Read Online Four Days with Hemingway's Ghost by Tom Winton - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Winton
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squeezed them, they shrieked together and lifted off the stools like two goosed frogs. When they landed, they headed straight for the door, and I heard the redhead say, “That’s it. No more afternoon tequila!”
Though we had yet another good laugh, after it was over our conversation took a far more serious turn.
Humberto came over and said, “Excuse me gentlemen, but I’ve just received word that Meester Russell will be leaving in fifteen minutes.”
Joe thanked him then turned back to us. He pulled the brim of his captain’s hat way down low then leaned closer to us. Looking as serious as he must have while making backroom deals in the 1930’s, he said, “Alright guys . . . time to get down to business. I’ve got to tell you the purpose of my visit.”
Ernest straightened up on his backless stool. “Okay, Josie. Talk to us. What’s going on now?”
“Well, He sent me down here for two reasons. One was so I could see you again, Ernest. But the other one, the main reason . . .” Joe said, now turning his eyes my way, “. . . was to find out what I thought of Jack here.”
“No offense, buddy, but why would He care what you think of him?”
“It’s like this, Ernest; The Man feels that Jack here is a pretty sharp troop. He told me that he’s got a very sharp mind. You might not realize that, Jack, because there’s a lot you can’t remember right now. But He said you’re a very insightful, articulate person.”
“He said that about me ?” I said.
“Yes. He also told me that even though you’re a little rough around the edges, when you get into conversations with people, you’re often two or three perceptions ahead of them.”
Smearing a big smile across his face after hearing that, Ernest said, “See there, Jackie boy, you’re not a total lost cause after all.”
“Cute, Ernest, real, real cute,” I said, nodding my head at him. Then I looked back at Sloppy Joe. “Did he say anything else?”
“He said he’s taking a close look into your mind right now. Ernest might have told you, but he wants to be sure you have what it takes to write a very special book. And you were right, Papa. That storm you guys were in this afternoon—it was a test. He was reading Jack’s thoughts and observations.”
“I guess he liked what he saw,” Ernest said.
“Seems that way. Jack’s still here.”
“I’m flattered, Joe,” I said, “but why me? The world is full of good authors . . . experienced writers. What do I know about writing?”
He took a last swallow from his beer bottle, looked around to make sure nobody was watching then gently placed it on top of the bar. “That I don’t know. Maybe it’s the perception thing. Maybe it’s because you’re a big fan of my old friend here. Maybe He’s considering you because you got into that accident. Since you’re in a coma right now you were available to come and meet Ernest. Maybe he figured Ernest would give you a few tips while you’re together. I don’t know His reasons. I can’t tell you exactly why.”
Joe glanced at a clock on the far wall then quickly turned his eyes back to Ernest. For the first time since he’d come into El Floridita , they didn’t look so cheery.
I’ve got to run, guys,” he said, “but before I do, let me tell you one last thing. Ernest, this book He wants written . . . well, you’ve got something to do with it. It concerns you.”
“Me? What in God’s name are you talking about, Josie?”
“Sorry, Ernest, I’ve really got to run. Don’t be mad at me. He told me that was absolutely all I could give you.”
“I understand, Josie.”
Joe Russell shook our hands. Then the two old friends shared a long, hard hug. When they released each other I saw Joe’s eyes had moistened. And Ernest’s voice cracked as he said, “I’ll see you soon, Josie, real soon.”
Then Joe vanished, right before our
Though we had yet another good laugh, after it was over our conversation took a far more serious turn.
Humberto came over and said, “Excuse me gentlemen, but I’ve just received word that Meester Russell will be leaving in fifteen minutes.”
Joe thanked him then turned back to us. He pulled the brim of his captain’s hat way down low then leaned closer to us. Looking as serious as he must have while making backroom deals in the 1930’s, he said, “Alright guys . . . time to get down to business. I’ve got to tell you the purpose of my visit.”
Ernest straightened up on his backless stool. “Okay, Josie. Talk to us. What’s going on now?”
“Well, He sent me down here for two reasons. One was so I could see you again, Ernest. But the other one, the main reason . . .” Joe said, now turning his eyes my way, “. . . was to find out what I thought of Jack here.”
“No offense, buddy, but why would He care what you think of him?”
“It’s like this, Ernest; The Man feels that Jack here is a pretty sharp troop. He told me that he’s got a very sharp mind. You might not realize that, Jack, because there’s a lot you can’t remember right now. But He said you’re a very insightful, articulate person.”
“He said that about me ?” I said.
“Yes. He also told me that even though you’re a little rough around the edges, when you get into conversations with people, you’re often two or three perceptions ahead of them.”
Smearing a big smile across his face after hearing that, Ernest said, “See there, Jackie boy, you’re not a total lost cause after all.”
“Cute, Ernest, real, real cute,” I said, nodding my head at him. Then I looked back at Sloppy Joe. “Did he say anything else?”
“He said he’s taking a close look into your mind right now. Ernest might have told you, but he wants to be sure you have what it takes to write a very special book. And you were right, Papa. That storm you guys were in this afternoon—it was a test. He was reading Jack’s thoughts and observations.”
“I guess he liked what he saw,” Ernest said.
“Seems that way. Jack’s still here.”
“I’m flattered, Joe,” I said, “but why me? The world is full of good authors . . . experienced writers. What do I know about writing?”
He took a last swallow from his beer bottle, looked around to make sure nobody was watching then gently placed it on top of the bar. “That I don’t know. Maybe it’s the perception thing. Maybe it’s because you’re a big fan of my old friend here. Maybe He’s considering you because you got into that accident. Since you’re in a coma right now you were available to come and meet Ernest. Maybe he figured Ernest would give you a few tips while you’re together. I don’t know His reasons. I can’t tell you exactly why.”
Joe glanced at a clock on the far wall then quickly turned his eyes back to Ernest. For the first time since he’d come into El Floridita , they didn’t look so cheery.
I’ve got to run, guys,” he said, “but before I do, let me tell you one last thing. Ernest, this book He wants written . . . well, you’ve got something to do with it. It concerns you.”
“Me? What in God’s name are you talking about, Josie?”
“Sorry, Ernest, I’ve really got to run. Don’t be mad at me. He told me that was absolutely all I could give you.”
“I understand, Josie.”
Joe Russell shook our hands. Then the two old friends shared a long, hard hug. When they released each other I saw Joe’s eyes had moistened. And Ernest’s voice cracked as he said, “I’ll see you soon, Josie, real soon.”
Then Joe vanished, right before our
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