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it was in the working part
of his hand. He knew he would need his hands before this was over and he did
not like to be cut before it started.
       “Now,” he said, when his hand had dried, “I
must eat the small tuna. I can reach him with the gaff and eat him here in
comfort.”
       He knelt down and found the tuna under the
stem with the gaff and drew it toward him keeping it clear of the coiled lines.
Holding the line with his left shoulder again, and bracing on his left hand and
arm, he took the tuna off the gaff hook and put the gaff back in place. He put
one knee on the fish and cut strips of dark red meat longitudinally from the
back of the head to the tail. They were wedge-shaped strips and he cut them
from next to the back bone down to the edge of the belly. When he had cut six
strips he spread them out on the wood of the bow, wiped his knife on his
trousers, and lifted the carcass of the bonito by the tail and dropped it
overboard.
       “I don’t think I can eat an entire one,” he
said and drew his knife across one of the strips. He could feel the steady hard
pull of the line and his left hand was cramped. It drew up tight on the heavy
cord and he looked at it in disgust.
       “What kind of a hand is that,” he said.
“Cramp then if you want. Make yourself into a claw. It will do you no good.”
       Come on, he thought and looked down into the
dark water at the slant of the line. Eat it now and it will strengthen the
hand. It is not the hand’s fault and you have been many hours with the fish.
But you can stay with him forever. Eat the bonito now.
       He picked up a piece and put it in his mouth
and chewed it slowly. It was not unpleasant.
       Chew it well, he thought, and get all the
juices. It would not be had to eat with a little lime or with lemon or with
salt.
       “How do you feel, hand?” he asked the
cramped hand that was almost as stiff as rigor mortis. “I’ll eat some more for
you.”
       He ate the other part of the piece that he
had cut in two. He chewed it carefully and then spat out the skin.
       “How does it go, hand? Or is it too early to
know?”
       He took another full piece and chewed it.
       “It is a strong full-blooded fish,” he
thought. “I was lucky to get him instead of dolphin. Dolphin is too sweet. This
is hardly sweet at all and all the strength is still in it.”
       There is no sense in being anything but
practical though, he thought. I wish I had some salt. And I do not know whether
the sun will rot or dry what is left, so I had better eat it all although I am
not hungry. The fish is calm and steady. I will eat it all and then I will be
ready.
       “Be patient, hand,” he said. “I do this for
you.”
       I wish I could feed the fish, he thought. He
is my brother. But I must kill him and keep strong to do it. Slowly and
conscientiously he ate all of the wedge-shaped strips of fish.
       He straightened up, wiping his hand on his
trousers. “Now,” he said. “You can let the cord go, hand, and I will handle him
with the right arm alone until you stop that nonsense.” He put his left foot on
the heavy line that the left hand had held and lay back against the pull against his back.
       “God help me to have the cramp go,” he said.
“Because I do not know what the fish is going to do.”
       But he seems calm, he thought, and following
his plan. But what is his plan, he thought. And what is mine? Mine I must
improvise to his because of his great size. If he will jump I can kill him. But
he stays down forever. Then I will stay down with him forever.
       He rubbed the cramped hand against his
trousers and tried to gentle the fingers. But it would not open. Maybe it will
open with the sun, he thought. Maybe it will open when the strong raw tuna is
digested. If I have to have it, I will open it, cost whatever it costs. But I
do not want to open it now by force. Let it open by itself and come back of its
own accord. After all