Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 503 The Old Man and the Sea (Part 1)
"A person is not born to be defeated...?"

This sentence is like a hook, catching everyone's attention.

But then, a familiar sense of confusion washed over them, especially among those readers who frequented the salon and had good memories.

"Wait a minute..." In a tobacco shop on Boulevard Saint-Germain, the owner was reading Le Parisien.

He then looked up at the regular customer and said, "I feel like I've heard this story title before?"

The regular customer was a teacher from a nearby middle school. He took the newspaper and frowned: "I've not just heard of it, I've seen it."

Last October, yes, that was last October, there was a news item in the newspaper.

The boss suddenly remembered: "American tour! Lionel and his team went to America by boat and told stories on the boat!"

The teacher pointed to the newspaper: "Yes. At the time, he said he told eight stories in a row, all of which were related to navigation."

One of them... seems to be a story about an old man fishing.

The boss laughed: "So you turned the boasts on the ship into a novel?"

The teacher didn't laugh. He looked at the inscription and felt a strange, indescribable feeling.

Six months ago, that news was just a small part of the social media feed. People would at most laugh when they read it.

“Mr. Sorel is showing off again.” “Just a pastime on the trip”… Nobody took these stories seriously; after all, Parisian salons were full of them.

The reporters only remembered the gist: an old man went out to sea, caught a big fish, and in the end, only the skeleton remained. Then it was almost completely forgotten by everyone.

But now, Lionel has written it down, and it's been published in Le Petit Parisien, taking up four whole pages.

And this happened at this time—just after The Sun Also Rises had emptied everyone's hearts, and the pension crisis had emptied everyone's pockets.

The tobacco shop owner shook his head: "I don't dare watch it. After watching 'The Sun Also Rises,' I felt terrible for half a month. Another time? Forget it."

The teacher said, "But this statement—'A man is not made for defeat'—is true..."

The boss snorted before saying, "So what? The title 'The Sun Also Rises' seemed promising, didn't it? And what happened? It was a lie!"

Despite saying that, the boss's eyes still kept glancing at the newspaper.

Teachers are the same; they're all the same.

Having been betrayed by "The Sun Also Rises" and hit by the pension crisis, I now instinctively guard against any "hope".

But that sentence was like a thorn stuck in their hearts—if they didn't see it, they would never know if the old man had succeeded in the end.
Saint-Jacques was an old man fishing alone in a small boat in the Gulf Stream off Réauveny Island. He hadn't caught a fish in eighty-four days...

What first caught the attention of Parisian readers was the name – “Saint-Jacques”, ha, another “jac”.

Is this "Jacques" the same as the "Jacques de Bana" in "The Sun Also Rises" who only wakes up at four in the afternoon, has no interest in women, and ultimately watches helplessly as Berthe falls in love with the bullfighter?
This evoked memories for readers of the painful experience they had recently had with "The Sun Also Rises".

But soon, Saint-Jacques's predicament caught them off guard. They went eighty-four days without catching any fish, and were then ridiculed, had their prices driven down, and were forgotten.

This scene is so familiar, not so much the fishermen's lives, but the feeling it evokes—

You did everything you were supposed to do, you followed the rules, you put in the time, and then the world tells you you failed!

Pension holders have just experienced the collapse of the "stable investment" myth, with banks and securities firms shirking responsibility and their accounts evading overnight.

"The Sun Also Rises" has already shown them that the world will not be responsible for your beliefs, and failure does not come with any positive meaning.

So at this moment, as they read the beginning of Saint-Jacques's work, their emotion is not pity, but a calm, weary acceptance.

A junior employee who had just lost 30% of his capital put down his newspaper and said to his wife, "Yes, he failed. And he failed perfectly."

The wife was mending the collar of an old shirt, not even looking up: "Who is it?"

"The old man in the novel. He hadn't caught a fish for eighty-four days. No one blamed him, but no one needed him anymore."

The wife stopped: "Like your father?"

The civil servant paused for a moment. His father was a low-ranking military officer during the imperial era, who, after retiring, lived on a meager pension and spent his days sitting on park benches watching children play.

No one remembers that he participated in the Crimean War, and he himself doesn't even dare to ask his father how much he lost that time.

He shook his head and sighed, "It does look somewhat similar."

The readers in Paris were calm, even somewhat wary, as if they had already anticipated that the story would not end kindly.

The old man was not like a hero, but more like an ordinary person left behind by the Republic, a seashell pushed to the beach by the tide of the times.

The novel continues—the old man decides to go out to sea again, to the open ocean, to the deep sea areas that even young people dare not go to.

The children prepared food and water for him and saw him off; the small boat rowed out of the harbor and headed towards the sea at dawn.

At this moment, many readers did not immediately dispel their guard.

Having experienced the disillusionment of "The Sun Also Rises," they have learned not to easily applaud "willpower" itself.

Saint-Jacques's "persistence" was more likely seen by them as stubbornness; he was too slow to react to reality, and his efforts to maintain his self-esteem were futile.

A young lady who had lost her dowry and annuity whispered to her best friend, "Why bother? If we can't catch them in eighty-four days, we can catch them on the eighty-fifth day?"
He's making things difficult for himself. He should sell his boat and find something else to do. Similar words were being murmured in Parisian salons, cafes, dining tables, and even on the streets.

But at this moment, a deeply suppressed emotion, like a bubble at the bottom of the sea, quietly rose to the surface—what if he succeeded?

But this idea is not allowed to exist openly at this special moment.

In Paris, where pensions have plummeted and bonds have become worthless, talking about "success" is so out of place that it's like whistling at a funeral.

But it truly lurks between the lines of "The Old Man and the Sea," and in the gaze of the reader as they contemplate the words.

The old man reached the open sea, put down his fishing line, and waited quietly.

The sun blazed fiercely at sea, the water was a deep blue, and time seemed to flow slowly, like freshly melted butter.

Then, something bit the hook, with tremendous force, an immense force! The old man knew he had encountered something big.

...The fishing line slowly and steadily rose, and then the sea in front of the small boat swelled up, and a big fish was brought out of the water!
It kept rising to the surface, water cascading down its body to both sides. Its head and back were deep purple, its body shimmering silver in the sunlight, and the stripes on its sides were very broad, tinged with pale purple. Its long beak was as long as a cane, tapering gradually like a light sword used in duels. It first raised its entire body above the water, then slipped back in as if by magic. The old man saw its large, scythe-like tail disappear into the water, and the fishing line began to slide rapidly outwards.

The power came from the deep sea, through the fishing line, and cut into the old man's bones. This was not a fish; it was the signal that a war had begun!

The atmosphere of the story has subtly changed; it turns out the world has not remained silent about the "losers"!
The old man's actions were met with a response, and in a manner reminiscent of classic heroic myths: a lonely man encountering an equally lonely and powerful adversary.

But what Parisian readers feel here is not just the joy of what they hope for, but also a long-lost sense of "order".

It seems that beyond the numbers jumping on financial statements, the irrational plunge in stock prices, and the empty promises and compromises of politicians, there still exists another kind of relationship.

This relationship does not rely on systems, contracts, or anyone's guarantees; it relies solely on skill against skill, endurance against endurance, and dignity against dignity!

"It's a big fish, I must subdue it," he thought.

This sentence is short, but upon reading it, many readers involuntarily sit up straight.

Pierre, the retired teacher who had lost his pension, took a deep breath in a corner of the "Double" café.

He recalled how, when he was teaching, he would tutor his most unruly students, explaining the same grammar point five times before the student finally nodded and said, "I understand."

The feeling at that moment was somewhat similar to how I feel now.

It's not a victory, but rather that your efforts seem to have been sensed by some behemoth, and a response has been given.

The Parisian readers were exceptionally engrossed in the ensuing struggle.

The old man confronted the giant fish for three days and three nights. His hands were covered in wounds, his shoulders were numb from the fishing line, he shivered from the cold at night and felt dizzy from the sun during the day.

He ate raw fish, drank limited amounts of water, and talked to himself while gazing at the stars and the marlin.

He asked, "Fish, what do you think?"

"I think I'm doing pretty well; the injury to my left hand has improved."

“I have enough food to last through the night and the whole day.”

"Fish, you can tow this boat."

He didn't really feel better because the fishing line was digging into his back, and the pain was almost beyond his tolerance, leading to a state of numbness that made him uneasy.

However, I've encountered things worse than this before, he thought. I only cut one hand slightly, and the cramp in the other hand had healed.

My legs are perfectly capable. Besides, I currently have the upper hand when it comes to food.

The novel doesn't romanticize the struggle; pain is pain, and exhaustion is exhaustion. The old man doesn't possess superhuman strength; he simply refuses to let go.

The sharks haven't arrived yet, and the outcome is still uncertain...

But it is precisely in this standoff without guarantees or promises that an understanding slowly seeps into the reader's mind:
The significance of hard work doesn't necessarily have to wait until the outcome is victory to be realized.

Even though nothing has been achieved yet—the fish hasn't been hauled onto the boat, the prize money hasn't been received, and the honor is still a long way off—

But as long as a person is still fighting, the significance of what he is doing has not been completely negated.

This perception is both dangerous and comforting to the Parisian middle class who have just been "justifiably deprived" in reality.

The danger lies in the fact that it requires people to continue to take responsibility, even if the outcome of taking responsibility may be failure;
The comfort lies in the fact that it does not require people to succeed.

A junior section chief working in a government department, who had witnessed too many reform plans come to nothing, felt a lump in his throat when he read the passage about the old man talking to the fish at night.

He suddenly remembered that when he was twenty, he had stayed up all night working on a report, believing that it could change something.

Later, he learned to just get by, to shirk responsibility, and to master all the smooth ways of dealing with people.

But now, as he looked at the newspaper, something stirred within him.

He said to himself, "At least he didn't let go..."

(First update, thank you everyone, please vote with monthly tickets)

(End of this chapter)