Ernest Hemingway's biting commentary about life in the United States in the 1930s, To Have and Have Not is one of only two of Hemingway's books set in the U.S. Harry Morgan is a good man forced by financial circumstances into smuggling Chinese immigrants from Cuba to Florida after his fishing-charter customer, Mr. Johnson, leaves him in Cuba without paying his fare. Originating from two short stories, “One Trip Across” and “The Tradesman's Return,” To Have and Have Not employs multiple narrators, telling the story from various viewpoints, providing differing opinions and giving an inside view into those who “have” and those who “have not.” The Times Literary Supplement observed, “Hemingway's gift for dialogue, for effective understatement, and for communicating such emotions the tough allow themselves, has never been more conspicuous.”HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards…Ernest Hemingway's biting commentary about life in the United States in the 1930s, To Have and Have Not is one of only two of Hemingway's books set in the U.S. Harry Morgan is a good man forced by financial circumstances into smuggling Chinese immigrants from Cuba to Florida after his fishing-charter customer, Mr. Johnson, leaves him in Cuba without paying his fare. Originating from two short stories, “One Trip Across” and “The Tradesman's Return,” To Have and Have Not employs multiple narrators, telling the story from various viewpoints, providing differing opinions and giving an inside view into those who “have” and those who “have not.” The Times Literary Supplement observed, “Hemingway's gift for dialogue, for effective understatement, and for communicating such emotions the tough allow themselves, has never been more conspicuous.”HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards…
In view of a recent tendency to identify characters in fiction with real people, it seems proper to state that there are no real people in this volume: both the characters and their names are fictitious. If the name of any living person has been used, the use was purely accidental.
You know how it is there early in the morning in Havana with the bums still asleep against the walls of the buildings; before even the ice wagons come by with ice for the bars? Well, we came across the square from the dock to the Pearl of San Francisco Café to get coffee and there was only one beggar awake in the square and he was getting a drink out of the fountain. But when we got inside the café and sat down, there were the three of them waiting for us.
We sat down and one of them came over. “Well,” he said.
“I can’t do it,” I told him. “I’d like to do it as a favor. But I told you last night I couldn’t.”
“You can name your own price.”
“It isn’t that. I can’t do it. That’s all.”
The two others had come over and they stood there looking sad. They were nice-looking fellows all right and I would have liked to have done them the favor.
“A thousand apiece,” said the one who spoke good English.
“Don’t make me feel bad,” I told him. “I tell you true I can’t do it.”
“Afterwards, when things are changed, it would mean a good deal to you.”
“I know it. I’m all for you. But I can’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“I make my living with the boat. If I lose her I lose my living.”
“With the money you buy another boat.”
“Not in jail.”
They must have thought I just needed to be argued into it because the one kept on.
“You would have three thousand dollars and it could mean a great deal to you later. All this will not last, you know.”
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t care who is President here. But I don’t carry anything to the States that can talk.”
“You mean we would talk?” one of them who hadn’t spoke said. He was angry.
“I said anything that can talk.”
“Do you think we are lenguas largas?”
“No.”
“Do you know what a lengua larga is?”
“Yes. One with a long tongue.”
“Do you know what we do with them?”
“Don’t be tough with me,” I said. “You propositioned me. I didn’t offer you anything.”
“Shut up, Pancho,” the one who had done the talking before said to the angry one.
“He said we would talk,” Pancho said.
“Listen,” I said. “I told you I didn’t carry anything that can talk. Sacked liquor can’t talk. Demijohns can’t talk. There’s other things that can’t talk. Men can talk.”
“Can Chinamen talk?” Pancho said, pretty nasty.
“They can talk but I can’t understand them,” I told him.
“So you won’t?”
“It’s just like I told you last night. I can’t.”
“But you won’t talk?” Pancho said.
The one thing that he hadn’t understood right had made him nasty. I guess it was disappointment, too. I didn’t even answer him.
“You’re not a lengua larga, are you?” he asked, still nasty.
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s that? A threat?”
“Listen,” I told him. “Don’t be so tough so early in the morning. I’m sure you’ve cut plenty people’s throats. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”
“So you’re sure I’ve cut people’s throats?”
“No,” I said. “And I don’t give a damn. Can’t you do business without getting angry?”
“I am angry now,” he said. “I would like to kill you.”
“Oh, hell,” I told him. “Don’t talk so much.”
“Come on, Pancho,” the first one said. Then, to me, “I am very sorry. I wish you would take us.”
“I’m sorry, too. But I can’t.”
The three of them started for the door, and I watched them go. They were good-looking young fellows, wore good clothes; none of them wore hats, and they looked like they had plenty of money. They talked plenty of money, anyway, and they spoke the kind of English Cubans with money speak.
Two of them looked like brothers and the other one, Pancho, was a little taller but the same sort of looking kid. You know, slim, good clothes, and shiny hair. I didn’t figure he was as mean as he talked. I figured he was plenty nervous.
As they turned out of the door to the right, I saw a closed car come across the square toward them. The first thing a pane of glass went and the bullet smashed into the row of bottles on the showcase wall to the right. I heard the gun going and, bop, bop, bop, there were bottles smashing all along the wall.
I jumped behind the bar on the left side and could see looking over the edge. The car was stopped and there were two fellows crouched down by it. One had a Thompson gun and the other had a sawed-off automatic shotgun. The one with the Thompson gun was a nigger. The other had a chauffeur’s white duster on.