Sublime

‘Il est mort,

“Gertrude moved her large face close to mine. ‘You know, Hemingway, you’re someone I created, a macho character who roams the earth looking for adventure. The truth is, under pressure you have proved to be quite yellow, which is really an embarrassment to me.’

You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who. Now you are getting confused in the head, he thought. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer

Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

“Another thing I counted on was continuing my Thursday nights with Joyce, but when I showed up at our usual watering hole, he let me know that my present predicament put me off-limits for the time being because I was so inundated by my dilemma that my lachrymose disposition watered down his Bushmills. “It’s true that drinking ratcheted up my anguis

You did not kill the fish only to keep alive and to sell for food, he thought. You killed him for pride and because you are a fisherman. You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?“ You think too much, old man,” he said aloud.

But perhaps he has been hooked many times before and he knows that this is how he should make his fight. He cannot know that it is only one man against him, nor that it is an old man. But what a great fish he is and what will he bring in the market if the flesh is good.