The old man, the sea, and I

I HAD A bad day.

Oh there, what a perfect opening for my first 2012 blog post. But what can I say?

At a time like this, I just want to get inside the Great Persky’s magic box, like what Professor Kugelmass did. He would get inside the cheap-looking Chinese cabinet, waiting for Persky to throw a book to him. Once the professor got the book and tapped it three times, he would find himself projected into that book. Professor Kugelmass ended up making love to Madame Bovary.

But I only want to meet Santiago, and sail the blue Havana ocean with him, at a time like this. I want the Great Persky to throw me Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.

Grab the image from here.

Tap tap tap.

It is still dark. Santiago, the old man, leads our way. We walk in silence. I can only see his back. He’s pretty tall and his shoulders seem powerful, although very old — just like what Manolin said in the book.

His posture and aura, they are exactly like what I have always imagined. He is a calm man, I tell myself. And you can feel this strange tranquil feeling when walking behind him.

“I had a bad day,” I inform him, to his absent reply.

He walks pretty fast for an old man. He is barefoot. I gaze at his old shirt — that had been patched so many times. I regret that I did not bring him some clean blankets.

I feel ashamed, I should have not wore this stupid Jamiroquai’s t-shirt, and shoes. Oh my God, why did I wear them? Yeah, my Converse shoes. I hate Converse. God, I look completely 2000s.

But that old, best fisherman, seems not to care about what I am wearing. It’s not surprising. His head must be filled with places he went and lions he saw, his wife, and the Yankees. He is crazy about them, Yankees that cannot lose.

Suddenly, he says something. He says he can feel the morning coming. I can, too, then I hear myself saying, “a chill in the air.”

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