《老人與海》的主人公桑地亞哥是一位老漁夫，他經過重重艱險，捕獲了“一條不止一千五百磅重的大馬林魚”，但這條大馬林魚卻被鯊魚吃光了，桑地亞哥只拖回了一副魚的骨架。這部小說被稱為是影響歷史的百部經典之一;美國曆史上里程碑式的32本書之一。今天我們來欣賞《老人與海》的片段。
The Old Man and the Sea
He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast. The sail was patched with flour sacks and furled, it looked like the flag of permanent defeat.
The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
“Santiago,” the boy said to him as they climbed the bank from where the skiff was hauled up. “I could go with you again. We’ve made some money.”
The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him.
“No,” the old man said. “You’re with a lucky boat. Stay with them.”
“But remember how you went eighty-seven days without fish and then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.”
“I remember,” the old man said. “I know you did not leave me because you doubted.”
“It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him.”
“I know,” the old man said. “It is quite normal.”
“He hasn’t much faith.”
“No,” the old man said. “But we have. Haven’t we?”
“Yes,” the boy said. “Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then we’ll take the stuff home.”
“Why not?” the old man said. “Between fishermen.”
They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made fun of the old man and he was not angry. Others, of the older fishermen, looked at him and were sad. But they did not show it and they spoke politely about the current and the depths they had drifted their lines at and the steady good weather and of what they had seen. The successful fishermen of that day were already in and had butchered their marlin out and carried them laid full length across two planks, with two men staggering at the end of each plank, to the fish house where they waited for the ice truck to carry them to the market in Havana. Those who had caught sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of the cove where they were hoisted on a block and tackle, their livers removed, their fins cut off and their hides skinned out and their flesh cut into strips for salting. When the wind was in the east a smell came across the harbor from the shark factory; but today there was only the faint edge of the odor because the wind had backed into the north and then dropped off and it was pleasant and sunny on the Terrace.
“Santiago,” the boy said.
“Yes,” the old man said. He was holding his glass and thinking of many years ago.
“Can I go out to get sardines for you for tomorrow?”
“No. Go and play baseball. I can still row and Rogelio will throw the net.”
“I would like to go. If I cannot fish with you. I would like to serve in some way.”
“You bought me a beer,” the old man said. “You are already a man.”
“How old was I when you first took me in a boat?”
“Five and you nearly were killed when I brought the fish in too green and he nearly tore the boat to pieces. Can you remember?”
“I can remember the tail slapping and banging and the thwart breaking and the noise of the clubbing. I can remember you throwing me into the bow where the wet coiled lines were and feeling the whole boat shiver and the noise of you clubbing him like chopping a tree down and the sweet blood smell all over me.”
“Can you really remember that or did I just tell it to you?”
“I remember everything from when we first went together.”
The old man looked at him with his sun-burned, confident loving eyes.
老人與海
老人獨自划著小船在墨西哥灣暖流釣魚。整整84天過去了，他還是一條魚也沒逮著。頭40天裡，有個男孩一直跟著他。可是過了40天，老人還沒抓到一條魚，孩子的父母就對孩子說，老人如今真是倒黴透頂了，這個男孩於是聽從了他們的吩咐，上了另外一條船。這條船在頭一個禮拜捕到了三條大魚。看著老人每天回來時船總是空的，孩子感到很難過。他總是走到岸邊，幫老人拿成卷的漁線，或者漁鉤和漁叉，還有繞在桅杆上的帆。老人用麵粉袋的布片在帆上打滿補丁，帆收攏後看上去就像是一面永遠失敗的旗子。
老人消瘦而憔悴，脖頸上佈滿了深深的皺紋。肋幫上有些黃褐斑，一直從臉的兩側蔓延下去，這是老人長時間在熱帶海洋上捕魚時受太陽反光照射形成的。他的雙手被繩索磨出了一條深深的傷疤，那是老人在對付大魚時留下的。但是這些傷疤中沒有一塊是新的，它們像是沙漠中枯裂的岩石。
老人身上的一切都顯得很蒼老，除了他那雙眼睛。它們像海水一樣藍，總是透著股樂觀向上、永不服輸的勁頭。
“桑地亞哥爺爺!”當他倆從小船停靠的地方爬上岸時，孩子大聲對他說，“我又可以和你一起去打魚了。我在那條船上已經賺了一點兒錢了。”
老人一直在教孩子捕魚，孩子很喜歡他。
“不，”老人說，“你上了一條運氣不錯的船。跟他們在一起吧。”
“但是您還記得有一次，您87天都沒釣到一條魚，後來連著三個禮拜我們天天都抓到大魚嗎?”
“我當然記得。”老人說，“我知道，你不是因為信不過我才離開的。”
“是爸爸叫我走到。我是他兒子，不能不聽他的。”
“我明白，”老人說，“孩子應該聽大人的話。”
“他對您沒什麼信心。”
“是啊，”老人說，“可是我們有信心，不是嗎?”
“對!”孩子說，“我請您到露臺餐館喝杯啤酒，然後我們一起把打魚的東西拿回去，好嗎?”
“好啊，”老人說，“咱倆還說什麼呢?”
他們坐在餐館的露臺上， 不少年輕的漁夫拿老人開玩笑，老人並不生氣。另外一些上了年紀的漁夫看著他，感到很難受。不過他們並沒有流露出來，只是有分寸地談論著海流，談他們放漁線的深度，談多日來的好天氣和他們的所見所聞。當天捕到魚的漁民們都已回來，他們把大馬林魚剖開，整片兒平放在兩塊木板上，每塊木板的一頭由兩個人抬著，搖搖晃晃地把魚送到魚倉裡，在那裡等冷藏車來把它們運往哈瓦那的市場出售。捕到鯊魚的'人們已把他們送到海灣另一邊的鯊魚加工廠裡。在那裡，人們用滑輪車把鯊魚吊起來，挖出肝臟，割掉魚鰭，剝下魚皮，把魚肉切成條狀，以備醃製。
颳風的時候，人們總能夠聞到從隔著海灣的鯊魚加工廠飄來的一股魚腥味;但今天只是淡淡的一絲氣味，因為風轉了方向，最後風漸漸停了。現在露臺餐館這邊陽光明媚，讓人感覺很舒服。
“桑地亞哥爺爺!”孩子叫到。
“嗯。”老人應了一聲。他拿著酒杯，想著好多年前的事兒。
“我去給您準備好明天用的沙丁魚好嗎?”
“不用了，你去打棒球吧。我還劃得了船，羅吉立奧會幫我撒網的。”
“可我很想去。我不能和您一起釣魚，就讓我做點別的事吧。”
“你已經請我喝了啤酒呀。”老人感謝道，“你都是個男子漢了。”
“您第一次帶我上船時，我幾歲呀?”
“五歲。還記得那次我捕的那條魚嗎?它又大又壯，差一點把咱們的船撞個粉碎，你也差一點送了小命。”
“我記得魚尾巴噼啪噼啪地拍打著，船上的座板都給打斷了，船上的木棍也噹噹地響。我記得您怕我摔出去，還把我推倒在船頭那堆溼漉漉的漁線上。我感到整條船都在搖晃，而您用棍子打魚時發出的啪啪聲，就像是風在吹樹的聲音。魚血濺了一身，弄得我渾身上下都是血腥味兒。”
“是你自己記得那回事兒，還是我剛跟你說的?”
“從我們頭一回一起出海到現在，那些事兒我可都記得清清楚楚。”
老人用他那雙有著晒斑的眼睛看著孩子，眼裡充滿了信任和慈愛。
