"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 pleasant. 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 all was nada y pues nada y 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."
Ernest Hemingway, A Clean Well-Lighted Place |
