A BAD HEMINGWAY STORY

**A BAD HEMINGWAY STORY** is a book that can be found in the Goat Templae‏‎.

Although the bulls have long cleared the streets, the young men were still sweating and leaping for the amusement of the beautiful spanish women. He walked among them lamenting his own lost youth. The evening quickly fell into clear night and all around the sounds of intoxicated voices wove around him like a school of minnows caught in a strong undertow. He pushed open the door to the closest watering hole and stood at the door for a moment before going in.
His name was Fred.
It was a dark cantina. The cantina was dark like the night that falls swiftly during wartime in the Sangre de Cristo mountains. Fred had not thought about the Sangre de Cristo in many years. Maria had been there. Maria and many, many bottles of the sharp, crisp Catenza that the Mexican elders drink in the hot noonday sun.
*Why, thought Fred, were so many of them named Maria?*"

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*Maria Ibiza was one such man--a short, grizzly-faced man, front teeth permanently stained with the tar from years of smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. One afternoon he creaked open the door of his favorite cantina, The Tapista. His eyes soon adjusted to the darkness--the only light filtering through slats in half-rotten shutters. His heart began to pound... Enrique!*"

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In the end, Maria had won her, for Fred had often gotten their names confused, and a hot blooded woman like Enrique would not stand for it, hair lip or no.
They sat at the bar and motioned the barkeep to pour each a double and settled into their evening drinking poses, their ragged clothing touching. Fred showed them his knife which was 10cm long and shaped like the crescent moon they once shared over Turkey.
*"I've news, Maria", he began.*"

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Maria rolled his eyes, and pushed his hat towards the back of his head as beads of perspiration trickled down to the end of his nose.
"We've been through this before. Nothing changes, remember. Even you said that."
*Fred stared into the bottom of the glass of whiskey and watched the last drops disappear as he tilted it back. Somewhere, he knew Maria was right, but like a stubborn old dog, he was not ready to accept this.*"

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"What? What means this, this "Woah"? Who is "Woah"?
"It is nothing. It is a word spoken by my people on the sands of California."
*Maria had heard Fred talk before of California, of the men who stood upon the long wooden boards and rode the fierce, resisting sea, of the men who smoked the strange weed that makes them weak and langorous and filled with hungers, and their women with the strange breasts that were always firm, who came from this land.*"

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"We have many bullets. They are good bullets, and we can kill many fascists."
"What will the train carry?"
"The train carries the bulls, the bulls that run. We must get those bulls from the fascists."
Bulls, thought Maria. All my life I have wished to have the bulls that run. If my name was not Maria, I would have been a great fighter of bulls in the arenas of Pampalona. Then I could have gone to California.
I could have seen the women with the strange breasts.
*http://badhemingway.com/chapter01.html*"

## Links

* https://web.archive.org/web/20110502121505/http://badhemingway.com/
* http://badhemingway.com/chapter01.html