A
s a teenagermyviewofCubacamenotfrom
thecharismaofFidelorChe,muchless
fromtheHollywoodandMafiacelebrities
who’dflockedheretoenjoyBatista-era,
pre-revolutiondebauchery.It camefrom
ErnestHemingway’sTheOldManandtheSeaandGraham
Greene’sOurManin Havana.
Actually,it camefirstfromthefilmsofthosenovels.The
booksfollowed,andI’mstillnotsurewhetherit’stheliterary
imagesorthefilms’literalscenesthatstickinmymind.After
SpencerTracy’seffortsas theoldfisherman,andAlecGuinness’s
as a vacuum-cleanersalesmanandunlikelyspy, there’s no
doubtthatCubaexcitedmyimagination.
IfOurManin Havana, a satireof
MI6,wastoosubtletototallyengrossthis
15-year-oldboy,TheOldManandtheSea
touchedallemotionalbases.It wasalmost
biblicalinitsdepictionoftheexhausting
three-daystrugglebetweenSantiagothe
fishermananda giantmarlin.Ina series
offirst-persondiscourses,Santiagoexpresses
compassionforhisadversary,praisingthe
marlin’sdignity,evenreferringtoit as
“brother”.Eventuallyhewinsthesomehowennobling
battle,harpoonsthefish,andstrapsit tohisboatfor
the returnvoyage.Thenmaraudingsharksreduceit to
a skeleton.I almostweptforSantiago.
Decadeslater,I’minHavanaadmiringthePilar, the
modelforSantiago’sboat.It’ssittingonblocksinthegarden
ofHemingway’ssix-hectareestate,FincaVigía,inthesuburb
ofSanFranciscodePaula,besidethegravesofPapa’spetcats
anddogsandthepoolwhereAvaGardneronceswamnaked.
Ironic,I think,thatHemingway’sboat,onwhichherecklessly
scoutedforwartimeGermansubmarines,is nowa backdrop
forselfiesbycrowdsofGermantouristsinvelcrosandals.
Thebungalowwherehewrotehismostfamousnovel- it won him a Pulitzer and a Nobel – was a compulsory call.
A coupleofdaysbeforemyvisitI boughta copyfroma
bookshopinHabanaViejaand,forthefirsttimesince
myteenageenthusiasm,I re-readthebook.
HemingwayleftCubain1960,intheaftermathofthe
revolution,buthis 20 yearsontheislandendearedhim
toitspeople,towhomthehouseanditscontentswereleft.
It’snowa museum.Topreventpilfering,visitorsaren’tallowed
inside,butbigwindowsrevealPapa’sworld:hiswritingdesk,
thePicassosonthewalls,hiseyeshadeandhuntingboots,the
liquorbottlesona drinkstrayinthesittingroom,thestuffed
animalheads– includinga lion’sheadona table– and
books (8000 in all)ineveryroom,includingthebathroom.
Hisdesk– whata greatplacetowrite,
I think,despitetheCapebuffalohead
hangingoverit,itshornsaswideasthe
table.ShotbyPapa,ofcourse.Thehouse
is a placetoenvy;thesophisticatedresidence
ofa wealthy,famousman.Asemployees
wearingtightT-shirtsemblazonedwith
“MuseoHemingway”millaboutme,the
memoriesoftheoldmanandhisfinca
starttojarwiththehumilityoftheold
manandthesea.Santiago’ssentimental
homiliesdon’tringtrueinPapa’sworld.
A fewsamples:“Nowis notimetothinkofwhatyoudo
nothave.Thinkofwhatyoucandowithwhatthereis”;“Luck
is a thingthatcomesinmanyformsandwhocanrecognise
her”;“Everydayis a newday.It is bettertobelucky.ButI
wouldratherbeexact.Thenwhenluckcomesyouareready.”
Thesewordsseemridiculousfroma writerwhohad
luck,success,wealthandbeautifulwomengalore.His
stringofrighteoussermonsmakemyfillingsache.
OnlythePilarseemstrue.Norichman’sextravagance,
justanordinarywoodenboatsittingbesidethegravesof
Black,Negrita,LindaandNeron.Anoldmanandhiscats.
■RobertDrewe’slatestbook,TheTrueColouroftheSea,
(Penguin/Hamish Hamilton) won the 2019 Colin Roderick Award.The OldManandtheSeabyErnestHemingway
ROBERT DREWE
Hemingway’sboat, on
whichhescoutedfor
Germansubmarines,
isa nowa backdrop
forselfiesby crowds
of German tourists.Beach
reading
special80 GOURMET TRAVELLER