The following short story was originally written in the summer of 2024. I’ve always liked this story but felt that it had some elements that were unnecessary and perhaps even confusing. I decided to do a bit of a rewrite and I am presenting it anew as something I consider to be at least a reasonable work of fiction.
It’s all about the press tour. It seems they just can’t stop putting their hooks into you. I know I sound like I’m copying pop songs from the ’70s because probably I am. I mean, I am not repeating them, they are repeating and easily repeatable phrases. Don’t get me started on the actual law of putting music into the public’s consciousness and then saying there are particular copyrights associated with it. If it’s out there, welcome back to reality music people, the market don’t work that way. However, maybe we rekindle the idea of supporting the arts into the basic funding of our infrastructure, like a big chunk of the military budget, and now we have tons of creative people. And hey, if you’re playing for team Green, maybe you get double rations if you can also play the bass.
But now we’re talking about something completely different. Now we are at the beginning of the 1970s and we are at Elaine’s because that’s where you would be if you were who you were when you were there. And it’s like, I’m with Woody. Woody’s not with me. I’m with Woody and Woody knows this and I know this and Diane Keaton knows this because she keeps laughing at everything I say and this is pissing the living shit out of Mr Allan. And he said that if he could take me, he would. Which I thought was brilliantly said really.
But then we got to talking about this. He actually brought up how physically intimidating I can be. I asked him if he was particularly frightened in my presence and he said that he wasn’t and that he was very comfortable. I told him I was happy that this was that way and that it was something that I preferred. I prefer people to be comfortable around me.
The point being however is that we are also aware of boxers and what it is to be a boxer. If it is a question of Woody Allen versus me in a boxing match, actually and truthfully right here and right now, I’m still a little heavier than he is and I’m damn sure heavier of bone but, all things considered, he might be able to pick the gloves up and do a job on me. I’m not saying I would gift him my face but, I don’t know. If he believed it then I believe it because he’s 80 fucking something years old and if I could get him out of his chair to throw a punch at me I would do it because I love Woody Allen. But we’re not here. We’re in 1970 something.
But at the time, and we would be talking about me as a younger man because there is no reason to even have this conversation unless it is peak performance versus peak performance.
So the deal is that I decided I needed to take Mr Woody Allen back to Paris to actually meet Ernest Hemingway when Ernest Hemingway was still Earnest Hemingway. And that is something to say whether you are a fan of Papa or not. Because he did rule the world for his moment and everyone followed his uevra. And they got it right because it was tight even if it was about war and pestilence and poverty and suffering and Christianity and was mostly a waste of words after Fiesta which was as rock and roll as rock and roll could be as literature. That was the boxer. All the rest of it was kind of let’s get Hollywood’s attention and you know how I feel about them. Hunting, fishing and the entire diabetes lifestyle where you just want to kill something instead of living your own life is the masculine legacy so pridefully carried by Mr Hemingway.
Woody Allen wanted to meet him as a young man. He wanted to meet him in Paris when everything was beautiful. My thought however is that perhaps Hemingway was more of an antihero than a hero to be worshiped. Perhaps there was another way of thinking of the words he was writing and the books he was publishing.
So Woody and I go deeply into what he calls nostalgic thinking and my thought was that perhaps he might rethink one of the pantheon members of his work, Midnight in Paris, which was roasting soles as far as everything about everything that ever was his is concerned. Really, it wasn’t just that this film made a ton of money, it really was something to behold. I think the film was a success not just because everybody is a Hemingway fan but perhaps unfortunately, there’s a real reason that we are Hemingway fans. Mr Allan decided to go there because he has an imagination that said of course we can. And not only can we go there, we can film it. And indeed, the film made a hundred million dollars and this was before superhero films.
So in the film, a clinically depressed writer who is unfortunately married to a woman who probably doesn’t really love him, does his best Woody Allen to stammer through the bad relationship with the rather obnoxious woman and her sincerely conservative family. I don’t know. I can’t say anything in this day and age about his wife or his wife to be or whatever that was. So her family is there and an obnoxious former teacher is there but our hero just wants to walk around Paris in the rain. To him, Paris is awesome in the rain. He wants to do La Bohem. He wants to be in Paris in the twenties and he wants to go to the parties and be with the artists because that was when the artists were alive. There are no artists anymore in the real world anymore. To him, there were only real artists, real thinkers, people who really believed that thinking and writing were a part of the fabric of life and that the words that they were saying would have repercussions forever back in the ’20s. They actually believed in the publishing industry and of course, there was the fabled nightlife of Paris.
So we start our story at Elaine’s. Woody and I are sharing a table and a nice meal and I am winding my way through my story and, he is into it. In fact, there we are, back in Paris in 1925. We are not at Elaine’s but at a small pub enjoying the atmosphere.
All of a sudden, there’s a bunch of drunken bicyclists passing by just outside but unfortunately, it’s very wet and the cobblestones are slippery. They slip and several of them go down hard. One of the riders says ouch in French.
I just happen to be a wicked bike mechanic so I am quickly on the scene to see if everybody is okay. It’s not much of a mechanical fix for the bike but the rider has done something to his arm. Another guy has a little road rash. My French is a bit less than perfect but there were thank yous for the attention and they asked what we were doing in Paris? I told them that we were looking for a meeting with Ernest Hemingway. They told me that he was a very well-known American around Paris and if we wanted, we were welcome to borrow their bicycles and the uninjured riders would be happy to take us to the part of town where Hemingway liked to drink.
Woody ask me if it was necessary to go on bicycles and that maybe taking a car would be better. But I assured him that if you’re going to visit Paris, the only way to really see it is by bicycle. And now queue up a little bit of music for the rather pleasant ride through the rain down to the quarter for our meeting with Mr. Hemingway.
We were brought to a rather large club. Would you like to have your eyes dazzled? Suddenly we were in the most fashionable club in Paris. Tuxedos and the most elegant of gowns. Madness from the music and the dancing. Everything you could possibly want from the city with no restrictions on its nightlife and plenty of people with enough money to enjoy it.
And then this happened.
I was enjoying the show but I was thinking it was the wrong place to find our man Hemingway. We needed to go to one of those cozy little drinking holes. This place was too noisy. This is not what Hemingway would have liked. He would rather be in a place where he could hear himself speak. He liked giving advice, especially about being married to other married men. We needed to find a place where he would have an opportunity to torture somebody. I mean, he was Hemingway. He was the best writer and of course he would happily put on the gloves if you had any problem with that.
Woody agreed with my thinking.
I’m starting to come to the understanding that Mr Hemingway was what we call a mood spoiler.
We told our guides what we were thinking and they decided they knew exactly the place to take us to.
In the film, Alan lets us meet some of the most famouse artists of the time. Salvador Dali, Cole Porter and of course, Hemingway’s favorite punching bag, F. Scott Fitzgerald and his rather uncontrollable wife, Zelda. In the film, he is fascinated. Here they are and of course we know all of them through Hemingway.
This time though, I’m going to accept the challenge. This time, when Hemingway asks me to fight with him, I have every intention of saying yes.
Woody asked if we could hang around just a little while longer. He was in a rather interesting conversation with a pair of pretty girls dressed so interestingly that he just could not keep his eyes off them. Well, what are you going to do? He’s Woody Allen. Let him be happy.
After one more cocktail and a pleasant thank you ladies, we were back on the bikes. Suddenly the mood started getting darker. It was very misty. The street lights were making halos through the haze. The riding was slow. Nobody wanted to fall. But there was a feeling like we had a date with destiny.
And then there it was. It looked exactly like what it was supposed to look like. The Cafe Select. The other riders told us that this would be the correct place and that if it was okay with us, they would take the bikes and head home. Woody and I were on our own. And then, there he was. He was sitting by himself drinking from a bottle with a shot glass. He understood that we were staring at him and so he lifted the bottle and invited us in for a drink.
Sit down. Everyone’s been talking about you. I’m drinking absinthe. How about you?
I don’t drink alcohol anymore. I’m vegan if you have any comprehension of what that is. I don’t really like drinking. My friend here can do as he likes. I have tried absinthe with a sugar cube and water poured over it so it becomes milky. And maybe, maybe, you’ve got that mystical mugwort or whatever it’s called in there and you’re getting some kind of high off it.
Okay, I can see where this is going already.
Woody was a little nervous.
I was kind of hoping for a black girl wearing bananas about right now but that’s not where we found you.
I get it. Do you like the colords or do you just go in for the music?
And then we were back at Elaine’s. Woody really wanted to talk to me privately.
All right, you proved your point. I’m sitting here eating my very last chicken salad. I don’t know why. I’m making these eating noises and suddenly I’m completely aware of it. Okay, I get it. I make movies so I get a big pass. I think what I’m saying is that this is getting a little real for me. Maybe I should let you continue this journey without me and I’ll just stay on the outside and watch. Would that be okay?
That’s probably the best choice.
No, I can see that you’re fit. I can understand that you’ve boxed. I’m completely aware that you have every intention of doing what you said you’re going to do.
That’s not the best part. The best part is that Hemingway knows this already too.
So now it’s just the two of us at the table. Zelda Fitzgerald comes up to our table holding a cocktail. She’s pipe-swaggled. The only thing she is absolutely sure of is that if she doesn’t say something, there’s going to be blood on the floor.
Now listen. You boys have got to be clear about something. Do you have any idea what you’re about to beat each other to death about even? Hem, you’re the biggest asshole I know and this man is not afraid of you. Perhaps you should rethink this moment and make it into a conversation because I think if you guys go outside this man is going to break your head and you’re not going to write books for a really long time and you’re going to be lucky if you can write without dribbling on the paper.
Not surprisingly, Hemingway was quick to agree.
All right then, let’s drink to that. A true man is a fair man and a fair man is a good drunk and I think we should drink to this moment even if you won’t. Fair enough?
To be honest, I was more looking forward to the conversation than kicking your ass. I’m not drinking but I’m not opposed to smoking. Do you guys actually have any… Oh you do.
As if anticipating my request, a girl wearing feathers came and offered a selection of things to smoke. Hemingway chose opium and smiled at me. Apparently he was looking for all the painkillers he could find.
Ok, jew boy, let’s be kosher about it. Let’s go four rounds in here And then I’d be more than happy to give you a lesson in writing that you won’t forget.
However you’d like to play it, Mr. Hemingway.
All right. Let’s talk about writing. Do you believe in your voice?
I don’t really believe in your voice if that’s what it means.
What’s wrong with a clean lean prose?
There’s nothing about writing that isn’t bad or good. And getting to the point and being serious is a noble thing if we wish people to be diligent in their work. It is only odd to take this stance when you don’t particularly offer anything other than drunken escapades and blood and violence and death. I actually don’t understand the romance with blood.
This is an odd form of chatter. I suppose I’ve heard such sounds in my youth from such men who prefer the company of other men.
Like yourself, Mr Hemingway. Like yourself.
That’s not the same thing. When I was a boy, you had to fight for it. They were calling for you. They wouldn’t leave you alone and you had to tell them who was who. It was dog-eat dog back in that day. It wasn’t all nice and shiny like it is now.
So when you were a boy you noticed when homosexuals were attracted to you. But you reacted with anger and violence and you advocate that, is this correct?
I don’t know what point you’re getting at.
I am not homosexual by nature. And I don’t mean to upset anybody but I’m just not good at it. I mean, you could say that I have traits of a feminine nature and I will agree but I don’t really get sexually attracted to men. But what I also have never done is become violent because some guy paid attention to me. If some guy thinks I am attractive, that’s kind of a compliment. Usually what I say is thank you for the compliment but I don’t do guys and I wish them good luck in their hunt because that’s all it is. Those ‘fagots’ who you hate so much, they are just like you. They are people forced to hunt for what they need because what they want is not allowed to them. Just like you.
Well we’re not going to get anywhere making sense, that’s for sure. You can sit here and stare at me all day. Go ahead and say it.
I just think you’re afraid of your own sexuality. I don’t think that’s so unusual and especially so for people who have just gone through a war. But I’m also saying that you know the deep in your heart, you’ve had thoughts.
The Russians. You are with the Russians.
That is an incredibly interesting thing to say.
Well, I guess we’re just going to have to step outside then. I’m not going to sit here and take this from you. So are we doing this with gloves or do you just want to punch each other in the face?
Either way, I don’t think you’re going to touch me. We can stand there and put our dukes up and do Marquis of Queensbury. But I will fight you. It just won’t be a long fight.
Well, if today is the day then it is each man to express for himself how he shall face this moment. Only the truth matters but the truth of one’s heart is a difficult one to face. How often does a man face death in reality before he knows what life is really about? Only true warriors know this feeling.
Yeah, blah blah blah. Can I take off my glasses and my shirt. You do want to look at my naked body, right?
All right, all right. We’re going to do this. Let me just take one last sip of absinthe for the road.
If you actually want to talk writing, you can take anything you want and you can take all the time you need. You of all people understand what it means to have complete freedom to say what you see. That was the whole point, at least that’s how I saw it. I just don’t agree with your point of view.
Fair enough. Let’s do it this way. We will all do four libations. And then I will find out if you are all talk or if you can back it up.
It was surprising how many people got in on that toast. We were apparently a big hit at the cafe select that evening.
After the toast, I enjoyed a bowl of some of the wickedest bean stew I have ever had.
Now I know why you come to this place. They seem to know exactly what you want exactly when you want it.
You know it, bar mitzvah boy. So how did mama allow you out of the house? Did you tell her you kept your room clean?
My mother could have kicked your mother’s ass.
You have no idea what a mother is until you have had a Catholic mother.
You wouldn’t even know what a Catholic mother was if it wasn’t for Jewish mothers.
You’re not even going to allow a good mood, are you?
I don’t know, Mr Hemingway. I think like most writers, once we actually get the pen moving, we begin to notice things far more deeply than even we expected. For me, this is not my first dalliance. I learned my lesson about the level of depression and the thoughts that come into your head when you crack open all of the synapses and veins and arteries and such. Once you actually get the brain cranked up, and maybe if you allow yourself to have a little freedom and fresh air and exercise, you have taken your craft to the next level. I’ll give you that. You keep it fit, I don’t know, maybe it’s next level.
You speak in a strange tongue. Writing is work. It is good and true work that a man can do himself.
You are quoting Jack London. But you don’t actually live Jack London’s life because you got rich from writing about the only moment of freedom you ever had. That’s not socialism, that’s pandering.
So you’re saying that I am only a commercial writer and that the words I write are corrupt. Is that what you think, Mr Lenin?
You wrote about your sojourn. You’re not supposed to write about the sojourn because the sojourn is supposed to be private unless you are genuinely and truly a journalist. You’re supposed to write a story about the lesson that you learned at the end of it, not about Jews spoiling your drunken fun. You’re not supposed to tell us how much you hate Jews or how jealous you are. You’re not supposed to hide behind the common sense of understanding your intellectual inferiority next to a true entrepreneur and a true American rather than a typewriter specialist.
Are you saying that Robert Cohn was intimidating? Are you saying that my impotence in the novel was because of Jewish greed and wealth handed down to their soft little children? Are you saying I’m jealous?
He did knock you out easily enough.
Well I think I’ve had just about enough of this. If you’re ready, I’m ready.
I don’t know why people think I’m all about talking. I’ve had people invite me places because there was some great talker. I’m not really fond of listening to talkers. I like reading stories. I love good stories. It’s all the other bullshit that gets infuriating and if you’re ready to go outside, I just assume we get to this.
All right Mr menorah, let’s stick to the plan. What’s the story with this toasting business?
This is so strange, Mr Hemingway. How is it that you never wrote about drinking with the Russians?
That was a sucker punch.
You wrote that you were impressed by emotional writing. The Russians were speaking of something. Even those who spoke before the actual revolution were speaking of a peaceful future. Perhaps Mr Hemingway, the Russians were speaking to you in Paris but you were not listening.
Do you mean to tell me you can do all of that just by knowing my writing and what year it is and where I was tonight and where I was in my life? I feel like an asshole right now for even having to say that. Of course you do. I’m a published writer.
So are you saying that you don’t want to fight me?
My friend, I am so scared of you right now all I want is the libation and to hear you tell me a story as beautifully as you can and I will just sit back and listen and dream to your wizardry. And brother, as sure as the sun also sets in the evening, if you can do this better than me, I will give you the w on the fight.
Well, now you’re talking.
We agreed to stick to the plan and had another toast. He was back on the absinthe and I drank some club soda just to stay with him.
So what you’re saying is that the entire archetype of the great man is only an illusion at best.
Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. We just keep building pyramids even though we know it’s not going to be any good for us. And all we’re doing is feeding one or two guys and all the rest of us just get to eat their shit.
You have an interesting way of expressing yourself. I believe you are a man who has met death many times.
Maybe one more time than you, right Hem?
Do you need to do that every single time?
Oh, I’m sorry. Am I too much for you? I know how much you like to break people down. I just thought this would be familiar to you.
Jesus, man, get a hold of yourself. We understand that you own a pen or two. You don’t have to walk around poking us in the eye with it.
And here was another one of those moments where the two of us stopped speaking. I just stared blankly at him and he was the first one to speak.
Once you’ve been in a war, you can never unsee what you’ve seen. Seeing bodies torn apart and turned into meat changes you. In some ways, I can see where your veganism might make sense. But a real man has to know how to take it. I have faced death. I have faced death many times. And I know who I am because of this. No matter who you think you are, I know who I am and that will never change. I’ve earned that. I’ve been through the fires. I’ve been to hell. There’s nothing you can say that will change anything.
I met a man in a bar who said he knew a thing or two about English. I asked him about his pedigree. He told me he was a Harvard man who had spent time at Oxford. He said that he knew the word better than anyone and he knew all about me. The thing about boxing is timing and deception. You might tell your opponent that something is going to happen in one place when in fact the genuine event is coming from another. I established a simple pattern of recognition. I said something of a mildly sexual nature and I noticed that my man smiled with a touch of warmth. When I said it, I used my left hand to show a little bit of a gesture that was sexual in nature. We put those two things together successfully and the next time I showed him this gesture, he was smiling. That was when I got my weight behind my right hand. It had a particular feel to it when his jaw gave way. What used to be bone was no longer anything hard. There was a dent in the cage and it would take his fellow quite a while before he thought again to challenge my ability to speak the English language.
You have no idea what it’s like to make love to a woman until you’ve made love during a war. You have no idea how intense love making can be until you know what it’s like to combine death with lovemaking.
I have been with a woman you have never dreamed of in your life. She would just look at you and smile like you were nothing and and yet you knew that you’d never be anything except hers. I drank an absinthe cocktail with her. I wanted to be with her very much. My absinthe cocktail was not with a stranger. I do not believe they had this mystical wormwood. Just licorice sweet star anise and like you said, the sugar cube helps a lot. It was one of those gangster moves where we were going to live as high as high as we could be for as long as we could. But this wasn’t about the absinthe. All I wanted was to keep her there with me as long as I could. I didn’t care anything about the alcohol and I don’t think she did either. But one thing that was true was that she was Russian. She was Russian all the way through and in that moment, I knew completely of the impossibility of ever completely holding on to her no matter what I did.
I met a man with one arm who played the guitar for pennies. He sat out on the steps and played the most amazing music. It wasn’t just guitar music. These weren’t popular melodies. They weren’t even melodies that anyone had ever heard before. They were like songs we knew but completely different. And he could play like the whole orchestra was behind him. It was just a guitar. And we all thought it was Django. We thought Django was the end of the road. Django was the true guitar master. But yet this man could play with only one arm. He said it was legato and a certain way to tension the strings to attach a small amplifier to the instrument. He said the other hand would just get in the way anyway. Now he was free to tap out any melody he wanted. Four part harmony all at his disposal. He was a king among men he said because he was free to play music all day.
I once climbed a mountain because it was there. It was not in a far-off country, it was just the biggest hill near where I lived. I really didn’t have much of a living situation. I was very humble then and I guess I’m pretty humble now. But there was that hill just asking to be climbed. So I climbed it. It took a little longer than I thought. I’m not talking about any of this rock climbing nonsense where I’m hanging by my fingernails a thousand feet above anywhere. I’m just talking about a good stiff walk uphill the whole way and the hill is high enough so that you start to notice the texture of the atmosphere changing as you go. You truly begin to sense when things are getting thin in the oxygen department. It doesn’t really take very much but it does impress upon someone who even believes in being an alpineist that oxygen deprivation is a part of the deal. And the cold. And that you start to notice that nothing is growing anymore. That mountain was high enough that it ended in rock. But when I finally got to the top, there were no flags or notices from people who had climbed this hill. There was no sign offering congratulations, you have climbed the hill next to town and now you are officially somebody. But what there was was a little metal cook plate and a cup that you could boil water in. It wasn’t completely camping gear but it was a piece of someone’s camping gear. Someone came up here to cook lunch. Well, looking back at a slightly more jaundiced angle, that was a hell of a climb just to kill yourself with a dose of heroin. They found the body, they left the goods behind as a reminder of what life is like that it makes you want to climb up a fucking hill like this.
I think this is a matter of academic assessment. Are we finished with this toasting or are we going to continue?
I don’t know, Hem. It’s your inning. What do you want to toast to?
Where is my pride? I positioned myself in the marketplace antagonistic to socialism. It was a business decision because writing is a money game. It’s true, I did read London. We all read London. Everyone knew the chronicle of what it was like to try and become a published writer. It was a dog eat dog world and everyone knew it. And for all of us who chose to pick up the pen, we all had to make choices if we wanted to feed our families or whatever it is we did with the money.
Mostly cancer research is my call.
Yes sir, my friend. That’s my call as well. Let us toast to being inebriated in such a way that we keep our souls and only lose the unnecessary violence that got us here in the first place.
And then I was back at Elaine’s with Woody. The mood was somber. He was nodding his head and listening to the story.
I’m with you. I wasn’t ruthless enough. I thought I was writing about a genuine hero but I wasn’t. I was writing about a drunk, a hateful drunk. I feel like I sold out somehow. Although, making a successful film is not so easy. You have to give the people what they want.
Annie Hall. You’re the best who ever was and ever will be. Never will there ever be such a text.
I thought maybe they would hang it in the Louvre but it was not hangable.
That was worth a fist bump.
So what are you going to do? Are you going to physically describe beating the shit out of Hemingway?
Do you think I should describe how he beats the shit out of me?
What about me? What if I wanted to box with you? Would you put up your fists and let me try?
Listen, Woody, everybody always misunderstands what I’m saying. I’m not physically asking to be anything to anybody more than a person. But if we were to speak completely honestly, and if we were saying that we organically came to such a moment together where we decided that boxing would go, knowing full well that I could kill you, I would say yes. I would let you flail at me if that was what you really wanted to do. But I would do it without having any sense of malice. I might even let you tap my chin once or twice just for the love of it but that would be all. But it’s not like I actually want to fight. Really wanting to fight means really wanting to hurt somebody. And as far as this Hemingway thing goes, I really, really want to hit this man badly.
So the truth is you are just always prepared for everything.
I am one of those guys who wanted to sail away. I thought I could do a boat and just fish. But then later in life I realized that I didn’t really want to eat fish at all and that whole idea of living on a boat was really stupid. Not that living on the water away from people might be nice because the air might be better at sea. But the entirety of it would be my ability to maintain everything and be ready to fix anything that went wrong and take on anything that might happen. That would be the whole nine yards of it. I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in getting tossed like a cork and I’m not really interested to see if I can swim a hundred miles.
I think you talk a lot but I think you tell the truth. It is just a lot of work. You make something and then you build on it and then you build on it and you add to it. It is the best job in the whole world. I can see why you’re a writer. But just wait till you’ve had some success. It gets to be kind of a cookie cutter no matter how creative you try to be.
It is my goal that every page has at least some feeling to it.
We all come from the same place. The only difference is when I tell a story, it’s always going to turn into something bigger. And then there are all of the people and all of the logistics. It’s not the same. In a lot of ways, I envy you your anonymity. I bet it feels pretty good to be able to write anything you want and not be afraid of how many people you offend or how many people are going to tell you about the problems of getting it on the screen.
Truest words ever spoken and you were the one to say them and not Earnest Hemingway.
Let a man who faces death face it boldly. It is not anything to die. All men who live shall die and all men who have ever lived either have died or will die. Death comes to us all as sure as the breeze blows in the middle of the day. But it is those of us who can face death bravely that let it be known to others what it is to have lived. How do you like that? I love talking like Hemingway, don’t you?
It gets old. Sorry, crock of shit.
Exactly. Who needs to believe there’s nobility in dying? You’re completely right. It’s all bullshit.
It was the American ethic. We had to go forward.
Are you a Marx Brothers fan?
If there was such a club, I wouldn’t be a charter member but I would definitely be aware of how to get in the back door.
Nice. I guess we got distracted. How do you plan on playing it out?
You want to know my strategy for the fight?
Yeah. What are you going to do with him?
You have a little mayonnaise on the corners of your mouth. It’s funny that you should think this way. I don’t mean to answer a question with a question but would it be a problem if you were dealing with something that could be construed as evil because of how powerful it was?
Oh no. Don’t go there. Please don’t go there. I love God. I’m an atheist but I so love God. Please don’t frighten me anymore. I quit. You win.
No. I’m just saying, as a writer, just like, I can say anything I want and make anything I want appear. I’m not saying I’m a better writer than you. I can’t beat you. Nobody could beat you. Nobody should ever have touched you. Ever. You should have had a free pass every day of your life And I want to tell you that I have always been on your side and I have always felt that everything that has been said about you and all the problems that you’ve had never needed to happen. People should have been happy to see you anytime you came into the restaurant. There never should have been even the slightest negativity about you. They were at a shitty restaurant eating shitty food but it all became special because Woody Allen was there and that’s all there ever should have been to talk about.
Let’s say we don’t need to talk about that. What I’m interested in is what you’re going to do. What are you going to do?
Should I just describe the fight as a rational thing or shall I tell you all the details of how I feel this is going to play out?
Can actually beat up Hemingway?
I could also go fishing with Hemingway and you could see something there as well. But I don’t want to go fishing with Hemingway and I don’t want to go on a boat with Hemingway and I don’t want to drink or smoke with Hemingway. Hemingway is a drunk and I I’m quite looking forward to having the opportunity to mix things up with him. Just like you, he was my hero for such a long time. Not anymore. I just can’t see things the same way anymore. I am so over Hemingway. So as far as actually boxing with him, he’s a drunk and I’m not. I’m saying it’s not going to be close.
This is pretty smooth stuff. I like it. I like it a lot. Hemingway said that he took bullfights hard. He doesn’t know shit until he’s thrown punches with my guy.
I’m glad I can bring you happiness. I’m kind of looking forward to it myself.
So tell me. What are you going to do? How are you going to do it?
Do you really believe in this?
I believe it if you believe it. But I have a funny feeling that what you say is going to happen is exactly what’s going to happen.
Four hits. He’s never going to lay a glove on me. I’m going to shake him up with three sharp jabs And then I’m going to rearrange his nervous system with a right to the left side of his head that he will have no possibility of stopping. That’s the plan anyway but you never know. We’re not talking about old Hemingway with diabetes. We’re talking about young cocky Hemingway. But I still say he’s a drunk and he can be had.
Wait a minute. Just one more thing. Did you really smoke opium with Hemingway?
Hell no. He did. He’s afraid. I have him completely afraid of me. That’s why he will be so slow. I had one of those hotties all covered in feathers picked out the moment I walked in the room. You really don’t need more than eye contact when you know who your friends are.
Yeah. I got it. What did you smoke?
Marijuana.
Good call. Finest kind.
I like it when we are all on the same page.
And then we are back in 1925 and the fourth and final toast was coming up.
Okay. Mr Bolshevik. So what is this fourth toast supposed to be about?
It’s difficult to say. You have to really want that fourth toast.
If I’m not mistaken, general, we have had more than four toasts already.
You might be right. The time is getting a little hazy.
You’ve been looking at my blonde friend over there. You know who she is.
Yeah, I kind of know who all your friends are. I get to gist of it. You’re the big man.
Well at least you know that I’m covered.
Why does everybody think I’m just going to explode into violence? What the hell is in everyone’s head? How many people actually fly into flurries of physical violence? I’ve seen really stupid people try desperately to take themselves out of the gene pool but I don’t really remember too many genuine berserkers. This is a civilized affair. I think I’m going to enjoy it but it’s definitely going to be civilized.
All right, one more look so we can see who we’re talking about. Hemingway as a young man was a big strapping lad and enjoyed a very physical life. That is when he wasn’t drinking himself to death.
All right, Hem. Let’s take a moment and get this straight. Do you want to go outside with me or are you just going to talk me to death?
No self-respecting man would turn down such an offer. But if it’s okay with you, let’s drink one more for the road.
Whatever you say, Mr Hemingway. Whatever you say.
You are a man of courage but without a lot of common sense. I will put my bottle of alcohol against anything that says I can take a punch better than you.
I commend your common sense thinking. You need the anesthesia more than I do. You’re already thinking about getting hit. I’m thinking about hitting you.
And with that, we stood up and went outside, Hemingway rolling up his sleeves. Everybody who was that the cafe select that night followed us to see the spectacle. Hemingway had quite a few fans on his side. I was an unknown so not too many people had anything to say about me. But when we squared up, I was the first one to throw a punch. It was a straight left and it made contact.
Okay. Ding ding and away we go. Little bitty left jab. You blocked it kind of but I touched skin.
I’ve been listening to you talk. I suppose you’re not a bad writer. But I’m also completely sure you lack genuine poise. To be a real writer, you have to be disciplined. You’ve proven nothing except for the willingness to continue writing words.
I think you’re right. I think that has something to do with why we are meeting right now, Mr Hemingway.
The next contact was mine as well. I faked another left but then came in low with well-thrown right which made decent contact with his rib cage and did something to his ability to breathe.
Ouch. That’s me again.
I didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath and when he covered, I hit him with a left cross just under his chin.
That was a little bitty head snap. I’m sorry. I’m not really into anti-Semitism or anti-kosher people. I get the ranting and I get the raving and I get everything. You’re a writer and you are right. You know what you’re saying and you know what you’re doing and you notice the nuances. But shit fuck catpiss, can’t you give people a break?
I don’t seem to be putting up much of a fight.
Not much. You’ve got a problem with your left hand. Did you know you got a problem with your left hand? You’re not getting your left hand up, Papa.
You know you’re a son of a bitch. You’re not a boxer. You’re a son of a bitch.
I’m sure coming from you, my mother would consider that quite a compliment.
And here I let go with the biggest right hand I had. Solid contact. You could see the spit fly and his eyes go dull. I suppose there was some distortion to his bone structure but there was nothing left keeping him on his feet and he went down on the pavement and stayed there.
Hi. Are you okay? I think I concussed you.
I was dreaming of marijuana. Is that what happens when you get knocked out by a vegan?
Maybe, Mr Hemingway. Can I help you up?
Thank you. You’ve got a bit of a right hand there.
Yes, sir. I’m aware of that.
I suppose I should say something like I should have seen any of that coming. But now that I’m thinking about it, I didn’t put up any defense at all did I?
It’s not really important to talk about these things, sir. Sometimes they just happen and they happen for a reason. The important thing is that you’re okay. I know you have problems with depression. I really don’t want to be the one that tips the scales. I’m not really into hurting people. I didn’t really want to hurt you either. It just so happens that I could do that every day of the week and twice on Sunday and probably, considering what a hateful son of a bitch you really are, I would do it for free.
I think I’m beginning to get the point here. Really good right hand, kid. Whoever taught you that one, they knew what they were doing. I don’t suppose you would like to tell me who your coach was?
Well, I’m kind of known for my irony. Let’s just say that I didn’t learn my boxing from you.
And then it was time for coffee and dessert at Elaine’s
So that was it? You really knocked him out. You even called your shot.
I don’t really consider myself a malicious person but I must say that I did enjoy it.
Thank you for this. It has really been something.
I’ll tell you the truth, Mr Allan, I actually do get scared but I just sort of do the right thing or at least what I believe to be the right thing. I know that sometimes I might be in danger but maybe it is just a matter believing that there is in fact a right thing to do and that sometimes we all have to stand up and be the one to do it. Maybe there is a great energy that we all share and we can actually manipulate it like any part of nature really. Sometimes it’s a matter of convincing irresponsible people that they actually have different responsibilities. I say if you understand this, you understand God.
You got any good stock tips for the future?
I got a good conspiracy theory about how the Nixon tapes were in the Torah.
I see what you mean. There’s always hope if you’re willing to look for it.
