第56章 老人与海 (1)
《老人与海》的故事发生在二十世纪中叶的古巴。
一位圣地亚哥风烛残年的渔夫一连84 天都没有钓到一
条鱼，几乎都快饿死了；但他仍然不肯认输，终于在
第85 天钓到一条身长18 尺，体重1，500 磅的大马林鱼。
大鱼拖着船往海里走，但老人依然死拉着不放。经过
两天两夜的努力后，他终于杀死大鱼，把它拴在船边。
但许多小鲨立刻前来抢夺他的战利品；他一一地杀死
它们，但大鱼仍难逃被吃光的命运，最终，老人精疲
力竭地拖回一副鱼骨头。他只好在梦中去寻回那往日
美好的岁月，以忘却残酷的现实。
[ 美] 欧内斯特·米勒尔·海明威（ Ernest Miller Hemingway）
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 color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
“Santiago，”the boy said 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.”
“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.