“eon，fish，”hesaid.Butthefishdidnote.Insteadhelaytherewallowingnowintheseasandtheoldmanpulledtheskiffupontohim.

Whenhewasevenwithhimandhadthefish’sheadagainstthebowhecouldnotbelievehissize.Butheuheharpoonropefromthebitt，passeditthroughthefish’sgillsandouthisjaws，madeaturnaroundhisswordthenpassedtheropethroughtheill，madeaurnaroundthebillandkhedoubleropeandmadeitfasttothebittinthebow.Hecuttheropethenaasterntoail.Thefishhadturnedsilverfromhisinalpurpleandsilver，aripesshowedthesamepalevioletcolourashistail.Theywerewiderthanaman’shandwithhisfingersspreadandthefish’seyelookedasdetachedasthemirrorsinaperiscopeorasasaintinaprocession.

“Itwastheonlywaytokillhim，”theoldmansaid.Hewasfeeliersihewaterandheknewhewouldnotgoawayandhisheadwasclear.He’soverfifteenhundredpoundsthewayheis，hethought.Maybemuchmore.Ifhedressesouttwo-thirdsofthatatthirtytsapound？

“Ineedapencilforthat，”hesaid.“Myheadisnotthatclear.ButIthinkthegreatDiMaggiowouldbeproudofmetoday.Ihadnobonespurs.Butthehand
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