The following is the first in a series of lost writings from famous American wordsmiths. Composed early in his career, when his bold, muscular prose was first coalescing into a unique style, this newly discovered chapter is an alternative opening to Hemingway’s first enduring work, The Sun Also Rises. The Funion Institute of Angry Writers and Their Lost Work is both honored and excited to bring you fresh writing from this embattled American icon.
Harold T. Schnobb, Director of the Funion Institute of Angry Writers and Their Lost Work
The Sun Also Rises, an alternative opening.
Jews are good at boxing. I went to Princeton. I met a Jew there. He was good at boxing. I think he was good at boxing because he was so small. And because he was a Jew. He liked to punch people in the face because they made fun of him. That’s why he got so good at boxing. People made fun of him and he had to punch them. Right on the nose.
This good-boxing Jew got married right after college. I did not get married right after college. I drove ambulances in the war. What a bite that was. I suffered. But my Jew friend did not get to go. He had jaundice at the time, and webbed toes. The doctor took one look at him: “No.” He said, “You cannot be in this war.” So my Jew friend did not suffer. He had a rich mother. She died, he got a little cash, and he left for Europe with his wife. They didn’t work. They just lived off this cash, see.
This wife of his was jealous. She was not a Jew. I think she was Anglican. She was jealous of my Jew-friend-boxer because he was dark, and small, and he boxed. “What girl would not love that?” She thought. She thought too much. After a few years, when I was working in Paris, my Jew friend got a mistress. She was young. She was a student. My Jew friend got real scared. “What if his wife found out?” He thought. He thought too much. He decided to leave his wife. He wanted to go to South America.
“Come to South America, Jake.” He said, sitting in my office. He looked up at the ceiling.
“Why would I do that?” I said. I had work to do. I did a lot of work.
“There are beautiful women there.”
“There are beautiful women here.”
“That is true. But there are truly beautiful women in Brazil. Everyone is beautiful, in fact. You walk down the street and think, ‘My God. What is going on with these people? They are so beautiful. Where have I gone?’”
“That sounds nice.” I lied. I had work to do. At least that’s what I told him. Why would my friend want to leave Paris, I thought. “All places are the same.” I said. “You’ll go to South America and then you will want to leave. Maybe you will want to go to China. Who knows?”
My Jew friend got sad. He left, tipping his hat to me. “See you at dinner.”
At dinner we ate rolls and fish and we drank wine. It was my friend, his wife, and I. I wanted to cheer my friend up.
“Maybe we can go to Genoa.” I said.
“Really?” He asked.
“Why not? I know a girl there. A real swell girl. American, I think. She’ll show us around. Great legs.”
His wife got mad. She looked at me. She looked like she was going to hurt me. She stepped on my foot under the table. “Really great legs.” She stepped on my foot again.
Later on I was sitting on the Rue de Saint Mart, watching people walk by. A girl walked by on the street and she smiled at me. I smiled back, sipping some absinthe. She walked up to my table and sat down.
“The river looks beautiful.” She said.
“Yes it does.” I lied. I sipped some absinthe.
“Is that absinthe?” She said.
“Yes.” I said.
“May I have some?”
“Of course.” I said.
“Have sex with me.” She said.
“No.” I said.
We looked out at the river.
One time I was in Michigan with my father. He had a long rifle. I wasn’t old enough to have one. My uncle was with us. He was drunk. We were walking through tall grass. We were hunting duck. We came to the edge of the grass and the water popped out. The smooth-shouldered lake was so bright my uncle and father stopped. The ducks flew up. They could not see them. The ducks got away. The lake was beautiful and we looked at it. Later on my uncle shot his foot cleaning his gun.
I sat watching the river with the French girl. She may have been Corsican. She was ugly when she smiled and I was getting sick of her. I wanted to leave Paris.
"Sweet sweet darling lips," Brett said to me. "Leave Paris with me." So I did.
The Sun Also Rises, an alternative opening.
Jews are good at boxing. I went to Princeton. I met a Jew there. He was good at boxing. I think he was good at boxing because he was so small. And because he was a Jew. He liked to punch people in the face because they made fun of him. That’s why he got so good at boxing. People made fun of him and he had to punch them. Right on the nose.
This good-boxing Jew got married right after college. I did not get married right after college. I drove ambulances in the war. What a bite that was. I suffered. But my Jew friend did not get to go. He had jaundice at the time, and webbed toes. The doctor took one look at him: “No.” He said, “You cannot be in this war.” So my Jew friend did not suffer. He had a rich mother. She died, he got a little cash, and he left for Europe with his wife. They didn’t work. They just lived off this cash, see.
This wife of his was jealous. She was not a Jew. I think she was Anglican. She was jealous of my Jew-friend-boxer because he was dark, and small, and he boxed. “What girl would not love that?” She thought. She thought too much. After a few years, when I was working in Paris, my Jew friend got a mistress. She was young. She was a student. My Jew friend got real scared. “What if his wife found out?” He thought. He thought too much. He decided to leave his wife. He wanted to go to South America.
“Come to South America, Jake.” He said, sitting in my office. He looked up at the ceiling.
“Why would I do that?” I said. I had work to do. I did a lot of work.
“There are beautiful women there.”
“There are beautiful women here.”
“That is true. But there are truly beautiful women in Brazil. Everyone is beautiful, in fact. You walk down the street and think, ‘My God. What is going on with these people? They are so beautiful. Where have I gone?’”
“That sounds nice.” I lied. I had work to do. At least that’s what I told him. Why would my friend want to leave Paris, I thought. “All places are the same.” I said. “You’ll go to South America and then you will want to leave. Maybe you will want to go to China. Who knows?”
My Jew friend got sad. He left, tipping his hat to me. “See you at dinner.”
At dinner we ate rolls and fish and we drank wine. It was my friend, his wife, and I. I wanted to cheer my friend up.
“Maybe we can go to Genoa.” I said.
“Really?” He asked.
“Why not? I know a girl there. A real swell girl. American, I think. She’ll show us around. Great legs.”
His wife got mad. She looked at me. She looked like she was going to hurt me. She stepped on my foot under the table. “Really great legs.” She stepped on my foot again.
Later on I was sitting on the Rue de Saint Mart, watching people walk by. A girl walked by on the street and she smiled at me. I smiled back, sipping some absinthe. She walked up to my table and sat down.
“The river looks beautiful.” She said.
“Yes it does.” I lied. I sipped some absinthe.
“Is that absinthe?” She said.
“Yes.” I said.
“May I have some?”
“Of course.” I said.
“Have sex with me.” She said.
“No.” I said.
We looked out at the river.
One time I was in Michigan with my father. He had a long rifle. I wasn’t old enough to have one. My uncle was with us. He was drunk. We were walking through tall grass. We were hunting duck. We came to the edge of the grass and the water popped out. The smooth-shouldered lake was so bright my uncle and father stopped. The ducks flew up. They could not see them. The ducks got away. The lake was beautiful and we looked at it. Later on my uncle shot his foot cleaning his gun.
I sat watching the river with the French girl. She may have been Corsican. She was ugly when she smiled and I was getting sick of her. I wanted to leave Paris.
"Sweet sweet darling lips," Brett said to me. "Leave Paris with me." So I did.
THE END
1 comment:
Bravo!
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