the brisa as a friend

The brisa, the steady trade wind that rises during Santiago's epic battle with the marlin, becomes a crucial ally and a symbol of the natural forces that can either aid or oppose a fisherman. It is not merely a meteorological detail but a character in the drama, a friend whose presence Santiago relies upon for his return journey and whose absence or change he interprets as a sign of shifting fortune.

The Brisa as a Helper and a Sign

From the very beginning of his ordeal, Santiago is attuned to the wind's significance. After hooking the great fish, he notes the weather's potential, thinking that the rising trade wind will be good to take him in. He needs it badly. This is not a passive hope but a practical calculation: the wind is a force he can harness. Later, as he fights the marlin through the night and into the next day, he observes the clouds building up for the trade wind and knows that no man is ever alone on the sea. The brisa is a companion, a constant presence that connects him to the natural world even in his isolation. When he finally kills the fish and begins the long sail home, he states, "Light brisa," and then adds, "Better weather for me than for you, fish." This direct address personifies the wind, framing it as a partisan in his struggle, a friend that favors him over his adversary.

The Brisa as a Sustaining Force on the Return

The brisa's role becomes even more critical after the sharks attack. As Santiago lashes the great marlin to his skiff and sets sail for home, he notes that the trade wind is rising. He does not need a compass to tell him where southwest is; he only needs the feel of the trade wind and the drawing of the sail. The wind is his guide, his engine, and his compass all in one. It is the force that will carry him and his prize back to the harbor. Even as his body fails him and his hands are raw and bleeding, the steady breeze provides a constant, reliable source of propulsion. He sails well, and the wind's constancy allows him to rest, to soak his hands in the salt water, and to try to keep his head clear. The brisa is the one element that does not betray him, a friend that remains steadfast when all else—his strength, his tools, his fish—is being taken away.

The Brisa and the Economic Context of the Fisherman's Life

The brisa also operates within the economic reality of Santiago's world. The successful fishermen who had already returned to the Terrace had butchered their marlin, which would be carried to the fish house to wait for the ice truck to take them to the market in Havana. The wind that brings Santiago home is the same wind that will determine whether his catch, now a mutilated skeleton, can be sold. He thinks about the fish's potential value, calculating that if it dresses out two-thirds of its weight at thirty cents a pound, it would be a fortune. The brisa, then, is not just a natural ally but a necessary component of a successful fishing venture, the force that connects the fisherman's labor to the market economy. It is the wind that brings him back to the community, to the Terrace where Martin, the owner, has been generous, and to the boy, Manolin, who will help him plan for the future.

The Brisa as a Contrast to the Sharks and the Final Defeat

In the final, desperate hours of his journey, the brisa remains a constant friend even as Santiago is being beaten. After the midnight shark pack attack, he knows he is beaten finally and without remedy. Yet he still sails the skiff to make his home port as well and as intelligently as he can. The wind is still there, pushing him forward. He thinks, "The wind is our friend, anyway." Then he adds, "sometimes." This qualification is crucial. The brisa is a friend, but it is a friend within a system that also includes the great sea with its friends and enemies. The wind cannot protect him from the sharks, nor can it restore the fish. It can only carry him home. When he finally reaches the little harbour, the lights of the Terrace are out, and everyone is in bed. The breeze has risen steadily and is blowing strongly now. The wind that was his ally on the open sea is now just the wind, indifferent to his arrival. He shoulders the mast and starts to climb, and it is then he knows the depth of his tiredness. The brisa, his friend, has brought him back to a world that is asleep, to a shack where he will sleep face down on the newspapers, dreaming of the lions. The wind's work is done, and Santiago's is, for now, over.