarrhea from ptomaine poisoning or to vomit from it. But a cramp, he thought of it as a calambre, humiliates oneself especially when one is alone." He thinks repeatedly of the boy, and how he would rub the cramp out if he was there. Suddenly, he is startled out of his reverie, because the line begins to come up, and his great fish surfaces. "He came out unendingly and water poured from his sides. He was bright in the sun, and his head and back were dark purple and in the sun, the stripes on his sides showed wide and a light lavender. His sword was as long as a baseball bat and tapered like a rapier and he rose his full length from the water and then re-entered it, smoothly, like a diver."

After seeing the fish, he must come to grips with the fact that physically, he is no match for it, and that the only thing the old man has going for him is his intelligence and his willpower. Although he is not religious, he decides to say Hail Marys and Our Fathers to assist in his quest to conquer the fish. He feels better, and his hand by noon has uncramped. Although he is in extreme pain from being in the same position for so long, he is still lucid, and decides to re-bait one of his other lines to try to catch another fish to eat, in case the battle continues throughout the night.

When night falls once again, the old man remembers a tavern in Casablanca, when he arm-wrestled with the great Negro from Cienfuegos, who was reputed to be the strongest man on the docks. They wrestled for a full day and a full night, each trying to get the other's hand to the table. Blood oozed from the fingernails of each man's hand, and referees were changed every four hours. On the morning of the next day, the old man, who was then a young strong man, defeated the giant Negro athlete. From then on, he was called Santiago El Campeon, or The Champion, and when he was challenged to a return match in the spring, he had won it easily, "since he had broken the confidence of the Negro from Cienfuegos in the first match. After that, he had a few matches and then no more. He decided that he could beat anyone if he wanted to badly enough and he decided that it was bad for his right hand for fishing." He tried to arm wrestle with his left hand a few times, but "his left hand had always been a traitor and would not do what he called on it to do and he did not trust it."

Just before dark, his line is taken by a dolphin. He brings it into the skiff with his left hand, and clubs it to death. He decides to wait until later to butcher the dolphin later, to save the blood in the meat.

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He assesses his situation and assets in comparison to the fish and is satisfied. Whereas the fish has had nothing to eat, he has eaten and has the dolphin that should last the night and next day. The cut on his right hand has closed, and his left hand has uncramped. The pain in his back worries him, but he does not have to pull a boat as the fish does. He speaks to the fish aloud, saying, "How do you feel fish? I feel good and my left hand is better and I have food for a night and a day. Pull the boat, fish."

He contemplates his next task, which is to create a permanent drag on the boat with his oars, thus making it more difficult for the fish to pull the boat. He decides to try to rest for a while, as he finds his thoughts wandering and his mind not sharp enough to make a decision and complete the chore.

He rests for a couple of hours, allowing the skiff to bear part of the weight of the fish pulling. He wishes he could tie the line to the skiff directly, but without the give of his body and hands against the line, the fish could break the line with one pull.

When he feels himself to be slightly more lucid, he works his way to the back of the boat. He guts the dolphin with his knife, finding two completely fresh flying fish inside the dolphin's stomach. He brings the dolphin meat, along with the flying fish, up to the front of the boat. He quickly eats half of one of the dolphin fillets, and a whole flying fish, and is pleased that he does not feel nauseated by his raw meal. He decides to allow himself some sleep while the fish is swimming calmly. He dreams vividly about a sea of porpoises mating, then of being in his village in bed. Finally, he dreams again of the golden beaches and of the lions.

When the moon is high in the sky he wakes suddenly to the line running quickly through his right hand. He gropes with his left hand, and finally finds the line, but is unable to completely stop the line from feeding through his cut hands. The fish leaps out of the water, and falls back with a splash. The first jump had thrown the old man off balance, and he is now lying face down in the remains of the dolphin. The fish continues to jump as he lies, immobile, thinking that he must make the fish pay for the line he is gaining, holding tight to the line. As the line cuts deeply into his hands, the old man wishes fervently once again that the boy was there to help him battle the great fish.

The old man regains his footing, and is able to hold the line more easily. He feels more confident, knowing that the fish has now filled his sacks with air, and cannot plunge into the depths of the sea, which would make it impossible for the old man to bring the fish up again. He wonders what made the fish jump so suddenly after swimming so steadily for so long. He thinks that perhaps the fish suddenly felt his mortality, and recognizes once again that he himself must be at his strongest and most confident to beat this great fish.

He washes the dolphin smell from his face, afraid that it will nauseate him and make him weak. He assesses the damage done to his hands, and plunges his right hand, which has been cut badly by the line, into the water. He leaves it there for some time, allowing the salt to close his cuts. He then does the same with his left hand, talking to it all the while. "You did not do so badly for something worthless. But there was a moment when I could not find you…If he cramps again let the line cut him off." He thinks to himself that he must eat the dolphin, as his thoughts are becoming addled. He decides that the nausea it would cause him would be worse that the addled thoughts, but manages to eat the flying fish instead. Now he is ready and waits for the fish to start circling and the real fight to begin.

As the sun begins to rise for the third time since he set out, the fish starts to circle. The old man takes in line slowly but steadily. He thinks that the circle should be sufficiently shortened for him to be able to see the fish within one hour. Two hours later, the fish is still circling widely, and the old man is deeply tired. He promises up a hundred Hail Marys and a hundred Our Fathers. "Consider them said," he thinks, "I'll say them later."

He suddenly feels the line jerk strongly. It is the fish hitting the line with his tail, and the old man hopes that the fish does not shake the hook from his mouth. The old man assures himself that he can outlast the fish. He rest as the fish circles on the far side of the boat, then reels him in as he circles on the near side. He acknowledges that he is more tired than he has ever been, but tries to convince himself that he will survive. On the third turn, the fish is close enough for him to see. At first, he is sure he is not seeing the fish, it was certainly too big, and then he realizes that it is indeed his fish, huge and lavender, with a tail like a scythe blade. The man begins to sweat from anticipation and excitement certain that in two turns more he will be close enough to harpoon him. He tries to turn the fish on the next circle, and the fish turns slightly then rights himself. The same thing happens on the next circle, and the old man says aloud, "Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?"

His thoughts begin to get hazy, his hands have long since turned to mush and he can only see well in flashes. The fish continues to turn in wide circles. During each circle, the man tries to turn the fish, and each time it is the same. The old man is finally at the point of complete exhaustion and delirium, and knows he has only one more strong pull in him. He summons all his might, and gives one last pull. The fish, exhausted, is pulled onto his side. The old man quickly steps on the line and picks up his harpoon. He holds it high over his head, and brings it down into the belly of the great fish. The fish comes alive, jumping out of the water, and then landing heavily with a splash that drenches the old man, reviving him slightly, along with the adrenalin of knowing that the final fight has arrived.

Finally the fish lies still in the water, beaten. The old man is beyond weariness, but knows he must finish the work he has begun. The tasks that lie ahead of him are to noose the fish and strap him to the side of his skiff, because the boat would never hold the weight of such a fish, and then to raise the sail and set out for shore. That done he is able to concentrate on nourishing and hydrating his body for the long ride home. He is able to catch some small shrimps, and chews and swallows them down quickly, along with one quarter of his remaining water.

The old man continually looks at his prize, as they sail together towards shore, to reassure him self that it is real, and not a dream, like his lions. They are sailing well, with a good breeze behind them. They sail for an hour before the first shark attacks the fish. The old man's head is instantly clear and his senses are alert as he reaches for his harpoon to defend his prize. He hits the shark squarely and determinedly between the eyes. He aims to kill, and is successful, but so large is the shark that he takes the harpoon down with him when he begins to sink down into the icy depths. Although the shark seems to have taken about 40 pounds of meat from the fish, the old man is proud that he has defended his fish so well. He realizes however, that there will be others.

To re-arm himself, the old man takes his knife from its sheath and straps it firmly to one of his oars. He thinks to himself that they will sail homeward faster now for the loss of 40 pounds of meat, and is once again hopeful. Armed and full of hope he awaits the next onslaught. While he waits, he pulls some meat from the fish where the shark had bitten and eats it. He notes the high quality of the meat and guesses that it would bring the highest price at the market.

Two hours later more sharks have caught the scent of the great fish. They are two shovel-nosed sharks, a hateful species to the old man, foul-smelling scavengers. The first one is easily speared in the head with the knife, and sinks down into the water. The second one is more difficult, as he has chosen to feast on the underbelly of the fish, away from the range of the old man's spear. The old man quickly maneuvers the boat to expose the shark, and spears him. The first spear does no damage, but he spears a second, third and fourth time, and finally the shark is dead. He speaks aloud to the fish. "They must have taken a quarter of him, and of the best meat. I wish it were a dream and that I had never hooked him. I am sorry about it, fish."

The next shark to come was another shovel-nosed shark. The old man let him take a bite of the fish, and then speared him. The hit was effective, but as the shark jerked back the knife snapped, leaving the old man and his fish defenseless in the open water. The old man goes back to steering without taking the satisfaction to watch the predator sink down into the water. He makes a mental note of the potential weapons he has to defend his fish, the gaff, the two oars, the tiller and the short club.

The next two sharks come right before sunset, and the man summons all of his strength to club them to death. They take much meat and much of the old man's energy before they sink.

He refuses to look at the fish anymore. The fish is half-eaten by sharks, and the old man is ashamed at the sight of the magnificent creature he has needlessly killed. He suddenly thinks groggily to himself that if he still had his knife he could have cut the great spear off the fish's head and strapped it to an oar, and they could have defended what little was left of their honor together. However, there was no knife, and they are all but defenseless as they sail towards the shore. As it gets dark, he wonders to himself how they will make it home alive. "Fight them," he answers. "I'll fight them until I die."

He receives no comfort from the lights he is expecting to see of the city when the sun has set. Darkness settles all around him, and he wonders if perhaps he is already dead. He tells himself not to be ridiculous, and the throbbing pain in his body is so severe that he is certain he is not dead. At what he calculates to be around ten at night, he begins to make out the faint lights of the city ahead. He is grateful, but is hit once again by sharks, a whole pack of them this time, and in the engulfing darkness he can only swing his club wildly at shapes and shadows. This he does, until in his weariness he accidentally drops the club. They continue to tear at the fish, and he jerks the tiller from the rudder, beating the sharks off until that too breaks. When it is broken, he has a sharp, splintering weapon, and as the last shark takes the last bite of the very head of the fish, the last remaining part of the fish, he stabs with his weapon and the shark lurks away. There are no more sharks now, as there is no more meat for them to eat. He fits the tiller back into the rudder, and thinks of nothing now except for getting home.

When he finally reaches the shore the lights of the Terrace are off, and everyone is in bed. He hauls in his boat, and ties her to a rock. He ties the sail, and hoists the mast onto his tired shoulders, beginning the long climb up the hill. His weariness hits him full force now, and he falls under the weight of the mast. His exhaustion crushes him, and he lies on the ground where he fell, the mast on top of him. After a while, he knows not how long, he regains his strength sufficiently to get up, but has to sit down to rest five times before reaching his hut. When he arrives, he finds a drink of water in the darkness, covers him self with a blanket, and falls asleep in his bed.

The next morning the boy finds him lying in the same position. He is breathing, but as the boy looks at his badly cut hands, he begins to cry. He goes to get coffee for the old man, crying softly as he walks to the coffee stand. In town, everyone has seen the skeleton of the great fish strapped to the old man's boat. The boy had seen it earlier, and wishes to speak to no one. He is told that the fish skeleton measured a full 18 feet long, and everyone sends their condolences to the old man for the loss of such a great fish. The boy answers only that Santiago is not to be disturbed, and he does not care that people see him crying.

The boy takes the coffee back to the hut, and sits by the old man's bed until he wakes. The boy waits patiently, and finally Santiago wakes. "They beat me, Manolin, they truly beat me," he says as he is drinking some of the sweet rich coffee that the boy has re-heated for him. Manolin reminds him the fish did not beat him. The old man assents, and Manolin tells him that his boat is being taken care of, and asks him what he wants done with the head and tail, the last remaining parts of the fish. Santiago says that the head can be used as bait, and that Manolin could have the spear-like tail if he wanted it. Manolin wants it, and swears that from that day forth they will only fish together. The old man asks about his family, and Manolin replies that he will bring his luck to Santiago's boat so that they can fish successfully together.

Manolin goes away, promising to return with food and the newspapers of the past few days. As he leaves, he begins to cry again.

That day some tourists happen upon the massive fish skeleton in the harbor. They ask one of the locals what it was, and are told "Tiburon," or shark, by way of explanation. They think that the local means that it is the skeleton of a shark, not understanding the 5 days of needless pain and suffering to which the one-word answer referred. On the other side of the town, Manolin is sitting by the bed of the old man, weeping as he watches him sleep. The old man sleeps peacefully, dreaming of lions.