Hemingway's curse by Alexandra Pereira - A short story

The Bimini, surrounded by emerald liquids, invaded with gracious incandescent
skins, have the shape of a woman’s uterus and many yachts
repairing in their anchorages. There is a Bimini navigation knot. There are
dunes and palm trees and bulrushes and seaweeds in the beaches there;
the palm trees dominate, those palms that look just like a lying duster
over a blue sea, so blue that it takes your breath away.
In the vegetation there is a life blow uniting us to the universe and all
the animals spread at night through the ground a running shades whispering,
full on the inside with the same wet heat which soaks our nape or
slides down our spine and members during the day. The Bimini are the
passage gate, the entrance door in the Bahamas: “The Gateway to the Bahamas”,
the Yankees say. Moving forth from here, some things improve
and some others get worse, as the super ugly Atlantis Hotel in Nassau
Paradise island, southeast from here.
Differently, Rum Cay and Spanish Wells are at minimum interesting or
curious locations – with so much water around, what would those numerous
wells be necessary for? But I wanted to tell you about the Bimini – the
divers paradise –, about their Nixon’s Harbour and about how it is convenient
to be quite close to the South Bimini Yatch Club when stormy clouds
set to protest, mirrored on the tranquil and treacherous sea.
It is also convenient to distinguish from now on between North Bimini
(let us say that the ovaries in the uterine profile drawing of the islets) and
South Bimini (let us say that one part that the gentlemen will be able to
imagine quite well, when locating it in relation to the set of the other islands,
without being necessary for me to refer it explicitly, which would
become without shade of doubts ridicule in what to a well concrete piece
of land says respect, a piece of land with an airport, terminal, tower of
radio and everything).
I wanted to tell you about the Fimdomundo Bar at Bimini – “End of the
World Bar”, the Yankees say –, built with aged wooden boards calligraphed
in black, and also about the ogival blood-colored arc over the gate of the
Bar Compleat Angler, its high rubber tree slightly ahead, with huge car-