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A Clean, Well-lighted Place
Ernest Hemingway
It was late and everyone had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the daytime the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.
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They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind.
The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him.
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The old man looked at him. \
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\before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week.\
The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe
and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy. The waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.
\is that to go to bed?\
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\always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him.\
\who must work.\
The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
\over.
\talking to drunken people or foreigners. \
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\Finished.\waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.
The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip.
The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity.
\didn't you let him stay and drink?\the un hurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutter. \
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\\is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be someone who needs the cafe.\
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\is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves.\
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\night,\the other said. 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 the 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.
He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.
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The barman poured it for him.
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The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.
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\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 was probably only insomnia. Many must have it.