Read Online Four Days with Hemingway's Ghost by Tom Winton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Winton
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to be seen. I let out a sigh, and Ernest glanced in the rearview mirror and only smiled.
A hundred yards later we rounded a curve, and Ernest said, “Now this is going to be interesting, Jacky boy.”
Up ahead, on the driver’s side of the road, an old man ambled along with four goats.
“Watch his eyes,” Ernest said as he slowed the car down.
When we got close enough so that the old timer could hear us coming, which was just before we passed him, he stopped and turned our way.
Fighting back the laughter by now and with a goofy smile on my face, I gave him a little wave.
His eyes were disinterested. They followed us as we went by, but that was it. He acted as if he’d seen a hundred driverless cars on that quiet road every day.
When we passed him, Ernest and I both popped a gut. Like two wild and crazy teenagers in daddy’s convertible, we roared and chortled as we bounced in our seats. Finally, after half-pulling ourselves together, Ernest said, “Talk about being world weary,” and we lost it all over again. Life, or whatever state of existence I was in, was good.
About the time we regained our composure again, Ernest stomped the brake pedal.
“I don’t believe I almost missed it,” he said, turning the wheel hard right and pulling into a break in the trees. As we rolled to a stop, he said, “There we go. Jump out and open the gate.”
It was a wide metal gate like you’d expect to see at a ranch’s entrance. There was a shield mounted on the middle with the letters FV emblazoned on it. Behind that, a narrow sandy road cut through a pine forest. I couldn’t yet see the house or any outbuildings. As we idled slowly ahead, I could tell Ernest’s anxiety was building. There was tension in the air just as there had been when we’d walked up to the front door of his Key West home. Apprehension was smeared all over his face. He looked like he was pushing the car rather than driving it.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He turned to me, giving me a slow wink that said, “Thank you, and yes, I’m alright.” We then rounded a bend. He looked a little stronger, and he said, “There she is . . . to the left up there. All cleaned up, sitting proud beneath her protective shelter.”
It was the Pilar . Seeing the boat there on a concrete pad surrounded by tall swaying bamboo did not surprise me in the least. Not much would at this point.
“The swimming pool is in the trees there as well,” Hem said. “I buried some of my pets right near it. Hell, I even had gravestones made for them.” After seemingly reflecting back in time for a moment he added, “See the tower over there? Mary had it built so I could write in it. But I couldn’t work in there. Eventually the cats took it over.”
“This sure is one beautiful place.”
“Yes it is. At first I thought I wouldn’t like it, you know, being so far from town. But we had many good times here. Hey, there it is. There’s the house!”
Tinted pink by the setting tropical sun, the stone building was magnificent. Edged on the sides by palm trees, the place resembled a single-story fortress with a second floor on just one end. Stone steps almost as wide as the horizon led up to a huge front patio. Sitting atop the high wooded grounds like it had since 1886, the Finca Vigia looked every bit the paradisiacal writer’s home it had once been.
Ernest said nothing. He parked the car, and we walked to and up the steps to the spacious courtyard. Still not muttering a word, he accessed his surroundings. When he finally finished, he let out one low grunt, and I then followed him to a smaller set of steps leading to a pillared entryway. Once we were inside the house, I again stayed in the living room while he roamed around. Not knowing what to expect, I minded my own business and looked around some.
Just like his Key West home, this one was very airy with tall
A hundred yards later we rounded a curve, and Ernest said, “Now this is going to be interesting, Jacky boy.”
Up ahead, on the driver’s side of the road, an old man ambled along with four goats.
“Watch his eyes,” Ernest said as he slowed the car down.
When we got close enough so that the old timer could hear us coming, which was just before we passed him, he stopped and turned our way.
Fighting back the laughter by now and with a goofy smile on my face, I gave him a little wave.
His eyes were disinterested. They followed us as we went by, but that was it. He acted as if he’d seen a hundred driverless cars on that quiet road every day.
When we passed him, Ernest and I both popped a gut. Like two wild and crazy teenagers in daddy’s convertible, we roared and chortled as we bounced in our seats. Finally, after half-pulling ourselves together, Ernest said, “Talk about being world weary,” and we lost it all over again. Life, or whatever state of existence I was in, was good.
About the time we regained our composure again, Ernest stomped the brake pedal.
“I don’t believe I almost missed it,” he said, turning the wheel hard right and pulling into a break in the trees. As we rolled to a stop, he said, “There we go. Jump out and open the gate.”
It was a wide metal gate like you’d expect to see at a ranch’s entrance. There was a shield mounted on the middle with the letters FV emblazoned on it. Behind that, a narrow sandy road cut through a pine forest. I couldn’t yet see the house or any outbuildings. As we idled slowly ahead, I could tell Ernest’s anxiety was building. There was tension in the air just as there had been when we’d walked up to the front door of his Key West home. Apprehension was smeared all over his face. He looked like he was pushing the car rather than driving it.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He turned to me, giving me a slow wink that said, “Thank you, and yes, I’m alright.” We then rounded a bend. He looked a little stronger, and he said, “There she is . . . to the left up there. All cleaned up, sitting proud beneath her protective shelter.”
It was the Pilar . Seeing the boat there on a concrete pad surrounded by tall swaying bamboo did not surprise me in the least. Not much would at this point.
“The swimming pool is in the trees there as well,” Hem said. “I buried some of my pets right near it. Hell, I even had gravestones made for them.” After seemingly reflecting back in time for a moment he added, “See the tower over there? Mary had it built so I could write in it. But I couldn’t work in there. Eventually the cats took it over.”
“This sure is one beautiful place.”
“Yes it is. At first I thought I wouldn’t like it, you know, being so far from town. But we had many good times here. Hey, there it is. There’s the house!”
Tinted pink by the setting tropical sun, the stone building was magnificent. Edged on the sides by palm trees, the place resembled a single-story fortress with a second floor on just one end. Stone steps almost as wide as the horizon led up to a huge front patio. Sitting atop the high wooded grounds like it had since 1886, the Finca Vigia looked every bit the paradisiacal writer’s home it had once been.
Ernest said nothing. He parked the car, and we walked to and up the steps to the spacious courtyard. Still not muttering a word, he accessed his surroundings. When he finally finished, he let out one low grunt, and I then followed him to a smaller set of steps leading to a pillared entryway. Once we were inside the house, I again stayed in the living room while he roamed around. Not knowing what to expect, I minded my own business and looked around some.
Just like his Key West home, this one was very airy with tall
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