For two days and nights the marlin pulls the skiff. Santiago holds the line with his cut and cramped hands. He feels a bond with the fish—he admires its strength and dignity. He must endure without giving in.
Santiago's hands are raw. He eats raw fish to keep his strength. He talks to himself and to the fish. He thinks of DiMaggio playing through pain. He does not let the line slip. Endurance is not dramatic—it is hour after hour of holding on.
Santiago does not hate the marlin. He loves and respects it. "I wish I could feed the fish," he thinks. "He is my brother." The fight is not personal—it is the way of the world. Killing the fish is both triumph and loss. This respect is what separates the old man from mere brutality.
You can fight with everything you have and still honor your opponent. Dignity is in how you fight, not only in winning.
When the fish circles and comes close, Santiago drives the harpoon into its heart. The marlin leaps and falls—silver in the sun. It is the greatest fish Santiago has ever seen. He has won—but the victory will be tested by the sharks.