The old fisherman

Chapter 1

The old fisherman was tired of his life. He woke up every morning by his loud and obnoxious wife, yelling about his laziness, lack of worth and so on and so forth. Every now and then he even got a shoe thrown at his face, for a loving, good morning, by his charming, sweet wife.

This particular morning, was the worst morning, of all mornings he had in his long, dull life. He got up from his bed with a heavy heart and a tired soul, knowing, a hard, long day was waiting for him.

Clattering noises from downstairs meant breakfast was ready. And his wife noisily washing the dishes meant, that it was hard work and he should hurry up and eat it, before he hears another of it – and he really didn't want any more of her spattering.

As he munched his chewy and cold polenta, he silently sat and listened to his wife's muttering: "How are we going to survive with that smelly old bucket with three fishes in it?" she said washing the same dish over and over again.

The old fisherman knew there were more fishes in that bucket then his wife just offered, but for the sake of not having the argument, he remained silent.

"And that boat! Oh, that rusty old boat. No wonder you can't catch more fish. Every sea living thing that gets even remotely near to it, scares away!" she rumbled.

The old fisherman ate the las piece of his corn curd and silently left the house. As he grabbed the bucket under the kitchen window, he crouched and muffled beneath it, still listening to his wife's gibberish and hurried along.

On his way to the market, he stopped by a local bakery to buy himself a meal, for later in the evening. A middle aged owner frowned at his arrival. The old fisherman knew that the baker didn't fancy him. He did not know the reason why and he didn't think about it much either. He was here to buy himself a fresh loaf of bread and that was that.

"The usual?" said the man shortly and grabbed the bread, not expecting for the old fisherman's approval. He bagged it and exchanged the bread for one coin. The old fisherman left the bakery silently, as the baker frowned at him some more.

As soon as he left the bakery place, he was followed by a hungry looking dog. A bucket with wiggly fishes and a fresh loaf did not help the old fisherman to get rid of the stubborn fleabag. He grumpily mumbled at the dog – not really giving his best shooing method -, and brought the fresh bread to his chest. He was worried after all, to lose his only dinner.

The dog scattered eventually, sad, that it didn't get not even a piece of a crumb, or a tail of a fish and left the old fisherman at peace.

A short after a while, the fisherman arrived at the market place and as soon as he placed his bucket on the stand, it started lightly raining. He grumpily put on his coat cap and secured the bread, under the yellow rain coat.

As he stood by his stand, waiting for someone to come buy his fish, the weather decided to start pouring rain. The old fisherman did not mind being wet all that much, he did spent his life at the sea after all, but at the back of his mind he knew, he didn't stand a chance against the rain. So, he grabbed his bucked and headed to his boat - at least he had something for bait.

When he got to his old woody boat - which was waiting for him, tied to the coast, looking ever so bloom and sad, almost begging him not to go out to the open sea -, it stopped raining. This irritated the old fisherman to his guts, but he decided not to return to the market. It would simply kill him if it started raining again.

Instead, he untied the ropes and closed the door of his small cabin. It was the only place where he felt at peace. His bread was safe and dry and his fish bucket, waiting him safely at the deck.

The old motor rumbled as it heavily started and the fisherman slowly rode to the open sea.

The ocean was peaceful without a single wave. A couple of seagulls followed the wooden boat and squealed at the sight of the fish bucket. It was warm inside the cabin and the humming of the engine pleased the old fisherman to the point he could fall asleep.

He arrived at his usual fishing spot, threw the anchor and returned to the cabin, where he waited for night to come. Soon the horizon started to change colour and the air began to get colder.

As he thought of his tiring life, his brow sank, as did the sun. It was time for the old fisherman to do what he knew best. He turned on the reflector lights and threw the fishing net into the ocean. Then he began to prepare bait for the fishing strings. He pulled the fishing net up on the deck and threw it back at the ocean, more times than his wife turned in her warm bed. It was hard but honest work and it was the only thing the old fisherman ever did.

After a long but productive night, it was time for him to head back home. As he began to get closer to the shore, the ocean started to rock the boat a bit. It a was tiny bit odd for the ocean to act this way so early in the morning, but the old man did not think about it too much. He was so tired, he could barely keep his eyes open. But as soon as he could realise, the weather started to change rather quickly and sure enough, he found himself in the middle of a storm.

At this point, the waves were so big that the old boat vanished every time it went down and appeared when it came back up. The old fisherman was worried to say the least. He could see the coast far up ahead, but had no idea how he would manage to land or let alone tie his boat.

Finally, the wooden boat was no match for the next huge wave, and it turned upside down, throwing the old man's body like a ragged doll, so he fell unconscious. At the same time, a lightning stroke and it hit the old fisherman's boat.