A Hemingway for the ‘90s--the PC Version

“Montblanc is proud to announce the Hemingway writing contest, in honor of the legendary writer Ernest Hemingway. To enter, send in any unpublished piece of writing 1,000 words or less. The winner will receive a Montblanc Hemingway, Montblanc’s limited-edition fountain pen.”

--From The New Yorker

*

It was late and everyone had left the cafe except the man with the beautiful pen who sat in the shadows the tree made with the electric light. The man with the beautiful pen was a little drunk. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the man with the beautiful pen was a little drunk, and while he was a good client, they knew that if he became too drunk, he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.

The old waiter was called Juan. He had been at Chicote’s in the old days in Madrid, when the place was sort of like the Stork, without the music and the debutantes, or the Waldorf’s men’s bar if they let girls in. The young waiter was called Paco.

“Last week this one with the beautiful pen was in despair,” said the old waiter, who was called Juan.

“What about?” asked the young waiter, who was called Paco.

“This one, the one we call Nick, was fishing out in the Gulf Stream. He was fishing for the big marlin. He had many cases of the good iced-down Dutch beer and the strong dark rum from the islands. And he was fishing for the big marlin.”

“And no marlin came?”

“No, the cabrons came. The ones that they call the Greenpeace. These ones came upon his boat.”

“And what did these cabrons do?”

“These cabrons, these unspeakable ones, ruined a day’s fishing.”

“And this is why he is in despair?” said the young waiter.

“No, my son, he is also in despair because he went on a long safari with the pretty English lady and many bearers.”

“And this did not please him?”

“The bearers would not bear and the pretty English lady was horrified by the shooting and she went off with a cabron from People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.”

“And this is why he is in despair?”

“No, my son, he is also in despair because of what these cabrons did to the Cape buffalo. These cabrons have made a bad thing to happen. The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals took the Cape buffalo away.”

The man with the beautiful pen pointed to his glass. “Another Pelegrino,” he said.

The old waiter poured him another.

“Finished. No more tonight. Closed now,” said the old waiter.

The man with the beautiful pen looked down at his beautiful pen.

The old waiter and the young waiter sat together at the bar. They watched the man with the beautiful pen.

“How is it that this one acts drunk although he only takes the mineral water?” asked the young waiter who was still young.

“This we do not know,” said the old waiter who had seen many things.

“We do not serve the alcohol now,” said the young waiter.

“This we do not do. It has been a long time since the alcohol was served,” said the old waiter who remembered the alcohol.

“The patrons do not smoke the good cheroots now,” said the young waiter who had only heard of such things.

“No, such a thing is forbidden now,” said the old waiter who remembered the smoking.

The old waiter and the young waiter stared at the man with the beautiful pen.

“There were bars for drinking then,” said the old waiter who remembered such bars.

“Yes, I have heard,” said the young waiter who had heard.

“In the old days at Chicote’s, we served good steaks from Andalusia and trout from Galacia. We do not serve the flesh of God’s creatures,” said the old waiter.

“This we do not do,” said the young waiter who was too young to remember such a thing.

The old waiter and the young waiter stared at the man with the beautiful pen.

“Why is this one, the one you call Nick, here?” asked the young waiter.

“He is here for La Fiesta de las Plumas Linda, the Feast Day of Beautiful Pens.”

“I know this feast day,” said the young waiter.

“He wishes to run through the streets with his beautiful pen.”

“I also will run with my beautiful pen,” said the young waiter.

“I am too old now for the running of the beautiful pens,” said the old waiter who was old.

The old waiter and the young waiter stared at the man with the beautiful pen.

“Does this one, the one you call Nick, the one with the beautiful pen, know how foolish he looks in a beret, old man?” asked the young waiter.

“No, my son, this we do not tell him. This one has enough pain.”