The boy finished scrubbing the boat clean. He stood back and admired his handiwork. The boat had been caked in dried blood, that of the old man, and that of the marlin, now an eighteen foot skeleton, easily mistaken for a shark. This was the least that the boy could do for his former master.
Elsewhere, Santiago lay, a cruciform stigmata, his last and greatest battle, fought and won. The old man had wrestled with himself, and with nature, and had only bones to show for his efforts.
And yet, the Algerian tells us, we must imagine Sisyphus as happy.
Image by Bikurgurl