(...)
There is no sense in being anything but practical though, he thought. I wish I had some salt. And I do not know whether the sun will rot or dry what is left from it, so I had better eat it all although I am not hungry. The fish is calm and steady. I will commit a crime if I disturb him, him, my brother, my saviour, and yet... he can save me. Do I need to be saved? Let me sleep on it, the old man said to himself, in silence, of course.
The old man moved his exhausted body to try and rest in an old piece of rags on the floor of the rack, but noticed he was closer to land than he thought. Had he got lost? He was not supposed to reach land in another 2 days. The land he wanted to reach was not there. Maybe his fatigue and lack of meals for three days made him hallucinate. No, the sea was his domain, he was sure of what he saw. He smiled though; he was near the Old Lady's shore, yes, hers. He felt no longer in need of salt, or fish or food. He would be happy to see her again, even if he would not dare entering her place of business, even if he would not read any of the books; yet he was happy, he would stare at the window, and he knew she would respect him, and talk to him, and remind him that for her he was still the young swimmer she once ventured with. There would be other fishermen there, and he would remind them he met his sea first, and they would learn that in land. Her land.
Exercício de Escrita Criativa sobre "O Velho e o Mar". Ver publicação anterior.
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