.......Eighty-four days pass and still Santiago has not caught a fish in the familiar waters of the Gulf of Mexico north of his seacoast village in Cuba. Has old age robbed him of his once-great skill? Is he just having bad luck? Will his scarred hands ever again pull in a prize catch? 
.......His boat is empty not only of fish but also of his little friend, Manolin. Santiago had taught the boy to fish, beginning when the boy was just five. He showed Manolin all the subtleties of the art, and Manolin was deeply grateful. More than that, he loved the old man. Often, he would take food to Santiago, and they would talk baseball, usually discussing the exploits of the great Yankee center fielder, Joe DiMaggio, who played magnificently even when bothered by a physical ailment. (DiMaggio was operated on in 1947 to remove a bone spur from the heel of his left foot. He also developed a bone spur in his right foot and sometimes dislocated his shoulder during games.) Whenever Santiago went out to fish, Manolin would go with him, happily and excitedly. But after the first 40 days of Santiago’s 84-day slump, the boy’s parents ordered him to go out with one of the other fishing boats; Santiago was bad luck, a defeated old man.  
.......So Santiago–sun-wrinkled and gaunt–would go out alone, in his single-masted skiff, to catch wind and, eventually, a great fish. But Manolin was always there in the morning to help him load his gear and in the evening to greet him and help him unload.  
.......During the night before the 85th day, Santiago, sleeping in his dirt-floor hovel, dreams of Africa, which he had once visited while serving on a ship. In his dream, he sees native boats, hears the roar of the surf, and watches young lions frolicking on the beach. The lions seem to represent Santiago’s youth, in all of its feral vigor. In the morning, before sunrise, Manolin helps him load his gear as usual and gives him small fish to use as bait. Then the old man rides the wind and the waves into deep water, beyond the pale of his earlier expeditions.  
.......He catches a small tuna and thinks perhaps it is an omen of good fortune. Later, he feels a strong pull on his line, suggesting that a great fish, a marlin, is on the other end. The fish nibbles, then nibbles again. Finally, it bites down and the war is on. The marlin hauls the skiff effortlessly through the Gulf waters while Santiago lets out the line when necessary, then holds fast to it, sometimes wrapping it around his shoulders. The give and take goes on and on. Santiago’s left hand cramps up, but he is determined to stay with the fish, which he respects as a worthy opponent even though he has only the tuna and his water bottle to sustain him. As the sun sets, the fish heads farther out to sea.  
.......When it finally surfaces, Santiago beholds the fish, a gigantic marlin that is longer than his boat. The struggle reminds the old man of an arm-wrestling match he won; it lasted through an entire day and night. He eats part of the tuna he caught, wraps the line around himself, and sleeps awhile, dreaming of Africa and those lions on the beach. But the sleep is brief, a mere wink of his heavy eyelids.  
.......The struggle goes on all through the next day and night and into the following day. Santiago’s body aches, and his raw hands sting under the tug of the hot, slicing rope. He thinks often of the great DiMaggio, who played frequently in pain. If DiMaggio could succeed under the stress of suffering, why couldn't Santiago?  And then comes a hopeful sign: The marlin, which has been traveling northwest, slows and turns eastward, riding a current. He is tired. The end is near. When the big fish swims close to the boat, Santiago harpoons it; the fight is over.  
.......After lashing the fish’s head and tail to the back and front of his boat, Santiago heads for home, toward the glow of the Havana lights. However, the blood from the harpoon wound attracts a shark. Santiago kills it with the harpoon, but is unable to retrieve his weapon. There will be more sharks, he knows, so he ties a knife to an oar and waits. When the sharks eventually arrive--in a brutal hungry horde--he stabs some of them and clubs others with his tiller. But there are too many, and they eat away all of the flesh, leaving only the head, the tail, and the skeleton.  
.......Santiago has won, and he has lost. 
.......After arriving onshore in the morning, he drags his aching body across the beach, bearing the mast on his back and collapsing under its weight--then picking himself up, and the mast, and completing the journey to his home, where he falls into bed. While he sleeps, fishermen gather and stand in awe at the size of the fish, at 18 feet the largest seen in local waters. Manolin, who has been terribly worried about the old man, is happy to find him home and in bed. When Santiago awakes, they have coffee and discuss baseball. Later, they agree to become partners again, and that afternoon Santiago falls asleep again and dreams of the two young lions.