Buttheydidnotshowitandtheyspokepolitelyaboutthecurrentahstheyhaddriftedtheirliaeadygoodweatherandofwhattheyhadseen.Thesuccessfulfishermenofthatdaywerealreadyinandhadbutcheredtheirmarlinoutandcarriedthemlaidfulllengthacrosstwoplanks，withtwomenstaggeringattheendofeachplank，tothefishhousewheretheywaitedfortheicetrucktocarrythemtothemarketinHavana.Thosewhohadcaughtsharkshadtakehesharkfactoryohersideofthecovewheretheywerehoistedonablodtackle，theirliversremoved，theirfinscutoffandtheirhidesskiandtheirfleshtostripsforsalting.

Whenthewindwasiasmellcameacrosstheharbourfromthesharkfactory；buttodaytherewasonlythefaintedgeoftheodourbecausethewindhadbackedintothenorthandthendroppedoffanditleasantandsunnyoerrace.

“Santiago，”theboysaid.

“Yes，”theoldmansaid.Hewasholdinghisglassandthinkingofmanyyearsago.

“Igoouttogetsardinesforyoufortomorrow？”

“No.Goandplaybaseball.IstillrowandRogeliowillthrowthe.”

“Iwouldliketogo.IfIotfishwithyou，Iwouldliketoserveinsomeway.
（本章节未完结，点击下一页翻页继续阅读）