A Clean Well-Lighted Place

[cs]

Since another thread is talking about the greatest American Novel and not being the one to want to hijack that thread, I came here.

Hemingway was mentioned over there. The following is a short story from Hemingway, that to me is one of my favorites.

It was late and every one had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty; but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man 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.
"Last week he tried to commit suicide," one waiter said.
"Why?"
"He was in despair."
"What about?"
"Nothing."
How do you know it was nothing?"
"He has plenty of money."
They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him.
"The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.
"What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"
"He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago."
The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him.
"What do you want?"
The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.
"You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.
"He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."
The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.
"You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The old man motioned with his finger.
"A little more," he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile. "Thank you," the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.
"He's drunk now," he said.
"He's drunk every night."
"What did he want to kill himself for?"
"How should I know."
"How did he do it?"
"He hung himself with a rope."
"Who cut him down?"
"His niece."
"Why did he do it?"
"For his soul."
"How much money has he got?"
"He's got plenty."
"He must be eighty years old."
"Anyway I should say he was eighty."
"I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is that to go to bed?"
"He stays up because he likes it."
"He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."
"He had a wife once too."
"A wife would be no good to him now."
"You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."
"His niece looks after him."
"I know. You said she cut him down."
"I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."
"Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him."
"I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must work."
The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
"Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.
"Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. "No more tonight. Close now."
"Another," said the old man.
"No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.
The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip.
The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity,.
"Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. "It is not half-past two."
"I want to go home to bed."
"What is an hour?"
"More to me than to him."
"An hour is the same."
"You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home."
"It's not the same."
"No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry.
"And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"No, hombre, only to make a joke."
"No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from putting on the metal shutters. "I have confidence. I am all confidence."
"You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said. "You have everything."
"And what do you lack?"
"Everything but work."
"You have everything I have."
"No. I have never had confidence and l'm not young."
"Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."
"I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe," the older waiter said.
"With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night."
"I want to go home and into bed."
"We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the cafe."
"Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."
"You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."
"Good night," said the younger waiter.
"Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It is the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and light. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it was already nada y pues nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.
"What's yours?" asked the barman.
"Nada."
"Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.
"A little cup," said the waiter.
The barman poured it for him.
"The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished," the waiter said.
The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.
"You want another copita?" the barman asked.
"No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.

Instead of me going into great detail I will post a paper that I wrote a few years back on my next post about this story.

Chad

[cs]

Ernest Hemingway’s “A Clean Well-Lighted Place” personifies the transition from “youth and confidence . . . ” to hiding in the shadows of one’s youth. The three characters in the short story exemplify this transition from youth to age. The complex nature of the old man is symbolic of the nothingness that people can experience in their golden years. In this story the old man is representative of those who have been beaten down by life and have given up. He refuses to live for the present and instead dwells in the past.

Almost immediately we are made aware of the desperation of the old man. A conversation between the young and middle aged waiters reveals that the old man had tried to commit suicide the week before. The young waiter informs the other that “He was in despair”. The waiter goes on to explain that this desperation was brought on by nothing. Later it is revealed that he once had a wife and one can make the assumption that the death of his wife has left a hole in his life that he can not fill—even with brandy.

Throughout the story there are several references made to shadows that are cast by the leaves. These leaves are symbolic of events that have come and gone in our life. In the spring they are new, fresh, and full of life. In the summer they are at the height of their being, and we can learn to live life for the moment. As autumn approaches they start to fade, but still remain fresh in our minds. When winter arrives they wither and die, then fall from the tree. Then nothing remains but the memory. The story opens up with the old man sitting in the shadows that are cast by the leaves of the trees. Even though the old man seeks the security of the light, he still hides in the shadows. The old man is like a child who needs the protection of the light to protect him from the evils of the dark. Yet unlike a child the old man’s evils in the dark are the memories from his youth that he refuse to let go. He no longer has the strength or will left to fight these self-imposed evils. From the beginning Hemingway makes us aware that the old man is living in the past and not living for the moment.

The young waiter makes the assumption that the old man has plenty of money and that should be reason enough to want to live. The reason he gives for the attempted suicide is “Nothing”. It is inferred in the story that the old man has no one left in the world except his niece. This isolation has left him lonely and full of a feeling of nothingness. Thus the waiter has made the correct assumption about the old mans attempted suicide, even though he may not even realize how right he is. The old man feels that his life has been nothing, and is nothing, and will fade away into nothing. The old man does not fear the night he fears the “nothing that he knew to well”. His life has become nothing. He still lives on the memories of his youth, and this emptiness has driven him beyond the point of self preservation to the point of self destruction. As we approach the golden years of life, we need to learn to live in the present and not get lost in the past.

Chad

[Osborne Russell]

As we approach the golden years of life, we need to learn to live in the present and not get lost in the past.

How is that done?

[cs]

That is the million dollar question. The answer to that lies within yourself. My answer is probably different than your answer.

The point is though that we need to strife to find that answer, not let the shadows of our past grind us down, but rather use them to uplift us. Let the leaves insulate us agaisn't the winter rather than be our funeral pyre.

Chad

[Tom M.]

How is that done?

Easy. You just do it. There you go, the secret to happiness.

[Tom Montgomery]

Chad, I'll bet you would like the short stories of Raymond Carver. One of my all-time favorite short stories is A Small, Good Thing, about the parents of a young boy involved in a car accident. The piece was included in his 1983 collection, Cathedral.

Also, the novel Jim the Boy by Tony Early.

[Stiletto]

I like Hemingway.

The analysis required for an English course, or whatever, detracts from the feelings of time and space that his writings give me.


Edited to add: Not a criticism of your piece Chad, more a criticism of course requirements I guess.

[JimD]

Quote:
Originally Posted by cs
As we approach the golden years of life, we need to learn to live in the present and not get lost in the past.

How is that done?

Easy for me. I like so little of my past that avoiding it has become second nature.

[JimD]

A Clean Well-Lighted Place

Chad, when I saw the thread title I though you'd found a new place to work on boat.