The Old Man and the Fishing. ®.

The Old Man and the fishing. ®.

Short Novel. 

Dreams of the Andalusian Sea.

A brief tribute to Ernest Hemingway

Author: Jorge Ofitas.

All rights reserved. ®.

Europe. 2021. ®.

Cast. 1st.

Once upon a time, there was an old man who fished alone with a rod at Cape Trafalgar, near the Gulf of Cadiz. Every day at dawn and in the afternoon before the sun set, if the weather allowed, he would gather his fishing gear and head to a high, green promontory overlooking the sea of Gadír. Then, he would return before lunch and in the evening, he would go back to his usual cliff. He would prepare his rod, baits, lines, hooks, and gaff; the latter always close by in case some beast put up more resistance than usual. Of course, he also brought something to eat, his small cigars, and his inseparable hip flask of aged straight rum. On his last outing, it had been very difficult for him to get those sandworms, the best, according to some rod-fishing experts. He usually fished with squid; that day, however, he wanted to catch a good gilt-head bream or a beautiful sea bass, and for this, he needed good bait. All because it was his little dark-skinned girl's birthday and he wanted to surprise her. Melazita's parents appreciated the old rod fisherman, although on the other hand, they amusingly thought he was a bit "crazy" from so many years of the easterly wind blowing on his head; this did not prevent their daughter from becoming fond of the old fisherman.

Some time ago, the old man worked at sea aboard a longliner until justice forced him into early retirement due to a problem his boss had with a stash of hashish that the Civil Guard found on the boat where he worked. Someone had hidden it there during the stormy season when they couldn't go fishing, and he even went to prison. Fortunately, the culprits were found, but by then, the boss had died of suffering in jail, and he was very close to it. However, the old man claimed that there was nothing wrong with trafficking a little weed if children needed to be fed in a land that, being the richest, was always poor because they took everything away…

Justice recognized its serious error and compensated him with a good sum; it was no less than what he deserved. They had taken several years of his life and, very possibly, his psychological health for the rest of his days. Perhaps that's why he hardly spoke to anyone. The locals reviled him, and he would be a trafficker for the rest of his life—things of Andalusia, or perhaps of the whole world.

Melazita was a girl from the village who loved the Cadiz fisherman very much; above all, she wanted him to teach her how to fish with a rod at Cape Trafalgar. Her parents knew the true story of the solitary fisherman and let the girl cross the meadow to visit him in the mornings before going to school. She tried to convince him to take her fishing on days she didn't have school. The girl's parents had no objections to their daughter's wishes, but the old man thought it wasn't a very good idea. The little dark-skinned girl could slip and fall off the cliffs, or have an accident, or get lost, or be "swallowed" by the "sea." She reminded him of a daughter he had and lost when his wife left him and fled far away after the scandal of the cannabis seizure and his subsequent imprisonment.

That night, he appeared with two good catches: a sea bass and a very beautiful common two-banded sea bream, both highly prized rock fish. In the middle of the meadow, they put up some colorful light bulbs, an improvised table, a couple of loudspeakers, and some locals came to congratulate the little dark-skinned girl who was anxiously awaiting her friend, the old fisherman. The young girl's father got along well with his neighbor, and so did his wife. Although the fisherman was a man of few words and few friends since he was unjustly repudiated in the village decades ago, he became withdrawn, taking refuge at his Cape Trafalgar and with his fishing rod and tackle, always hoping to catch some creature like those of old that were extremely scarce because all the fishing grounds near the coast were very depleted, mainly due to "sandwich tourism," as he called the foreign tourists, or national tourism, who then called Andalusians "dogs."

When the old man dozed off in his hammock, he dreamt that in other times, when boats only used sails on that sea, during stormy seasons, he used to spend some nights in the lighthouse helping the lighthouse keeper and preventing any ship from crashing against the jagged cliffs of the coast. He was always in love with the lighthouse, which he called Fara because he said the lighthouse was a beautiful woman with her light illuminating sailors, "my Fara is a good siren." He also dreamt that many years ago, when it rained torrentially, the lighthouse lights could not be seen clearly from the sea, thus diminishing maritime safety. At dusk, if the weather forecast announced storms and bad weather, they would light gigantic bonfires to help large ships that had already been warned. That sea was one of the places on the planet where there were more sunken ships full of treasures, when, in the Golden Age, the great ships of the ancient Spanish Empire of Al-Andalus returned from the West Indies laden with jewels and capsized before reaching port in Cadiz or Seville. "Of one thing I am sure," the old man told himself, "I haven't read it anywhere." Then he would wake up sweating in the hollow of some small boat, in a tavern chair, on a rock, in the sand, or in his small village house.

These things had never interested the old man much, who knew that bay and its maritime strait very well, so lethal for coastal traffic when storms hit. He also knew the exact location of three Spanish Golden Age ships that sank with their holds full of coins, gold ingots, and precious jewels—or so he once said, punctuated by grape broth, to Melazita's father when he was more "loaded" than usual with Chiclana wine. He would never tell anyone else. If it was true, how did he come to know it? Not even the most advanced technology had achieved it so far, or perhaps he was really crazy from so much wind. No, the old man was a man of few words, so weathered that he seemed he could never wear out, creaky, with his micro black humor that made ropes and moorings snap…

Mother Melaza cooked the fish with wood-roasted potatoes, and everyone licked their fingers. There was also local white wine, from Jerez, from El Puerto, juices for the children, and prickly pears for dessert, abundant in the area, and Payoyo cheese from the Sierra de Grazalema. Someone bought a cake in the village, and the little dark-skinned girl blew out her candles, smiling openly at her parents and looking afar at the extinguished lights of the fisherman's hut, who apologized for not attending, as he would wake up early the next day to go fishing, and this he would not forgive, no matter what. The truth is that in the end, the light of the little hut lit up, and with eyes full of sleep, barefoot, he decided to join his little dark-skinned girl's birthday, where the other six inhabitants of the small village hidden behind a "mountain" of sugar canes also attended; Hipólito Vejer, Melazita's father and Mother Melaza's husband; a Cuban from Havana who one day in the 80s emigrated to live near the Andalusian sea. Eulalio, a retired Civil Guard who appreciated the old man, knowing his innocence and also because he knew him from Blas's hometown, which was none other than La Línea de la Concepción, and the beautiful blonde with sun-darkened skin, Cande, whom everyone called Cande the prickly pear seller or Cande the blonde; she made a living with the prickly pears she took to the markets of Cadiz or Algeciras during the summer seasons, earning just enough to live humbly all year, of course. And, how could it be otherwise, Juanito Machado the lighthouse keeper, born in Seville and raised in Cadiz when someone abandoned him, leaving his Moses basket at the door of a Cadiz convent; the nuns told him he was born in Seville, although years later he managed to find his mother, whom he adored for several years despite everything, as the woman did not want Juan to live in the world where she made a living, nor how one day yes and another no some wealthy man from Hispalis would put her "looking at Gerve"* for a few pesetas of the time…

Fifty-one years is a long time, more than half a century. Sometimes he no longer felt very safe climbing up and down those slippery green stones; despite everything, it was worth the risk, he thought, without a doubt, that was the best place to fish and forget the world. No one knew that area so abundant in fish. He wouldn't have revealed it for money. One afternoon, some fishing enthusiasts were lurking around, perhaps intuiting that that place was perfect for catching rock fish and even some deep-sea species that came close to the coast to feed in those maritime boundaries due to the depth of the waters in the area. Blas entered into silent rage and warned Eulalio and Juanito Machado. Eulalio lent a Civil Guard uniform to Juanito, and both managed to drive the outsiders away, arguing that fishing was prohibited in that area due to the constant pounding of the sea, the appearance of immigrant boats, or hashish trafficking. And they were right. In the end, they managed to keep the fishing secret safe.

Cast. 2nd.

The day after Melazita's birthday, Mother Melaza decided to throw a party with the upcoming start of summer, making Blas promise he would suspend fishing for that day. The old fisherman agreed, mainly because there would be a strong easterly wind, making it impossible to cast his rod or tackle. Only the adults would be there, as daughter Melaza would spend the day in Tarifa at a friend's house. There would be music, aged rum, and Chiclana wine. Cande the blonde would bring a friend from Algeciras, and Eulalio a friend from the barracks with his wife. First, the women sat alone under the cane trellis, and the men sheltered behind a large rock that was located on the leeward side. Blas was always quiet unless he had a few too many drinks; when the wine and Cuban rum started to take effect, no one could understand anything, as everyone spoke at once. Especially about fishing, and the protagonist could be no other than the old man, whom they always asked about a time he caught a fifty-kilo meagre. As if it were the first time, everyone was amazed, and Eulalio's friend made gestures of astonishment at the explanation of the capture of the beast, which, according to Blas, took place in the middle of winter. After this, Melaza turned on the speakers, playing Carlos Cano's music, and everyone started dancing except Blas, who remained seated, drinking one glass after another of the rich, thick wine from the Chiclana wineries. Cande the prickly pear seller tried to get the fisherman to dance, although he had his mind on the next day's fishing. Cande's friend got involved with Eulalio, the ex-policeman, and both disappeared some time after the party started. Cande finally had to put the fisherman to bed due to the indecent drunkenness he caught until the strong night wind started to blow glasses and belongings away, and everyone had to gather their things.

The next morning, the wind did not calm down. The old rod fisherman took the opportunity to put his gear in order. Melaza, who always woke up early, brought him a small jug of coffee and bread with virgin olive oil from the Cordovan lands of Montilla to his cane trellis. If the wind subsided in the afternoon, they would go to the deserted beaches of Cape Trafalgar together, especially because they had promised Melazita, who would return from Algeciras on the morning bus that stopped on the old national road.

At dusk, the wind shifted to a light westerly, which allowed the old man to cross the meadow towards the Trafalgar sea. However, although he remained stationed with his tackle and his mid-water rod, he didn't catch a single fish, not even a bite from a bait-breaking small fish. And so it went for several weeks. His bad luck caused him a mild depression mixed with rage that kept him in bed almost all day, and he stopped going fishing. The villagers didn't even bother him, as they knew his bad temper. They knew that sooner or later he would leave his refuge to try his luck, although this time his reclusion was lasting too long, so Eulalio brought a doctor to give him a good look; the old man began to scream and throw things when they tried to open the door of his shack. Melazita started to cry, and the others left him alone; he had become as thin and wrinkled as dried salted tuna, and on the first day of June, with the moon half-full, before the sun rose and very stealthily, he went fishing again.

When he returned without a catch, he tried not to be seen, and although it was dawn, Melazita was sitting at the entrance of his little hut. When she saw him coming, she went to help him, and the old man allowed it. He would never get angry with her. The beautiful little girl reminded him that they would go to the deserted beaches near the cape that afternoon, and he smiled, affirming that he would not miss it. What was happening to him? Not even the two rods nor the thick tackle for catching big fish were getting bites anymore. Was it the bait? Or had the fish cursed him?

He never went fishing with anyone, and everyone knew he wouldn't even entertain the question. He was almost always in a bad mood, which is why the villagers often used the little dark-skinned girl to deliver messages or to intercede in matters related to the village, or to get him to eat something, because when he wasn't fishing, he was usually drunk almost all the time and wouldn't even touch food; he only ate when he caught something succulent. For him, eating meant catching something, and since his little dark-skinned girl's birthday, he hadn't even caught a crab on the line, he remained almost fasting with his Chiclana wine and chewing on sugar canes, of the few that remained on those coasts due to the intense tourism that was destroying the few natural landscapes. This provoked so much anger in him that on one occasion he hit a man from Burgos whom he heard say that Andalusians were "dogs." Eulalio, the policeman, got him out of trouble, because the gash the old man made on the northerner was severe, but it caused no serious injuries, just a few stitches.

He also never changed his fishing spot; there were no longliners or trawlers in the area due to how rough the sea always was around those parts. When he woke up the next morning, he heard the lowing of a Retinto cow and thought it had died, but it hadn't. Hipólito had bought a cow for fresh daily milk and some hens and roosters that would lay wild eggs. He went to look for the old man to help him, and he didn't refuse, only that he was so weak that at the first step he took a tumble that almost broke one of his strong legs. Pride made him get up, but he couldn't help his neighbor, who burst out laughing with Melaza, who saw the incident from the window of her rustic kitchen, agitated by the easterly wind.

Cast. 3rd.

Around noon, everyone was waiting for him. He swallowed a glass of milk that Melazita brought him and a good brown flour bun that Eulalio brought from the little town of Fascinas, known for good bread in the region and located on the side of a small mountain visible from the road.

Eulalio and Juanito carried the cooler packed with beers and two chilled bottles of wine. They took a hidden path through the rockroses that Eulalio knew because it led to the beach where immigrant rafts often appeared at night, and no one would see you, as it was hidden by long sugar canes and tall bushes. In front went Hipólito, Melazita with her little friend, and the old man; behind them, Cande the prickly pear seller, Melaza, and Enriqueta, the mother of Melazita's friend, whom everyone secretly called "wild Gilda" for her similar beauty to the famous actress from Castilleja de la Cuesta of other times; last were Eulalio and Juanito, lagging behind because the cooler weighed "like their dead."

The day was good, though the sky was still covered by haze, which promised an even better day. They set up a gigantic white and green canvas umbrella, like those sold in shopping centers. They arrived at low tide, and very soon, everyone gathered on the shore to chat and drink beer. The girls started playing with two paddles; it would be noon, and a splendid day of calm sea was anticipated, free of bathers and tourists—the whole beach to themselves.

Of course, they brought fishing rods transported in a splendid cart that Juanito found at a good price, as he saw it abandoned on Caños de Meca beach; he cleaned and fixed it wonderfully. The women started to complain about this, and the five of them went for a walk along the shore until they could no longer be seen. Although the real reason for the girls' flight was that several Retinto cows began to appear as usual, since there was a lot of livestock in the bordering area, though luckily no bull was "loose"...

Juanito went to set up his rod and suddenly made a surprised gesture of complaint, claiming he had "forgotten" the bait. Machado knew very well that the old man found these things amusing when near the sea, even if it wasn't customary for the leathery and grizzled fisherman to show it with a smile, for he never smiled; he kept it inside. Everyone there knew how to provoke him when they wanted something from him, and in advance, no one wanted to buy bait; it would have been a reason for the old man to be offended. Very soon, he had taken his small shovel, his bulleted rod for extracting razor clams from the low tide, and his bucket. After an hour and before the sea began its next high tide, he had already caught fresh razor clams, at least two kilos of Carril clams, whose market price was unattainable, and the best was yet to come. He stepped into the first waters of the low tide and began to observe the seabed, that day ideal for lifting a sole or cuttlefish. Very soon, the bottom would become murky with the imminent high tide, and it would be too late to catch fresh bait.

Everyone cast their bottom fishing rods not too far, as with the thicker line than usual and more lead than usual, the end with the hook would not run more than twenty or thirty meters. They also left a smaller rod with light line to catch small trash fish for frying, if any were caught, of course. The old man only brought his short rod to catch striped seabream near the shore, and while Eulalio, Juanito, and Hipólito finished adjusting their rods to the iron stakes, the old man began to prepare lunch.

The women returned after an hour, the Retinto cows had returned to their wild corrals, and everyone gathered in a circle to drink, eat, criticize, and especially to tease the old man who hardly ever spoke. Since the old man still wasn't speaking, Machado very seriously asked him what he would do if someone from Burgos or Madrid appeared saying, "look at those Andalusian dogs." The old man looked at him very seriously and exclaimed: "I would give him a drowning!" And after this, everyone burst out laughing.

The tide had been rising for two hours, and no fish had bitten. Then, after lunch, the old man returned to the shore with his friends, leaving the women napping under the awning. He took his small rod and began to cast with a lure in the surf, secretly smiling askance at his three friends, who kept watching the tips of their three rods. The old man knew well or intuited that they wouldn't catch anything worthwhile that day; however, he caught nine striped seabream, about three hundred grams each, all without moving from the shore and with a small cigar on his lips, moistened with the aged Havana rum that Melaza had saved for a special occasion…

Cast. 4th.

The evening was imminent, and the women returned to the village; the men would follow after gathering everything. The old man went first, proud, dry from the evening's salt, and with nine striped seabream in his bag; plus other fresh baits he had gotten for the morning's fishing and perhaps the next day's afternoon. That night, the old man had a high fever, and no one knew.

After dinner, in the middle of the meadow, they roasted the striped seabream the old man had caught and listened to music while the strong easterly wind picked up; they had to gather all the utensils and take shelter. Blas retreated to his hut and lay down, dreaming that he pulled the largest fish ever seen from the beach and that the people of his village gave him an award, forgiving his "past," if there was anything to "forgive"; while he continued dreaming that he once sailed on a deep-sea fishing boat. He also saw in his dream the killer whales that shadowed the waters of the Strait of Gibraltar and the pilot whales that approached the shore in the cold winter sea of La Línea de la Concepción, or the families of dolphins that abounded in the deep waters where the two seas meet. Seeing the sea full of traveling and friendly dolphins, or venturing into the deep waters of the strait and sounding the treasure-filled ships surrounded by fish and hidden by seabeds, now dirty and polluted in most of the planet, brought a secret smile to his dreaming slumber. A moray eel came out of its cave, biting a hook that it would later break.

He woke up soaked in cold sweat and trembling, but no one would know, especially not Melazita, whom he could not delay any longer from her day of learning to fish. He had an infusion and pulled back the curtain; it must have been three in the morning. He made coffee and set about tying hooks and rewinding new line on the reels; that very morning he would leave before the sun rose.

Around five in the morning, he left his hut heavily laden and somewhat recovered after drinking a glass of aniseed liqueur in one gulp. The old man never cleared his throat. On his broad, hairy chest, the agitated, foamy sea could be seen, and the scars on his dry, wrinkled face, weathered by the sea winds, could tell tales of seamanship. A coastal patrol saw him leave the village and cross the national road to head near Cape Trafalgar; they knew him but did not greet him due to his murky past.

The morning smelled of a clean, ebbing tide; it would soon get light. The old man climbed his rock and set up a rod to cast it to the bottom with a hundred-millimeter line. On the other hand, once the first cast was made with razor clams caught the day before, he prepared a line for touch fishing; in this case, he placed a sardine so rotten that it could be smelled from the village. He threw it from the promontory into the water and then tied it to a rotten iron stake that emerged from one of the slippery stones, which the water covered when the tide rose.

After an hour, the sea began to rise, and around seven in the morning, the sky seemed to brighten. Then, he saw that the hand line was very taut, so much so that it felt like it was about to break. Serene, while taking a puff from his cigar, he bent down and felt it; he immediately realized that something had bitten. It could be a conger eel, a moray eel, or perhaps a small mako shark. The fact is that after trying to pull the line, the force from the other end almost pulled him off the rock. "Some creature swallowed the sardine," he said to himself, "I'd love it to be a meagre, because I don't think it's a treasure chest with gold coins." Even so, the old man released the line to reel it back in and gauge what he was facing.

The morning lit up the sea; about two hours had passed since he noticed that some beautiful fish was on the line, only perhaps much larger than the old man could have imagined with his calculations and salty knowledge of the sea of Gades. "Hail Gades!" the old man said to the sea, asking it to tell the fish; "You will not escape even if the tide takes me…"

A large flock of seagulls landed on the beach near the old man, who tied the line and, opening his small cooler, took out some oysters buried in ice with a bottle of Manzanilla from Sanlúcar. He took an oyster and swallowed it almost without chewing; the taste of the oyster mixed with the Manzanilla from Sanlúcar produced a slightly metallic and addictive effect in his throat that refreshed his joy. The line began to tremble, and the old man quickly braced himself. What fish could it be? It couldn't be more than a hundred meters from the rock. Curiosity began to swell his "cords"…

Cast. 5th.

The tide had been rising for two hours; fortunately, the old man didn't have to face strong winds that day and could fish with some calm. However, he had the feeling that something wasn't right; perhaps it was just dead weight that might have gotten caught on the huge hook. So, he pulled the line again with force. If he got no response, he would cut the line. A huge tug ended up throwing him into the sea, and he was lucky not to have broken his head on those huge adjacent rocks. Even then, the fish did not manage to make the old man release the line and climb back onto his rock. That fish must have weighed more than a hundred kilos and could have been a bluefish, a yellowtail amberjack, a bonito, or even a small tuna. The way the fish pulled the line revealed to the old man what kind of aquatic animal it might be. Still, he wasn't entirely convinced. It was then that the rod he had cast to the port side of the rock bent excessively and shot out of the iron where it was inserted, finally falling into the sea and being carried away by the fish that was surely hooked on the other end of the line… 

The old man murmured, smiling, knowing there were big creatures that day to fish… It wouldn't be the first or last time he lost a fishing rod…

He regretted the loss of one of his best fishing rods, yet he felt fascinated by the enormous creature that might be on the other end of the line. He had released almost all the line, about one hundred and fifty meters. He had to get it out before the tide rose completely, because with the incoming tide, the fishing promontory would be covered by the water, and he would have to leave there. He had about four hours at most to get the fish out of the water and defeat it…

The sun was already heating up fiercely around noon when he saw it jump between the waves that were coming in, and he was pleasantly surprised; it was undoubtedly a tuna, almost half a ton in weight. After this, he wrapped the line around his body and tied himself to one of the rocks surrounding the promontory. "You're getting more tired, I know you well, very soon you won't have strength, and I'll pull you out of there, be good, don't suffer, come on, get out now…" These and other things the old man said to the tuna as if it could hear him…

He could already see himself taking pictures with the fish in the village, and he would surely sell it in Barbate; he wouldn't get less than three thousand euros, and besides, the news would reach his hometown, and some people would be happy. For a minute, he was lost in a dream, believing he was on the shore with the catch of his dreams. He also took a drink of cold beer. Suddenly, a huge tug woke him up. "Hello, fish, you wake me from my dreams…"

The old man pulled the line with all his might and managed to reel in very little; undoubtedly, the fish was exhausted from struggling; "I must plan how to get it out of here…" He smiled, thinking of Melazita's smile, who told him that one day he would catch a very big fish, and he promised her he would… He thought that the creature might have cut the steel leader connecting to the huge three-pronged hook; "if it doesn't do it on the first attacks, it must have swallowed it very well…" he told himself. In an hour, the water would reach the promontory, and he would have to climb to the small grove, and from there, he wouldn't be able to hold the line; it was too far. He would need three more hours for the tide to half-ebb so he could attack the dying fish of his dreams with the gaff… Tunas fight hard at first, but when they are pulled out of the water, they die very quickly; they bleed out. "Fish, today is not your day, how foolish you are, you thought you escaped the almadraba (tuna trap) only for this old man to catch you… What will I do? The water is rising?"

He secured his fishing gear and took off his clothes, staying in his swim shorts. It was only a matter of time to get the fish out. The fishing rock was already covered with water, and the old man stood there, ready to endure more than an hour, holding onto the rock with the line. "Are you making it difficult for me, eh, fish?"… That's when he fell into the water. The fish pulled the line, and the old man found himself above the water. Suddenly, it stopped; surely the hook wound prevented it from going further… the old man thought, now in the middle of the sea in front of the rocks, it must have pulled him twenty or thirty meters…

Cast. 6th.

The waves came insistently to cover the high tide, the current favored the old man, but when the tide began to ebb, the force of the waves would be in favor of the injured fish. The water reached his ankles. "Where are you, fish? I don't feel you. Pull now, see if you can get it off me. Do you think you can still escape? I know, oh yes, I know, sometimes we are defeated, fish, I too was caught on more than one occasion, it's better you admit your defeat, fish…"

That was the strongest tug of all; it sent him into the hollow near the promontory. Fortunately, the water did not enter there; part of the rope rested on his belly. He was covered in sandy mud. The line tightened again, but this time it came through one of the rocks, so from down there he could handle the fish with less risk… "Do you see, fish? Fortune has favored me…" "Now I just have to wait a little longer and you'll be mine…" Finally, the water rushed in, and the old man was immediately lifted by the current, the line had disappeared from his sight…

He saw the line tangled on a pointed rock, and to reach the fishing line, the old man had to risk his life, and he didn't hesitate. He plunged into the watery pot and swam towards the rock, knowing that the waves could smash him against the crags. "Very soon the water will stop coming in," he told himself. The line untangled itself and fell very close to him; it seemed the fish was already dead or very weak. "I have to pull this line no matter what," he told himself over and over, until he finally managed to position himself on some stones that the high tide had not completely covered. He tied himself off and pulled with all his strength; now it seemed the fish was dead or defeated, as he felt no tug from the other side, and so he kept pulling…

For more than an hour, the old man kept pulling the fishing line, still talking to the fish, aloud. The waters began to recede, and the fish showed no signs of life… By that time, his fellow villagers would be looking for him, but they wouldn't find him there, for he never revealed his fishing spots… He lay back, exhausted. That dead weight had worn him out. The water had already dropped enough for him to climb onto the rock promontory and rest a little from the struggle. Then he saw the fish on its side in one of the waves, and also a trail of blood coming from the fish. He was reminded, inevitably, of a novel he read once when he was young. Perhaps it was the only novel he had ever read; a beautiful girl from Algeciras named Covadonga lent it to him; it was titled "The Old Man and the Sea" by Ernest Hemingway. "It's not the same situation," he thought, "in the novel the fishing takes place at sea, and here it happens on the coast, the fish are not the same, and neither is the fauna… To destroy my fish, no fish, it cannot be, you have died prematurely and by hook thieves…"

Finally, after three hours, he saw the line still connected to the fish. Something had gotten tangled at the bottom, and the old man couldn't pull anymore; his only option was for the tide to completely ebb… The sea always hits with more force at the capes. Cape Trafalgar… So the fierce push of the rising tide gave way to a slow ebbing tide in peaceful waters when they are… 

He could distinguish the dead fish dancing in the waves, but it was too heavy, and there was still too much water…

There was nothing left but to wait for the water to recede. He felt happy; he had achieved it. Very soon, everyone would know. "How much will it weigh? It's big, the damned thing…" He lit a cigar, feeling a little more confident. Suddenly, the line got tangled around his foot, and the fish gave the biggest tug of all, carrying the old man with it over the waves…

This time, the fish went further, but there was less water, and the waves no longer crashed against the rocks with such force… "Has it tricked me? You're still alive, fish, good fight…" The last tremendous tug had been very strange, and the old man remained thoughtful for a few seconds. He started swimming towards the rocks; he still had the line. When he recovered, he continued trying to reel it in, and little by little, he seemed to gain ground, though very slowly…

The old man was unaware that the last tug had been caused by a large shark that had thrashed the tuna, drawn by the blood… The old man also saw two small shark fins lurking nearby and immediately surmised what was happening: undoubtedly, they were having a feast at his expense… Nature has an infinite number of ways of speaking… "I thought I stole a son from you, oh, sea, and you have taken him from me…" However, he deeply believed that all was not lost; surely something heavy was there on the other end of the line, and he undoubtedly intended to pull it out…

Cast. 7th.

He slept for more than half an hour between the sand and the rock; the line was well secured to a stone, but he was not. Now he wasn't dreaming; now he was in distress due to the effort. The waters were receding, and he could no longer avoid it. He saw it in the first small waves reaching the greenish stones, full of tiny fish caves inside their watery holes, a dark stain covered it. He kept reeling in the line, all he could without letting go of his enormous gaff. He certainly couldn't pull that fish, or what was left of it, out alone. He stood there talking to it; "What do you tell me now? You'll see there are no great differences between the victor and the vanquished…" "I am the vanquished; the sea has won the game against me; it's all a draw…" "Do you hear what's left of you, fish?"… "In half an hour, it will all be over for us, fish…"

When the waters had receded, the old man discovered what had happened. A trail of small fish and several predators of various sizes had literally cleaned the tuna from the anterior part to the front fins, probably due to the large wound caused by the enormous three-pronged hook or the attack of a large predator… He looked at the powerful sun and smiled, took a drink sitting near what was left of his fish… Then dusk fell, the sea went dark as the sun moved far away. Perhaps the sea remained there waiting for the old man who fished alone with a rod at Cape Trafalgar near the Gulf of Cadiz.

THE END

Characters in the work.

The old man. Blas. Fisherman. 

Native of La Línea de la Concepción.

Mother Melaza. Cuban.

Melazita. From Cadiz.

Hipólito Vejer. Melazita's father. 

Fisherman from Barbate.

Eulalio Castillete. 

Retired Civil Guard.

Cande the blonde. 

Prickly pear picker.

Juanito Machado. 

Lighthouse keeper. Born in Seville, raised in Cadiz.

Wild Gilda: 

Mother Melaza's friend.

Story Author: Jorge Ofitas. ®.

®. Europe. 2021. ®.

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