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- Эрнест Хэмингуэй
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- Старик и море
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- Стр. 38/68
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The
sun
will
bake
it
out
well
now
,
he
thought
.
It
should
not
cramp
on
me
again
unless
it
gets
too
cold
in
the
night
.
I
wonder
what
this
night
will
bring
.
An
airplane
passed
over
head
on
its
course
to
Miami
and
he
watched
its
shadow
scaring
up
the
schools
of
flying
fish
.
"
With
so
much
flying
fish
there
should
be
dolphin
,
"
he
said
,
and
leaned
back
on
the
line
to
see
if
it
was
possible
to
gain
any
on
his
fish
.
But
he
could
not
and
it
stayed
at
the
hardness
and
water
-
drop
shivering
that
preceded
breaking
.
The
boat
moved
ahead
slowly
and
he
watched
the
airplane
until
he
could
no
longer
see
it
.
It
must
be
very
strange
in
an
airplane
,
he
thought
.
I
wonder
what
the
sea
looks
like
from
that
height
?
They
should
be
able
to
see
the
fish
well
if
they
do
not
fly
too
high
.
I
would
like
to
fly
very
slowly
at
two
hundred
fathoms
high
and
see
the
fish
from
above
.
In
the
turtle
boats
I
was
in
the
cross
-
trees
of
the
mast
-
head
and
even
at
that
height
I
saw
much
.
The
dolphin
look
greener
from
there
and
you
can
see
their
stripes
and
their
purple
spots
and
you
can
see
all
of
the
school
as
they
swim
.
Why
is
it
that
all
the
fast
-
moving
fish
of
the
dark
current
have
purple
backs
and
usually
purple
stripes
or
spots
?
The
dolphin
looks
green
of
course
because
he
is
really
golden
.
But
when
he
comes
to
feed
,
truly
hungry
,
purple
stripes
show
on
his
sides
as
on
a
marlin
.
Can
it
be
anger
,
or
the
greater
speed
he
makes
that
brings
them
out
?
Just
before
it
was
dark
,
as
they
passed
a
great
island
of
Sargasso
weed
that
heaved
and
swung
in
the
light
sea
as
though
the
ocean
were
making
love
with
something
under
a
yellow
blanket
,
his
small
line
was
taken
by
a
dolphin
.
He
saw
it
first
when
it
jumped
in
the
air
,
true
gold
in
the
last
of
the
sun
and
bending
and
flapping
wildly
in
the
air
.
It
jumped
again
and
again
in
the
acrobatics
of
its
fear
and
he
worked
his
way
back
to
the
stern
and
crouching
and
holding
the
big
line
with
his
right
hand
and
arm
,
he
pulled
the
dolphin
in
with
his
left
hand
,
stepping
on
the
gained
line
each
time
with
his
bare
left
foot
.
When
the
fish
was
at
the
stern
,
plunging
and
cutting
from
side
to
side
in
desperation
,
the
old
man
leaned
over
the
stern
and
lifted
the
burnished
gold
fish
with
its
purple
spots
over
the
stern
.
Its
jaws
were
working
convulsively
in
quick
bites
against
the
hook
and
it
pounded
the
bottom
of
the
skiff
with
its
long
flat
body
,
its
tail
and
its
head
until
he
clubbed
it
across
the
shining
golden
head
until
it
shivered
and
was
still
.
The
old
man
unhooked
the
fish
,
rebaited
the
line
with
another
sardine
and
tossed
it
over
.
Then
he
worked
his
way
slowly
back
to
the
bow
.
He
washed
his
left
hand
and
wiped
it
on
his
trousers
.
Then
he
shifted
the
heavy
line
from
his
right
hand
to
his
left
and
washed
his
right
hand
in
the
sea
while
he
watched
the
sun
go
into
the
ocean
and
the
slant
of
the
big
cord
.
"
He
hasn
’
t
changed
at
all
,
"
he
said
.
But
watching
the
movement
of
the
water
against
his
hand
he
noted
that
it
was
perceptibly
slower
.
"
I
’
ll
lash
the
two
oars
together
across
the
stern
and
that
will
slow
him
in
the
night
,
"
he
said
.
"
He
’
s
good
for
the
night
and
so
am
I
.
"
