The Boy And The Old Man

"Santiago, its been twenty days, and still no fish," said the boy.
"You are right. The seas have been rough."
"An old man like me, needs still waters, and a bright sky."
"All the fishermen are talking," said the boy.
"They say, the bad fish spirit, follows you."

"Whatever, let them talk."
"I will venture out tomorrow, when the sun is high."

Since that day, he had been consumed with thoughts of the sharks.
He would hunt them, or become the hunted.
His age had not dampened his fighting spirit.
He would take his harpoon, and his big knife. It would be a fight to the end.
Beaten, but not defeated, until he had no breath in his body, he would fight the sharks.

Santiago grabs his harpoon, from the wall of the shack. Holding it with both hands, he does a slow, kill dance, as the boy watches.
"Come on big shark, let me sink this harpoon into your flesh."

"I want to go with you,"
says the boy.
"You must obey, your parents,"
says the old man.

"Come lets have tea, and talk about the sharks, that are waiting for me."

Santiago walks towards the pot bellied stove, in the corner of the shack.
He wipes at his grey, wiry beard.
The boy watches as he pours the boiling water into the silver mugs.

"I must kill the sharks, that killed my catch."
"I will hunt them, day and night."
"Even as the lights of Havana go out, as I will, go out, after them."

"I will make a necklace from their teeth."
"It will be yours, to remember me."

The boys eyes are wide.

"When I am dead and gone, you can tell the tale."
"The Old Man, that killed the sharks, that killed his fish."

"Thank you, Santiago," says the boy.
"I will come in the morning, and help you load the skiff."
"Goodbye son."

The old man watches as the boy, walks away, down the road.

Airlover