Then there were the questions and they were dumb.

"Is that your final answer, Papa?" the man with the tight hair
asks me, and even though I know that there are no final answers
except in war and in love, I respond in the only way that a man who 
has seen bravery as big as the Ritz and has even survived the end 
of the century without a drop of bottled water can respond, with 
the single word that makes a man a man.  "Yes."

I am in the clean well-lighted television studio with the pulsing
music for thinking because of what Miguelito the bullfighter said. 
"It's a new century, Papa," he offered as he lay wounded in the 
dirt. "It's not enough to fish, fight, write and die," he whispered
with his last breath.  "Try new things. Go dot-com. Please a woman 
with your tongue. Try for the dollars that are free on TV. Then 
die."  And he did, dying his manly death in the afternoon before 
I could ask about that tongue-thing.

The TV man with the silver tongue tells me I've won some more 
dollars and I watch that tongue and wonder what he knows. The 
dollars are good but they are not yet the big ones that can take
a man back to his best days in Florence,  a time of fine wine that 
had great authority and a low price in pleasant cafes with girls
as pretty as apple tart.  A man can buy many good meals of cold 
roasted fillet of ostrich and tagliatellini con luganega at a
fine establishment like Harry's Bar & American Grill when he has
the million.

"Papa.  For  $64,000. Only five away from the million  ---   
What is the difference between you and a rich person? Is it-- 

         a)sex                 b )money  
         c)whiskey            d )hills like white elephants ?"

There are old bullfighters and there are brave soldiers and there
are other dead white males who are sometimes your friend and
sometimes not, but they are always your lifelines, and with the 
help of AT&T you can call them in the dark of night for the 
answers that matter. 

"Hello, Scott?"

"Is this Regis?!"

I read Scott the question and he says it is money that makes
the difference between a rich person and me and he says it is 
final and then there are more dollars in my pocket that I will 
not share with him and it is a swell thing.

A man in the hot seat answers many questions with his own might
because he knows by sight what is true at first light.  Even
when the answers all sound alike he does not ask for help from 
the audience that is greedier than a blind pig foraging for little 
radishes and a good foie de veau in the winter rain that can make 
dirt mud.  

"Papa. For $500,000 --  one away from the million. The question is: 
What do women want?  Is it --

         a) sex             b) money 
         c) whiskey         d) hills like white elephants ? "

I see my reflection in the man's shiny tie, sneering at him 
because he dare ask such a question. There are women with hills 
who want mountains and there are women with whiskey who want sex 
and there are women with money who want me and there is no final 
answer about women and that is the final answer.  

I walk away from the million and I  remember that I am an 
old-century man and I remember that when you are very poor 
and very hungry the writing is good. But then I also remember 
that when you are very hungry every taste bud on your tongue 
is sharpened and that Miguelito is a wise dead friend. After
all, the tongue-thing can not be as hard as facing the blank 
white page, but then, what is?