I woke early one morning from a restless night’s sleep. It was still dark, but soon a new sun would rise to light the day.
My body was aching from a long line of yesterdays.
As Santiago, an old Cuban fisherman, dreamed of “young lions on a beach,” he wondered to himself if he could catch one more big fish before the sun sets.
I read the book “The Old Man and the Sea“ by Ernest Hemingway one more time and even watched the movie with Spencer Tracy as the “old man“ who fought the battle of his life with a big fish of the sea.
And I, too, thought about my own life’s journey, and my quest for adventure, which was gifted to me.
Santiago lived in a tiny Cuban village; Manolin, a young boy, was his companion who would bring him coffee and something to eat often and listen to those stories of fishing and life.
His weather-beaten body and aging wrinkles were Santiago’s friends, along with many scars about his hands.
The old man and young boy were inseparable pals in this great little fishing village by the sea.
The boy, on this day, would help Santiago carry his fishing gear and boat mast to the pier onto the old man’s tiny skiff in the harbor.
Santiago’s quest too, in search of a big fish, was about to begin.
As the old man set sail, he saw the distant dark horizon where the sun would soon rise.
I thought of my birth, and those many horizons in my own life, across a great divide of water.
The old man had gone fishing for some 84 days prior to this voyage and had no great success.
His perseverance, however, was in the boat, and he anticipated some good luck on this trip.
Arriving in the deep waters, he put out his lines and sat quietly waiting for a small tug from the deep dark sea.
And after many hours, one line became taut and began to pull his pole; Santiago grasped the cord with his hand and held it snugly as the big fish began to move his tiny boat forward.
A “warbler” (tiny bird) had landed on the line, and the old man spoke to it gently. Suddenly, the big fish surged and pulled the line mightily; it was a large marlin, the biggest he had ever seen.
And now this monster fish was pulling his boat faster and Santiago’s hand was burning from gripping the line; he wanted this fish badly; the strong, unrelenting marlin had other ideas.
For three days and three nights, the marlin would fight the old man in his attempt to free himself, and with each hour he became more exhausted as did the fish.
But Santiago would not give up; his hands were bleeding and he longed for rest, but his large prize and reward aroused his courage.
And finally, the giant fish tired too, and the old man got it to the side of his tiny boat, and he killed it; it was some 18 feet long and weighed over 1,500 pounds, wrote Hemingway’s pen.
The old man tied the fish to his tiny skiff and set sail for shore. But the battle with the fish and resulting blood spatter had emboldened hungry sharks.
And soon the old man and sharks would do battle, and the great marlin would give up his flesh as in some communion of the sea, leaving only his skeleton behind for the fisherman.
Santiago was filled with sorrow and possessed some guilt that he had killed his brother of the ocean. And now his only trophy returning to the shore would be the skeleton of a mighty fish.
As the old man and tiny boat returned to the harbor, he remembered a final thought:
Man is not made for defeat; he can be destroyed but not defeated.
Santiago had endured the physical challenges of this voyage; his aching body, bloodied hands, sleepless days and depleted muscles had left him worn out and exhausted.
With his dignity, courage and resolve still intact, Santiago collapsed on his bed and slept, dreaming once again of those young lions on the beach frolicking in the sun.
As old age approaches each of us, let us dream too of those young lions on the beach.
And another yesterday.
