Originally Posted by
MANICHAEAN
Chapter 3.
Arthur awoke on this hot Havana Wednesday morning in a state of still unfamiliar surroundings. He gradually achieved something like full consciousness in stages: the fan on the ceiling still listlessly turning was the first element of focus; then the dry throat, followed by an awareness that he was still fully dressed lying on the bed. The bright sunshine permeated the window shutters. Glancing at his watch and mentally adjusting for time differences, he realized it was 11am local time and that he had slept deeply for twelve hours. And as he navigated his initial unfamiliar way from the living room to the bathroom, he became increasingly aware of being hungry.
A quick shower and shave saw him descend the stairs from his apartment. to the Carlos family living arrangements below. The latter smiled politely and offered breakfast, but Arthur made his apologies that, as it was approaching noon, that he wanted to waste no more time and get his first feel of Havana. The family, each in their turn, glanced at this new stranger in their midst; whilst the attractive daughter, similar to last night, gave him the look. She was ripe, and they both knew it.
A quick taxi ride took him to the Hotel Ambos Mundos at Calle Obispo Esquina, in the Vieja district. It was an off-chance choice on his part, as this establishment was known mainly for Hemingway having been its most famous long-time tenant.
As he exited the taxi, Papa loped along at his side, pleased to see his old haunt. Memories of 1932 when a room on the upper fifth floor had supplied views of Old Havana, and the harbour sea. The rent had been $1.50 per night and this interlude in his life had lasted until mid-1939.
“Dear Lord for those early days again, when the mind thirsted for and attained the ability to place down on paper, all that buffeted his brain at its most creative.”
It was here that he had finished his book “Death in the Afternoon” in 1932, and started his novels “New Green Hills of Africa” in 1935 and “To Have and Have Not” in 1937. Finally, there was that groundbreaker of international recognition, when he began in 1939 his novel “For Whom the Bell Tolls”, regarding the Spanish Civil War which he had witnessed over the previous several years.
Men can look back; sometimes with pride, sometimes with bitterness on the most formative periods of their lives. The former lies in the attainment itself; the latter in the realization that it is unlikely to be repeated.
The ground floor lobby was spacious with a high ceiling broken up into rectangular formations and gold coving inlays. Arthur inquired at reception if, despite the late hour of the morning, he could get breakfast? The concierge assured him that although the terrace dining facilities were still closed, that they could accommodate him at the bar around to the left.
This proved to be a most desirable location. Backless wicker high chairs up against a well-stocked two-sided bar, officiated by a rounded bar tender of avuncular affability.
Breakfast arrived within ten minutes and was laid out carefully on the bar top. Coffee, toast and fruit, as are traditional in Cuba. A mug of warmed milk was served alongside a small metal carafe of hot strong Cuban coffee. The bread, or “tostada” as it is called, had been grilled and buttered. Finally, being sub-tropical, there was a bowl of fresh melon, papaya, mango and mammey.
Unusually, with the plates cleared, both men reflected on the literary work that had been accompanied on these premises.
Papa, it must be said, was warming to his mortal companion. He seemed to be sensitive to the nuances of both basic existence and to events that would serve as sequels to more formative experiences.
Papa also realized, that like himself, Arthur had many of his traits; namely three things: women, booze and sadness. He likewise had a mind that could ramble, and jump around all over the place.
What came as of enormous significance was the realization by Hemingway that he could initiate and channel the flow in Arthurs current thinking.
At this instance, it was the circumstances and creation of his novel “Death in the Afternoon.”
It may be noted that later in his life Hemingway had written:
“Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter’s honor.”
Though not consciously realizing it at the time, it had reflected his conviction that bullfighting was more than mere sport and had revealed a rich source of inspiration for his art. The drama of bullfighting, with its rigorous combination of athleticism and artistry, and its requisite display of grace under pressure, had ignited Hemingway’s imagination. Seen through his eyes, bullfighting became a richly choreographed ballet, with performers who ranged from awkward amateurs to masters of great elegance. It was also a deeper contemplation of the nature of cowardice and bravery; obsessive themes to which he returned time and time again.
Arthur was of the opinion, that it should not have been any surprise that Hemingway had chosen to write this particular work, as it had served to provide the backdrop to life’s most important element – life versus death.
For he knew that a matador could have only have been praised if he had killed a bull honestly; the essence being in that the matador must be so close, that when he trusts his sword into the bull, the final chance to be gored is there.
On his side of this odd duo, Hemingway understood well enough that bullfighting meant death, and that his aim had been to try to convey how in his experience, Spaniards understood death better than in other countries.
A bull will always die. Even if the fight is a disaster, the animal will still be slaughtered. A matador will eventually die; surely his days are numbered, and he and the spectators alike are aware of this.
The poetry lies in that it is better to die in the ring than to die old and forgotten, away from the spectacle and understanding of death and glory.
Hemingway as he sat there, also picked out the quality of pride, which convention often considered a sin. But he countered with his belief that it was pride that gave a matador enjoyment in what he did in the ring; as he danced with death, attempting to argue its inevitability.