The boy had given him two fresh small tunas, or albacores, which hung on the two deepest lines like plummets and, on the others, he had a big blue runner and a yellow jack that had been used before; but they were in good condition still and had the excellent sardines to give them scent and attractiveness. Each line, as thick around as a big pencil, was looped onto a green-sapped stick so that any pull or touch on the bait would make the stick dip and each line had two forty-fathom coils which could be made fast to the other spare coils so that, if it were necessary, a fish could take out over three hundred fathoms of line.
Now the man watched the dip of the three sticks over the side of the skiff and rowed gently to keep the lines straight up and down and at their proper depths. It was quite light and any moment now the sun would rise.
The sun rose thinly from the sea and the old man could see the other boats, low on the water and well in toward the shore, spread out across the current. Then the sun was brighter and the glare came on the water and then, as it rose clear, the flat sea sent it back at his eyes so that it hurt sharply and he rowed without looking into it. He looked down into the water and watched the lines that went straight down into the dark of the water. He kept them straighter than anyone did, so that at each level in the darkness of the stream there would be a bait waiting exactly where he wished it to be for any fish that swam there. Others let them drift with the current and sometimes they were at sixty fathoms when the fishermen thought they were at a hundred.
But, he thought, I keep them with precision. Only I have no luck any more. But who knows? Maybe today. Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.
The sun was two hours higher now and it did not hurt his eyes so much to look into the east. There were only three boats in sight now and they showed very low and far inshore.
All my life the early sun has hurt my eyes, he thought. Yet they are still good. In the evening I can look straight into it without getting the blackness. It has more force in the evening too. But in the morning it is painful.
This post is going to be short. I sort of feel like Santiago after staring into the sun all day long. My eyes are burning right now. I spent several hours pulling together my syllabi and semester schedule this afternoon and evening. Staring at a computer screen for that long is sort of like gazing directly into the sun. It tires you out.
After working three or four hours on my laptop, I received a mass e-mail from the president of the university where I teach. Because of the wildfire spread of the omicron variant, the first two days of university classes for the winter semester are cancelled. Then, for the rest of the week, it's going to be online instruction. This will allow the school to distribute N95, KN95, and/or KF94 masks to all faculty, staff, and students.
So, riddle me this, Batman. The university is cancelling classes and distributing proper masks to everyone before resuming in-person learning. Yet, in all the area public schools, masks are optional and nobody seems concerned about the exploding numbers of new COVID cases. Why is that?
Science does not seem to be the guiding principle in our public school systems. The superintendent of my son's school district insists that his decisions are based solely on the "what's best" for the children and staff of the schools. The local hospitals are overwhelmed. The CDC now recommends N95 masks and social distancing for any indoor gatherings. Yet, I've heard nothing from the superintendent regarding omicron, masks, or online learning.
My eyes are burning. I'm bone tired already, and it's only Sunday. I've got a really long week of work ahead of me, with several important deadlines looming. I had to completely redesign the beginning of my semester tonight, and my son heads back to a school tomorrow where the administration seems more interested in school numbers than school safety. And, somewhere beneath the surface of all this dark water, omicron is swimming.
This pandemic life is wearying. I get that. We all feel like old Santiago after three months without catching a fish. Unlike Santiago, however, our losing streak is just going to go on and on and on. Because nobody really wants to do "what's best."
Saint Marty needs to get to bed. That's what's best for him right now.
❤️
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