He held the tiller under his arm and soaked both his hands in the water as the skiff drove forward.
He was a fish to keep a man all winter,he thought.Don't think of that.Just rest and try to get your hands in shape to defend what is left of him.The blood smell from my hands means nothing now with all that scent in the water.Besides they do not bleed much.There is nothing cut that means anything.The bleeding may keep the left from cramping.
“Now,”he said.“I am still an old man.But I am not unarmed.”
He had ailed for two hours, resting in the stern and sometimes chewing a bit of the meat from the marlin,trying to rest and to be strong,when he saw the first of the two sharks.
The old man's head was clear and good now and he was full of resolution but he had little hope.It was too good to last, he thought. He took one look at the great fish as he watched the shark close in.It might as well have been a dream,he thought.I cannot keep him from hitting me but maybe I can get him.Dentuso,he thought.Bad luck to your mother.
Now he knew there was the fish and his hands and back were no dream.The hands cure quickly,he thought.I bled them clean and the salt water will heal them.The dark water of the true gulf is the greatest healer that there is.All I must do is keep the head clear.The hands have done their work and we sail well.With his mouth shut and his tail straight up and down we sail like brothers.Then his head started to become a little unclear and he thought,is he bringing me in or am I bringing him in?If I were towing him behind there would be no question.Nor if the fish were in the skiff,with all dignity gone,there would be no question either.But they were sailing together lashed side by side and the old man thought,let him bring me in if it pleases him.I am only better than him through trickery and he meant me no harm.