Hills Like Puce Puppies

by Gary Inbinder

A parody of Ernest Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants”
with apologies to Papa

The hills across the valley of the Guadalquivir were snub and puce. On this side there was no shade, no trees, and no nothing and the bus stop was between two lanes of highway in the sun. Close against the side of the bus stop there was the warm shadow of the corrugated iron structure and a blanket, made of bulls-hide, hung across the lemonade stand entrance, to keep out flies and sissies who do not like bull fighting, boxing, big game hunting or deep-sea fishing.

The American and the girl with him squatted in the shade, outside the structure. It was a warm and un-stormy morning and the commuter special from Cordoba would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this commuter island for two minutes and went to Seville.

“What should we drink?” the girl asked. She had taken off her Oak Park High freshman beanie and put it on the concrete island.

“It’s pretty warm and bright and un-stormy,” the man said.

“Let’s drink lemonade.”

“Dos lemonadoes,” the man said into the bull’s-hide.

“Big ones?” a woman asked from the entrance.

“Yes. Two extremely big ones. But I still want dos lemonadoes.”

The woman brought two glasses of lemonade and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the lemonade glass on the concrete, looked at the man and the girl and felt the pads. The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were puce in the sun and the country was brown, dry, hot, and un-stormy.

“They look like puce puppies,” she said.

“I’ve never seen one,” the man drank his lemonade.

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“I might have,” the man said. “I might have seen Godot or Klaatu. Just because you say I wouldn’t have doesn’t prove anything.”

The girl looked at the bulls-hide. “They’ve painted something on it,” she said. “What does it say?”

“Orina de toro. It’s a drink.”

“Could we try it?”

The man called “Listen” through the bulls-hide. The woman came out from the stand.

“Four realities. Or four fallacies.”

“We want two Orina de toro.”

“With water?”

“Does it come without water?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “Is it good without water?”

“It’s dry.”

“You want them with water?” asked the woman.

“Yes, with water.”

“It tastes like piss,” the girl said and put the glass down.

“That’s the way with everything.”

“Yes,” said the girl. “Everything tastes of piss. Especially all the things you’ve waited so long for, like cumquat Kool-Aid, Godot and Klaatu.”

“Oh, cut it out.”

“You started it,” the girl said. “I was being amused. I amuse myself, and I am very amusing for my own amusement. I was having a fine time.”

“Well, let’s try and have a fine time.”

“All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like puce puppies. Wasn’t that bright?”

“That was bright.”

“I wanted to try this new drink. That’s all we do, isn’t it: look at things and try new drinks?”

“I guess so.”

The girl looked across at the hills.

“They’re lovely hills,” she said. “They don’t really look like puce puppies. I just meant the coloring of their skin through the trees.”

“Should we have another drink?”

“All right.”

The warm wind blew the bulls-hide against the concrete.

“The lemonade’s nice and cool,” the man said.

“It’s lovely,” the girl said.

“It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jug,” the man said. “It’s not really an operation at all.”

The girl looked at the concrete island.

“I know you wouldn’t mind it, Jug. It’s really not anything. On the other hand, should I say it’s really not something? Or nothing. Anyway, it’s just to let the aliens in.”

The girl did not say anything, or something or nothing.

“I’ll go with you and I’ll stay with you all the time. They just let the aliens in and then it’s all perfectly natural.”

“Then what will we do afterwards?”

“We’ll be fine afterwards and amusing. Just like we were before.”

“What makes you think so?”

“That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing that’s made us unhappy.”

The girl looked at the bulls-hide, put her hand out and took hold of the bull’s pizzle.

“And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy.”

“And very amusing. I know we will. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ve known lots of people that have done it. And they are all right and amusing and very happy.”

“So have I,” said the girl. “And afterwards they were all so happy.”

“Well,” the man said, “if you don’t want to you don’t have to. I wouldn’t have you do it if you didn’t want to. But I know it’s perfectly simple.”

“And you really want to?”

“I really, really, really, really, really want to. I think it’s the best thing to do. But I don’t want you to do it if you don’t really, really, really, really, really want to.”

“And if I do it you’ll be happy and things will be like they were and you’ll love me?”

“I love you now. You know I love you. And I know I love you. And I know that you know that I know that I love you.”

“I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like puce puppies, or alabaster axolotls, or mauve magpies and you’ll like it?”

“I’ll love it. I loved it then, I loved it before then, and I’ll love it after then. I love it now but I just can’t think about it. You know how I get when I worry.”

“If I do it you won’t ever worry?”

“I won’t worry about that because it’s perfectly simple and I’m perfectly simple and amusing.”

“Then I’ll do it. Because I don’t care about me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t care about me.”

“Well, I care about me.”

“Oh, yes. But I don’t care about me. And I’ll do it and then everything will be fine... and amusing.”

“I don’t want you to do it if you feel that way.”

The girl stood up and walked to the end of the bus stop. Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Guadalquivir. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a flying saucer moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees but not the forest.

“And we could have all this,” she said. “And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible.”

“What did you say?”

“I said we could have everything.”

“We can have everything.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Yes, we can.” “No, we can’t” “Yes, we can.” “No, we can’t.” “We can have the whole world. Godot and Klaatu said so.”

“No, we can’t.”

“We can go everywhere.”

“No, we can’t. It isn’t ours any more. It’s the aliens’.”

“It’s ours.” “No, it isn’t” “Yes, it is.” “No, it isn’t.” “Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t. And once they take it away, you never get it back.”

“But they haven’t taken it away.”

“We’ll wait and see.”

“Come on back in the shade,” he said. “You mustn’t feel that way even when you’re not in the shade but come back anyway.”

“I don’t feel any way,” the girl said. “I just know things.”

“I don’t want you to know things or do anything that you don’t want to do-”

“Nor that isn’t good for me,” she said. “I know. I know you know. I know that you know that I know that you know I know. Could we have another lemonade?”

“All right. But you’ve got to realize that unlike my friend and alter ego Jake Barnes I have two extremely big ones, and now you...”

“I realize,” the girl said. “Can’t we maybe stop talking?”

They sat down on the concrete island and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley, and the man looked at her and at the concrete and the shadow of a flying saucer.

“You’ve got to realize,” he said, “that I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly willing to like inferior humanoids if that means anything to you.”

“Doesn’t it mean anything to you? We could get along.”

“Of course it does. But I don’t want anybody but you. I don’t want anyone else. And I know it’s perfectly simple.”

“Yes, you know it’s perfectly simple, and you are perfectly simple and I am perfectly simple. I know that.”

“It’s all right for you to say that, but I do know it.”

“Would you do something for me now?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Would you pwease, pwease, pwease, pwease, pwease, pwease, pwease, pwetty, pwetty, pwetty, pwetty, pwease, pwease, pwease wif peaches and cream stop talking?”

He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the bus stop. There were labels on them from all the motels and flying saucers where they had spent nights.

“But I don’t want you to,” he said, “I don’t care anything about it.”

“I’ll say,” the girl screamed.

The woman came out through the bulls-hide with two glasses of lemonade and put them down on the damp felt pads. “The bus comes in five minutes,” she said.

“What did she say?” asked the girl.

“That the bus is coming in five minutes. Godot comes five minutes after the bus. Klaatu comes five minutes after Godot.”

The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her for making the bus, Godot and Klaatu come.

“I’d better take the bags over to the other side of the bus stop,” the man said. She smiled at him.

“All right. Then come back and we’ll finish the lemonade and be amusing for our perfectly simple amusement.”

He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the bus stop to the other side of the highway. He looked up the highway but could not see the bus, Godot or Klaatu. He walked through the lemonade stand, where people waiting for the bus, Godot and Klaatu were drinking. He drank an Orina at the stand and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably, except for one man who was waiting unreasonably. He went out through the bulls-hide blanket. She was sitting on the concrete and smiled at him.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

“I feel fine,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I feel fine. Perfectly, simply fine, fine, fine, fine, fine... and amusing.”