Читать книгу Come On In! - Charles Bukowski - Страница 12

there’s an old movie

based on a Hemingway short story

I saw the beginning of it

again on late night /

early morning tv

but the fellow who plays

Hem

his ears aren’t right

neither are

his chin

his hair

his voice;

and there’s this lovely

wench

in the film

with perfect buns

whose role it is to

endure his precious

literary abuse

while he slowly dies in the

African jungle.

I click the movie off.

of course, I never met

Hemingway.

maybe he was like that fellow.

I hope

not.

then I look about my bedroom and

think, Jesus Jesus,

why am I so upset by this

lousy tv movie?

what did I want them to make him

look like?

act like?

he was just a journalist from

Michigan who liked to shoot

big game

and his last kill was his

biggest;

surely he would have deserved the

nice buns

and the adoring eyes

of that actress who

he never saw and

who

in real life

later

drank herself to

death.

(the actor

who plays Hem

in the film is

still around

however

but barely

functioning.)

I guess when I look at that

movie

all I can think of to say

is:

bwana, bring me a

drink.