I have Hemingway

Borges had Cervantes. I have Hemingway.

While lying in bed last night, I had my first experience of being stuck in a story. One sentence repeatedly:

He got on his hands and knees and letting one side of the hatch over the engines slam down, crawled over it forward to where the steering stool was.

This sentence can be found near the end of chapter eighteen in Ernest Hemingway’s To Have And Have Not.

For those that have not read To Have And Have Not, I must give you a piece of information necessary for this discussion. Harry, the main character of Hemingway’s story, has one arm. You need not know any more about Harry, though I would highly suggest reading the story.

He got on his hands and knees…

Harry only has one hand.

As I read the beginning of the sentence again and again, I struggled to move on toward the period. I was stuck on those five words, He got on his hands… Then it happened.

I found myself smoking Cuban cigars in the time before it was deemed and act of treason. I put my hand to my gray beard that held the smell of tobacco, drink, and the sea. Harry has one hand. What am I to write?

He got on his hand and knees…
No.
He began to crawl, and letting one side of the hatch over the engines slam down, crawled…
Damn. That is the second crawl.
I wish I were at a bullfight. Or fighting a marlin. Focus. Drink. Focus.
On his knees, he bent down and with one hand and his stump he…
Back to crawled. I love leather. And sea turtles. Drink. Focus.
He got on his hands and knees and letting one side of the hatch over the engines slam down, crawled over it forward to where the steering stool was.
I’m Hemingway. To hell with anyone that cares Harry only has one hand.

I finished the chapter, but not without the feeling that somehow I had been taken advantage of.