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Short Fiction ▾
contents
  1. A Divine Gesture
  2. Up in Michigan
  3. In Our Time
  4. Chapter I
  5. Indian Camp
  6. Chapter II
  7. The Doctor and the Doctor’s Wife
  8. Chapter III
  9. The End of Something
  10. Chapter IV
  11. The Three Day Blow
  12. Chapter V
  13. The Battler
  14. Chapter VI
  15. A Very Short Story
  16. Chapter VII
  17. Soldier’s Home
  18. Chapter VIII
  19. The Revolutionist
  20. Chapter IX
  21. Mr. and Mrs. Elliot
  22. Chapter X
  23. Cat in the Rain
  24. Chapter XI
  25. Out of Season
  26. Chapter XII
  27. Cross Country Snow
  28. Chapter XIII
  29. My Old Man
  30. Chapter XIV
  31. Big Two-Hearted River Part I
  32. Chapter XV
  33. Big Two-Hearted River Part II
  34. L’Envoi
  35. The Torrents of Spring A Romantic Novel in Honor of the Passing of a Great Race And perhaps there is one reason why a comic writer should of all others be the least excused for deviating from nature, since it may not be always so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the admirable; but life everywhere furnishes an accurate observer with the ridiculous. Henry Fielding
  36. The Undefeated
  37. In Another Country
  38. Hills Like White Elephants
  39. The Killers
  40. Che Ti Dice La Patria?
  41. Fifty Grand
  42. A Simple Enquiry
  43. Ten Indians
  44. A Canary for One
  45. An Alpine Idyll
  46. A Pursuit Race
  47. Today Is Friday
  48. Banal Story
  49. Now I Lay Me
English ▾

Short Fiction

Ernest Hemingway

free · 102,575 words · ~7 h read · first published 2003

text from Standard Ebooks

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A Divine Gesture

And then when all was come and gone, the Great Lord God strode out of the house and into the garden, for in the garden he found the deep peace of Rome. Bathtubs stood all around in heavy earnestness. Boot jacks littered the Garden. A thousand broken flower pots were piled into one corner.

“Where is Adam?” asked the Lord God.

No one answered for all the flower pots were tired and none of the bathtubs remembered it was Sunday.

“Where is Eve?” asked the Lord God, pulling at his beard and looking remarkably like Tolstoy.

At once all the boot jacks began to leap and chatter and a flight of blackbirds swooped down into the garden and commenced to strut around, exploring into the flower pots with their beautiful shining bills.

“She is gone out, God,” said the largest and weakest bathtub in a heavily earnest manner, “and no man can prophecy the hour of her returning. But I would say that she would return around four o’clock.”

The Great Lord God made a divine motion with his hand and the angel Gabriel came swiftly forward from where he had been sitting and let all the water out of the largest and weakest of the bathtubs.

“That would teach him a valuable lesson,” remarked the angel Gabriel, and God nodded to him in an absentminded and approving manner.

“It should,” meditated the great Lord God, “and more valuable lessons is what we need in this day and age.”

As there seemed nothing more for the angel Gabriel to say and as the water was quite run out of the largest and weakest of the bathtubs, he smiled quietly at God and walked carefully back to his corner, treading cautiously as he went in order not to step on any of the boot jacks which were curling and uncurling in an alarming manner.

“Stop it!” shouted the Great Lord God, and at once every boot jack was still. “How often have I told you not to continue that loathsome habit?”

One boot jack nudged another and soon they were all nudging one another and whispering, “We mustn’t squirm today. We mustn’t squirm today. Hy ya to did eeyay. We mustn’t squirm today!”

In a little while from whispering the words had changed into a chant and all the boot jacks were squirming more than ever and chanting at the top of their voices, “We mustn’t squirm today. We mustn’t squirm today. Hy Yah Ta Did Esay! We mustn’t squirm today!”

“Stop it!” shouted the Great Lord God in a terrible voice.

All the boot jacks were very frightened and then in a few moments one said in a frightened but eager voice, “Why mustn’t we squirm today God?”

“I’m busy!” said God in a terrible voice. “I’m busier than ever!”

All the boot jacks commenced nudging one another and saying, “He’s busier than ever. That’s why we mustn’t squirm today.” But in a few moments they had forgotten why they were nudging one another and were all chanting and squirming, “We mustn’t squirm today.”

God strode away in disgust, making a divine gesture to the angel Gabriel who followed him quietly out of the garden.

“No peace,” said the Great Lord God as they strode rapidly up the long stairs, “no peace anywhere. I’m so busy, and there is only twenty-four hours in a day.”

“Are twenty-four hours, perhaps you mean, Sire,” quietly said the angel Gabriel.

“Is twenty-four hours, I said,” the Great Lord God corrected in a sad tone, for he was very fond of the angel Gabriel.

The angel Gabriel smiled uncertainly and followed God up the long stairs, thinking of his wife and children.

“I am sure there is only twenty-four hours,” he said, panting a little from the stairs.

“My good and faithful servant,” God said fondly, for he was very fond of the angel Gabriel, “I’m so very busy.”

So they sat down for a little while and far below them could hear the sound of the boot jacks squirming and chanting.

“What is that sound?” asked God, for like many other leaders he was very deaf at times.

“Your faithful boot jacks, Sire,” answered the angel Gabriel quietly, but very distinctly.

“Ah, yes,” God mused happily, “my faithful boot jacks.”

Up in Michigan

Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada. He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Horton. Jim was short and dark with big mustaches and big hands. He was a good horseshoer and did not look much like a blacksmith even with his leather apron on. He lived upstairs above the blacksmith shop and took his meals at A. J. Smith’s.

Liz Coates worked for Smith’s. Mrs. Smith, who was a very large clean woman, said Liz Coates was the neatest girl she’d ever seen. Liz had good legs and always wore clean gingham aprons and Jim noticed that her hair was always neat behind. He liked her face because it was so jolly but he never thought about her.

Liz liked Jim very much. She liked it the way he walked over from the shop and often went to the kitchen door to watch for him to start down the road. She liked it about his mustache. She liked it about how white his teeth were when he smiled. She liked it very much that he didn’t look like a blacksmith. She liked it how much A. J. Smith and Mrs. Smith liked Jim. One day she found that she liked it the way the hair was black on his arms and how white they were above the tanned line when he washed up in the washbasin outside the house. Liking that made her feel funny.

Hortons Bay, the town, was only five houses on the main road between Boyne City and Charlevoix. There was the general store and postoffice with a high false front and maybe a wagon hitched out in front, Smith’s house, Stroud’s house, Fox’s house, Horton’s house and Van Hoosen’s house. The houses were in a big grove of elm trees and the road was very sandy. There was farming country and timber each way up the road. Up the road a ways was the Methodist church and down the road the other direction was the township school. The blacksmith shop was painted red and faced the school.

restoring your place…

fetching the rest…

More by Ernest Hemingway

  • A Farewell to Arms
    You get Frederic Henry’s cool, observant voice slowly giving way to real vulnerability, especially in his conversations with Catherine and Rinaldi. The prose is spare and sometimes emotionally restrained, but that restraint makes the tenderness and grief land harder.
  • For Whom the Bell Tolls
    You spend three days with Robert Jordan in the Spanish hills, where blowing a bridge becomes tangled with love, fear, comradeship, and the cost of choosing. Hemingway’s spare prose can feel severe, but the intimacy grows quietly, especially in Jordan’s wary tenderness toward Maria.
  • The Sun Also Rises
    You follow Jake Barnes through Paris cafés, fishing country, and the chaos of Pamplona, where his dry observations barely contain what he feels for Brett Ashley. The prose is spare and deceptively simple, though its emotional restraint can feel chilly if you want characters to explain themselves.

appears in

  • Masters of the Short Story
  • The Guardian's 100 Greatest Novels (2003)

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thank you for reading

Short Fiction by Ernest Hemingway. The text is in the US public domain, from the Standard Ebooks edition. Served from our own copy; read on their site for the full edition with images and typography.

First published in 2003.

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