“ItoldtheboyIwasastrangeoldman，”hesaid.“NowiswhenImustproveit.”

Thethousandtimesthathehadproveditmeantnothing.Norovingitagaiimewasaimeandhehoughtaboutthepastwhenhewasdoingit.

Iwishhe’dsleepandIcouldsleepanddreamabouttheliohought.Whyarethelionsthemainthingthatisleft？Don’tthink，oldman，hesaidtohimself.Restgentlynowagainstthewoodandthinkofnothing.Heisw.Workaslittleasyou.

Itwasgettingintotheafternoonastillmovedslowlyandsteadily.Buttherewasanaddeddragnowfromtheeasterlybreezeandtheoldmalywiththesmallseaaofthecordacrosshisbackcametohimeasilyandsmoothly.

Oheafternoontheliartedtoriseagain.Butthefishonlytioswimataslightlyhigherlevel.Thesunwasontheoldmaarmandshoulderandonhisback.Sohekhefishhadturofnorth.

Nowthathehadseenhimonce，hecouldpicturethefishswimmingierwithhispurplepectoralfiwideaswingsandthegreaterecttailsligthroughthedark.Iwonderhowmuchheseesatthatdepth，theoldmanthought.Hiseyeishugeandahorse，withmuchlesseye，seeinthedark.OnceIcouldseequitewellinthedar
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