You must pick your tomatoes with courage. And if they are true and good tomatoes, they will last a long time.
Never refrigerate your tomatoes. Only weak, irresolute men and traitorous women refrigerate their tomatoes.
Once when I was fishing by the Irati, Krebs and I spied some wild tomatoes by the riverside. They were green, and ripe, and their stems hung long in the summer wind. They were good tomatoes.
‘Let’s pick them,’ I said to Krebs.
‘Yes. Then let’s.’
‘Yes. We will.’
‘Yes. Let’s go.’
That evening we feasted on the skins and inner juices of the tomatoes. Later Bridgette and I made love. But I did not feel devout.
. . . . .
One must ask the following questions when picking out a grapefruit. Is it a good grapefruit? Is it a pure grapefruit? Is it a grapefruit worth its own weight? If not, one must leave it behind. Such is the way of things.
Do not halve your grapefruit and eat it with a spoon. Only Portuguese prostitutes and child molesters do this. Cut its skin in segments and peel it like a man.
It is said that in Rimini the old men chase their vermouth with a slice of grapefruit. I have it on good account this is so. I myself have seen it done only with Pernod. With Pernod grapefruit is crisp and refreshing.
I remember when Pedro Romero was gored by the bull. It was the year of the long draught. It was dry three months and then the rains came. They carried Pedro Romero on a great stretcher for miles through the dust and lay his mangled body in the hammock by Papi Yolando’s window. They fed him grapefruit slices, pink as the blood of the bull, for three days and three nights. Pedro Romero could eat only grapefruit slices. He recovered. Later, in the year of the carnival, he took his vengeance on the bull. Later still he met his end at the running of the bulls in Pamplona. But it was no matter. He had been angling for something fierce and drastic. Brett Ashley was no longer in love with him, and all those things had passed. He felt he had nothing more to live for.