One of the many ways to improve ones vocabulary and
language is reading whatever is written in that lge we want to
learn as long as it proves constructive n helpful . And novels r
such important to go further in this process , for it's a key to a
better understanding n diverse knowledge. But a fresh learner
should start with what's simple clear n easy to be grasped. Ernest
Hemingway is one great novelist n "The Old Man And The Sea" is
one amazing novel he's written, a one that caraterizes the beauty
of writing..............Well I've spoken too much here's the story
The Old Man and the Sea
By Ernest Hemingway
By Ernest Hemingway
3
He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and
he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first
forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish
the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and
finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone
at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first
week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his
skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled
lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the
mast. The sail was patched with flour sacks and, furled, it looked like
the flag of permanent defeat.
The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his
neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings
from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches
ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased
scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars
were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same
colour as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
‘Santiago,’ the boy paid to him as they climbed the bank from where
the skiff was hauled up. ‘I could go with you again. We’ve made some
money.’
The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him.
‘No,’ the old man said. ‘You’re with a lucky boat. Stay with them.’
‘But remember how you went eighty-seven days without fish and
then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.’
‘I remember,’ the old man said. ‘I know you did not leave me because
you doubted.’
‘It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him.’
‘I know,’ the old man said. ‘It is quite normal.’
‘He hasn’t much faith.’
‘No,’ the old man said. ‘But we have. Haven’t we?’
‘Yes,’ the boy said. ‘Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then
we’ll take the stuff home.’
4
‘Why not?’ the old man said. ‘Between fishermen.’
They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the
old man and he was not angry. Others, of the older fishermen, looked at
him and were sad. But they did not show it and they spoke politely
about the current and the depths they had drifted their lines at and the
steady good weather and of what they had seen. The successful fishermen
of that day were already in and had butchered their marlin out and
carried them laid full length across two planks, with two men staggering
at the end of each plank, to the fish house where they waited for the
ice truck to carry them to the market in Havana. Those who had caught
sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of the cove
where they were hoisted on a block and tackle, their livers removed,
their fins cut off and their hides skinned out and their flesh cut into
strips for salting.
When the wind was in the east a smell came across the harbour from
the shark factory; but today there was only the faint edge of the odour
because the wind had backed into the north and then dropped off and it
was pleasant and sunny on the Terrace.
‘Santiago,’ the boy said.
‘Yes,’ the old man said. He was holding his glass and thinking of
many years ago.
‘Can I go out and get sardines for you for tomorrow?’
‘No. Go and play baseball, I can still row and Rogelio will throw the
net.’
‘I would like to go. If I cannot fish with you, I would like to serve in
some way.’
‘You bought me a beer,’ the old man said. ‘You are already a man.’
‘How old was I when you first took me in a boat?’
‘Five and you nearly were killed when I brought the fish in too green
and he nearly tore the boat to pieces. Can you remember?’n
I'll download it partially 4 u so that I can see some motivating responses, don't make me wait 2much
He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and
he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first
forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish
the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and
finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone
at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first
week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his
skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled
lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the
mast. The sail was patched with flour sacks and, furled, it looked like
the flag of permanent defeat.
The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his
neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings
from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches
ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased
scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars
were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same
colour as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
‘Santiago,’ the boy paid to him as they climbed the bank from where
the skiff was hauled up. ‘I could go with you again. We’ve made some
money.’
The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him.
‘No,’ the old man said. ‘You’re with a lucky boat. Stay with them.’
‘But remember how you went eighty-seven days without fish and
then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.’
‘I remember,’ the old man said. ‘I know you did not leave me because
you doubted.’
‘It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him.’
‘I know,’ the old man said. ‘It is quite normal.’
‘He hasn’t much faith.’
‘No,’ the old man said. ‘But we have. Haven’t we?’
‘Yes,’ the boy said. ‘Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then
we’ll take the stuff home.’
4
‘Why not?’ the old man said. ‘Between fishermen.’
They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the
old man and he was not angry. Others, of the older fishermen, looked at
him and were sad. But they did not show it and they spoke politely
about the current and the depths they had drifted their lines at and the
steady good weather and of what they had seen. The successful fishermen
of that day were already in and had butchered their marlin out and
carried them laid full length across two planks, with two men staggering
at the end of each plank, to the fish house where they waited for the
ice truck to carry them to the market in Havana. Those who had caught
sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of the cove
where they were hoisted on a block and tackle, their livers removed,
their fins cut off and their hides skinned out and their flesh cut into
strips for salting.
When the wind was in the east a smell came across the harbour from
the shark factory; but today there was only the faint edge of the odour
because the wind had backed into the north and then dropped off and it
was pleasant and sunny on the Terrace.
‘Santiago,’ the boy said.
‘Yes,’ the old man said. He was holding his glass and thinking of
many years ago.
‘Can I go out and get sardines for you for tomorrow?’
‘No. Go and play baseball, I can still row and Rogelio will throw the
net.’
‘I would like to go. If I cannot fish with you, I would like to serve in
some way.’
‘You bought me a beer,’ the old man said. ‘You are already a man.’
‘How old was I when you first took me in a boat?’
‘Five and you nearly were killed when I brought the fish in too green
and he nearly tore the boat to pieces. Can you remember?’n
I'll download it partially 4 u so that I can see some motivating responses, don't make me wait 2much
