Maung Su Shin - The Blue Sea and the Old Fisherman

He was an old fisherman who fished alone in the Gulf Stream in a small boat. He had been out fishing for 84 days and had not caught a single fish. For the first 40 days, a little boy would go out with him. But when he had not caught a single fish for 40 days, the boy’s parents told him that the old fisherman was having a bad day and sent the boy to join them in another boat. The new boat caught three very fat fish in the first week. The boy was unhappy to see the old man returning every day with an empty boat. When the old man returned, he would go down to the shore and help him carry the ropes, hooks, and fishing rods. He would also take the sails tied to the mast. The sail of the old man's small fishing boat was patched with sacks of wheat, so when it was spread out, it resembled a flag that symbolized eternal surrender.

The old man was thin and gaunt. The skin on his neck was wrinkled and wrinkled. From the hot sun in the sea, his cheeks were covered with thick, brown, cancerous patches of skin. The patches spread to the sides of his face. His hands were rough and torn from fishing for all kinds of fish. But the wounds on his hands were not new. They looked like sand dunes that had been eroded by the wind for years in a sandy area where there were no fish.

Everything about the old man is old and worn out. The only thing that remains are his blue eyes, like the sea. Those eyes express indomitability, joy, and enthusiasm.

"Here, Father Santiago, I can go back with you in the boat. I made a lot of money that day," the boy said to the old man as he stepped onto the shore from the fishing pier.

The old man taught the boy how to fish, and the boy trusted the old man.

"Don't go, don't go. The boats you're following are old boats. Don't part with them," the old man replied.

"But, Dad, I once went out to sea for 87 days and didn't catch a single fish. But you remember, Dad and I caught big fish for three consecutive Sundays?"

“Oh, I remember,” the old man said. “I know you didn’t abandon me because you doubted me.”

"My father asked me to change boats. I'm a child, so I have to listen to him."

"Okay, yes. You have to listen to it," the old man replied.

"He doesn't have much faith."

"Even if you don't believe it, it's there. But we're the ones who believe in ourselves, aren't we?"

"Yes, father," replied the little boy. "Let's go to the beer shop, and I'll buy you a beer. Then we can take these things home."

"We can fight, we fishermen can take care of each other."

They went to a tavern called Taros and sat down. Many of the fishermen made fun of the old man. But the old man did not take it seriously. Some of the older fishermen looked at him sadly. But they did not notice this and talked about the currents of the sea, how they had cast their nets in deep water, how the weather was fine, and so on. The fishermen who had caught a good catch for the day were already landing on the shore. They cut up the marlins and carried them to the market on two wooden planks. Two men, one on each side, carried them from the top of the plank. They were waiting for the big ice trucks that would take them to the market in Havana via the fish market. The fishermen who had caught the sharks took them to the shark oil factory on the other side of the bay. There, they pull the sharks upside down, cut off their fins, remove their galls, peel off their skin, and separate the meat for salting.

When the wind blows from the east, the pungent smell of shark fin oil comes with it. But today, the wind is blowing from the north, so there is little of that smell. It is also sunny around the beer shop.

“Here is Father Santiago,” the little boy called.

“Hey, what?” the old man replied. He was holding a mug of beer and thinking about ancient past events.

"Dad, I'll go get some sardines for tomorrow's fishing trip."

"'Hey, don't take it. You can go play soccer. I can row. I'll have Rogelio do the netting."

"I want to go too, Dad. Even if I can't go fishing with you, I want to help you in some way."

"You've already bought me a beer. You're a real man," the old man said.

"So how old was I when my father first took me on a boat?"

"It's been five years. I used to drag the big fish I could catch onto the boat, and the big fish bit me. You're lucky you didn't die, and the boat's belly didn't break. Do you remember that?"

“Well... I remember the big fish rolling around in the boat, the sound of my father hitting the big fish. I remember my father throwing me towards the ropes at the bow of the boat. At that time, my father was cutting down a big tree and cutting it into pieces, and I can still smell the raw fish. There was blood on my body.”

"Do you really remember those, or is it just something I told you?"

"I remember everything that happened since the first day we went fishing together, Father."

The old man looked at the little boy with loving eyes, burning with sun.

"If you were my son, I would take you to the sea every day. I would leave it to your fate and mine to decide. You are the son of your father and your mother. And you are the only one who is sailing in a wet boat."

"So, should I go get some sardines, Dad? I know where to get four fishing rods."

"I still have some left over from today, I kept the fish in salt."

"Let me find you four more."

“You have written a letter,” said the old man. Faith and hope never ran out in the old man. When the sea breeze blew, those hopes came back fresh and new.

"What if it's two letters?" said the little boy.

“Okay, I brought two letters,” the old man agreed.

"But you won't come sneaking around."

'You can do that, but I'll buy it, Dad.'

"Thank you," said the old man. He had become accustomed to not moving at all when he was hurt. He believed that just by being hurt or humiliated, one could not lose one's dignity or true dignity.

“If the tide holds, tomorrow will be a good day,” he said.

"If you were my son, I would take you to the sea every day. I would leave it to your fate and mine to decide. You are the son of your father and your mother. And you are the only one who is sailing in a wet boat."

"So, should I go get some sardines, Dad? I know where to get four fishing rods."

"I still have some left over from today, I kept the fish in salt."

"Let me find you four more."

“You have written a letter,” said the old man. Faith and hope never ran out in the old man. When the sea breeze blew, those hopes came back fresh and new.

"What if it's two letters?" said the little boy.

“Okay, I brought two letters,” the old man agreed.

"But you won't come sneaking around."

'You can do that, but I'll buy it, Dad.'

"Thank you," said the old man. He had become accustomed to not moving at all when he was hurt. He believed that just by being hurt or humiliated, one could not lose one's dignity or true dignity.

“If the tide holds, tomorrow will be a good day,” he said.