He held the line against his back and watched its slant in the water and the skiff moving steadily to the northwest.
“I wish I had the boy,”the old man said aloud.“I'm being towed by a fish and I'm the towing bitt.I could make the line fast.But then he could break it.I must hold him all I can and give him line when he must have it.Thank God he is travelling and not going down.”
“He can't have gone,”he said.“Christ knows he can't have gone.He's making a turn.Maybe he has been hooked before and he remembers something of it.”
The old man held the line delicately,and softly,with his left hand,unleashed it from the stick.Now he could let it run through his fingers without the fish feeling any tension .
He was happy feeling the gentle pulling and then he felt something hard and unbelievably heavy.It was the weight of the fish and he let the line slip down,down,down,unrolling off the first of the two reserve coils.As it went down,slipping lightly through the old man's fingers,he still could feel the great weight,though the pressure of his thumb and finger were almost imperceptible .