He knew he was beaten now finally and without remedy and he went back to the stern and found the jagged end of the tiller would fit in the slot of the rudder well enough for him to steer.He settled the sack around his shoulders and put the skiff on her course. He sailed lightly now and he had no thoughts nor any feelings of any kind.He was past everything now and he sailed the skiff to make his home port as well and as intelligently as he could.In the night sharks hit the carcass as someone might pick up crumbs from the table.The old man paid no attention to them and did not pay any attention to anything except steering.He only noticed how lightly and how well the skiff sailed now there was no great weight beside her.
Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again.He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him.The old man was dreaming about the lions.
Many fishermen were around the skiff looking at what was lashed beside it and one was in the water,his trousers rolled up,measuring the skeleton with a length of line.
“Sleeping,”the boy called.He did not care that they saw him crying.“ Let no one disturb him.”
“We must get a good killing lance and always have it on board.You can make the blade from a spring leaf from an old Ford.We can grind it in Guanabacoa.It should be sharp and not tempered so it will break.My knife broke.”