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diff --git a/old/67138-0.txt b/old/67138-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 26b701a..0000000 --- a/old/67138-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10604 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest -Hemingway - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Sun Also Rises - -Author: Ernest Hemingway - -Release Date: January 10, 2022 [eBook #67138] - -Language: English - -Produced by: This ebook was produced by: Marcia Brooks, Al Haines, - Paulina Chin & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada - team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUN ALSO RISES *** - - - - - - - ERNEST - HEMINGWAY - - - - The Sun - Also Rises - - - - - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - _New York_ - - - - - Copyright, 1926, Charles Scribner’s Sons; - renewal copyright, 1954, Ernest Hemingway - - - _All rights reserved. No part of this book_ - _may be reproduced in any form without the_ - _permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons._ - - - Printed in the United States of America - - - - - _This book is for_ HADLEY - _and for_ JOHN HADLEY NICANOR - - - - - ”You are all a lost generation.” - - —GERTRUDE STEIN _in conversation_ - - ”One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but - the earth abideth forever. . . . The sun also ariseth, and the - sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose. . . . - The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the - north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth - again according to his circuits. . . . All the rivers run into - the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the - rivers come, thither they return again.” - - —_Ecclesiastes_ - - - - - BOOK I - - - - - CHAPTER - 1 - - -Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton. Do not -think that I am very much impressed by that as a boxing title, but it -meant a lot to Cohn. He cared nothing for boxing, in fact he disliked -it, but he learned it painfully and thoroughly to counteract the feeling -of inferiority and shyness he had felt on being treated as a Jew at -Princeton. There was a certain inner comfort in knowing he could knock -down anybody who was snooty to him, although, being very shy and a -thoroughly nice boy, he never fought except in the gym. He was Spider -Kelly’s star pupil. Spider Kelly taught all his young gentlemen to box -like featherweights, no matter whether they weighed one hundred and five -or two hundred and five pounds. But it seemed to fit Cohn. He was really -very fast. He was so good that Spider promptly overmatched him and got -his nose permanently flattened. This increased Cohn’s distaste for -boxing, but it gave him a certain satisfaction of some strange sort, and -it certainly improved his nose. In his last year at Princeton he read -too much and took to wearing spectacles. I never met any one of his -class who remembered him. They did not even remember that he was -middleweight boxing champion. - -I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories -hold together, and I always had a suspicion that perhaps Robert Cohn had -never been middleweight boxing champion, and that perhaps a horse had -stepped on his face, or that maybe his mother had been frightened or -seen something, or that he had, maybe, bumped into something as a young -child, but I finally had somebody verify the story from Spider Kelly. -Spider Kelly not only remembered Cohn. He had often wondered what had -become of him. - -Robert Cohn was a member, through his father, of one of the richest -Jewish families in New York, and through his mother of one of the -oldest. At the military school where he prepped for Princeton, and -played a very good end on the football team, no one had made him -race-conscious. No one had ever made him feel he was a Jew, and hence -any different from anybody else, until he went to Princeton. He was a -nice boy, a friendly boy, and very shy, and it made him bitter. He took -it out in boxing, and he came out of Princeton with painful -self-consciousness and the flattened nose, and was married by the first -girl who was nice to him. He was married five years, had three children, -lost most of the fifty thousand dollars his father left him, the balance -of the estate having gone to his mother, hardened into a rather -unattractive mould under domestic unhappiness with a rich wife; and just -when he had made up his mind to leave his wife she left him and went off -with a miniature-painter. As he had been thinking for months about -leaving his wife and had not done it because it would be too cruel to -deprive her of himself, her departure was a very healthful shock. - -The divorce was arranged and Robert Cohn went out to the Coast. In -California he fell among literary people and, as he still had a little -of the fifty thousand left, in a short time he was backing a review of -the Arts. The review commenced publication in Carmel, California, and -finished in Provincetown, Massachusetts. By that time Cohn, who had been -regarded purely as an angel, and whose name had appeared on the -editorial page merely as a member of the advisory board, had become the -sole editor. It was his money and he discovered he liked the authority -of editing. He was sorry when the magazine became too expensive and he -had to give it up. - -By that time, though, he had other things to worry about. He had been -taken in hand by a lady who hoped to rise with the magazine. She was -very forceful, and Cohn never had a chance of not being taken in hand. -Also he was sure that he loved her. When this lady saw that the magazine -was not going to rise, she became a little disgusted with Cohn and -decided that she might as well get what there was to get while there was -still something available, so she urged that they go to Europe, where -Cohn could write. They came to Europe, where the lady had been educated, -and stayed three years. During these three years, the first spent in -travel, the last two in Paris, Robert Cohn had two friends, Braddocks -and myself. Braddocks was his literary friend. I was his tennis friend. - -The lady who had him, her name was Frances, found toward the end of the -second year that her looks were going, and her attitude toward Robert -changed from one of careless possession and exploitation to the absolute -determination that he should marry her. During this time Robert’s mother -had settled an allowance on him, about three hundred dollars a month. -During two years and a half I do not believe that Robert Cohn looked at -another woman. He was fairly happy, except that, like many people living -in Europe, he would rather have been in America, and he had discovered -writing. He wrote a novel, and it was not really such a bad novel as the -critics later called it, although it was a very poor novel. He read many -books, played bridge, played tennis, and boxed at a local gymnasium. - -I first became aware of his lady’s attitude toward him one night after -the three of us had dined together. We had dined at l’Avenue’s and -afterward went to the Café de Versailles for coffee. We had several -_fines_ after the coffee, and I said I must be going. Cohn had been -talking about the two of us going off somewhere on a weekend trip. He -wanted to get out of town and get in a good walk. I suggested we fly to -Strasbourg and walk up to Saint Odile, or somewhere or other in Alsace. -“I know a girl in Strasbourg who can show us the town,” I said. - -Somebody kicked me under the table. I thought it was accidental and went -on: “She’s been there two years and knows everything there is to know -about the town. She’s a swell girl.” - -I was kicked again under the table and, looking, saw Frances, Robert’s -lady, her chin lifting and her face hardening. - -“Hell,” I said, “why go to Strasbourg? We could go up to Bruges, or to -the Ardennes.” - -Cohn looked relieved. I was not kicked again. I said good-night and went -out. Cohn said he wanted to buy a paper and would walk to the corner -with me. “For God’s sake,” he said, “why did you say that about that -girl in Strasbourg for? Didn’t you see Frances?” - -“No, why should I? If I know an American girl that lives in Strasbourg -what the hell is it to Frances?” - -“It doesn’t make any difference. Any girl. I couldn’t go, that would be -all.” - -“Don’t be silly.” - -“You don’t know Frances. Any girl at all. Didn’t you see the way she -looked?” - -“Oh, well,” I said, “let’s go to Senlis.” - -“Don’t get sore.” - -“I’m not sore. Senlis is a good place and we can stay at the Grand Cerf -and take a hike in the woods and come home.” - -“Good, that will be fine.” - -“Well, I’ll see you to-morrow at the courts,” I said. - -“Good-night, Jake,” he said, and started back to the café. - -“You forgot to get your paper,” I said. - -“That’s so.” He walked with me up to the kiosque at the corner. “You are -not sore, are you, Jake?” He turned with the paper in his hand. - -“No, why should I be?” - -“See you at tennis,” he said. I watched him walk back to the café -holding his paper. I rather liked him and evidently she led him quite a -life. - - - - - CHAPTER - 2 - - -That winter Robert Cohn went over to America with his novel, and it was -accepted by a fairly good publisher. His going made an awful row I -heard, and I think that was where Frances lost him, because several -women were nice to him in New York, and when he came back he was quite -changed. He was more enthusiastic about America than ever, and he was -not so simple, and he was not so nice. The publishers had praised his -novel pretty highly and it rather went to his head. Then several women -had put themselves out to be nice to him, and his horizons had all -shifted. For four years his horizon had been absolutely limited to his -wife. For three years, or almost three years, he had never seen beyond -Frances. I am sure he had never been in love in his life. - -He had married on the rebound from the rotten time he had in college, -and Frances took him on the rebound from his discovery that he had not -been everything to his first wife. He was not in love yet but he -realized that he was an attractive quantity to women, and that the fact -of a woman caring for him and wanting to live with him was not simply a -divine miracle. This changed him so that he was not so pleasant to have -around. Also, playing for higher stakes than he could afford in some -rather steep bridge games with his New York connections, he had held -cards and won several hundred dollars. It made him rather vain of his -bridge game, and he talked several times of how a man could always make -a living at bridge if he were ever forced to. - -Then there was another thing. He had been reading W. H. Hudson. That -sounds like an innocent occupation, but Cohn had read and reread “The -Purple Land.” “The Purple Land” is a very sinister book if read too late -in life. It recounts splendid imaginary amorous adventures of a perfect -English gentleman in an intensely romantic land, the scenery of which is -very well described. For a man to take it at thirty-four as a guide-book -to what life holds is about as safe as it would be for a man of the same -age to enter Wall Street direct from a French convent, equipped with a -complete set of the more practical Alger books. Cohn, I believe, took -every word of “The Purple Land” as literally as though it had been an -R. G. Dun report. You understand me, he made some reservations, but on -the whole the book to him was sound. It was all that was needed to set -him off. I did not realize the extent to which it had set him off until -one day he came into my office. - -“Hello, Robert,” I said. “Did you come in to cheer me up?” - -“Would you like to go to South America, Jake?” he asked. - -“No.” - -“Why not?” - -“I don’t know. I never wanted to go. Too expensive. You can see all the -South Americans you want in Paris anyway.” - -“They’re not the real South Americans.” - -“They look awfully real to me.” - -I had a boat train to catch with a week’s mail stories, and only half of -them written. - -“Do you know any dirt?” I asked. - -“No.” - -“None of your exalted connections getting divorces?” - -“No; listen, Jake. If I handled both our expenses, would you go to South -America with me?” - -“Why me?” - -“You can talk Spanish. And it would be more fun with two of us.” - -“No,” I said, “I like this town and I go to Spain in the summer-time.” - -“All my life I’ve wanted to go on a trip like that,” Cohn said. He sat -down. “I’ll be too old before I can ever do it.” - -“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “You can go anywhere you want. You’ve got -plenty of money.” - -“I know. But I can’t get started.” - -“Cheer up,” I said. “All countries look just like the moving pictures.” - -But I felt sorry for him. He had it badly. - -“I can’t stand it to think my life is going so fast and I’m not really -living it.” - -“Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bull-fighters.” - -“I’m not interested in bull-fighters. That’s an abnormal life. I want to -go back in the country in South America. We could have a great trip.” - -“Did you ever think about going to British East Africa to shoot?” - -“No, I wouldn’t like that.” - -“I’d go there with you.” - -“No; that doesn’t interest me.” - -“That’s because you never read a book about it. Go on and read a book -all full of love affairs with the beautiful shiny black princesses.” - -“I want to go to South America.” - -He had a hard, Jewish, stubborn streak. - -“Come on down-stairs and have a drink.” - -“Aren’t you working?” - -“No,” I said. We went down the stairs to the café on the ground floor. I -had discovered that was the best way to get rid of friends. Once you had -a drink all you had to say was: “Well, I’ve got to get back and get off -some cables,” and it was done. It is very important to discover graceful -exits like that in the newspaper business, where it is such an important -part of the ethics that you should never seem to be working. Anyway, we -went down-stairs to the bar and had a whiskey and soda. Cohn looked at -the bottles in bins around the wall. “This is a good place,” he said. - -“There’s a lot of liquor,” I agreed. - -“Listen, Jake,” he leaned forward on the bar. “Don’t you ever get the -feeling that all your life is going by and you’re not taking advantage -of it? Do you realize you’ve lived nearly half the time you have to live -already?” - -“Yes, every once in a while.” - -“Do you know that in about thirty-five years more we’ll be dead?” - -“What the hell, Robert,” I said. “What the hell.” - -“I’m serious.” - -“It’s one thing I don’t worry about,” I said. - -“You ought to.” - -“I’ve had plenty to worry about one time or other. I’m through -worrying.” - -“Well, I want to go to South America.” - -“Listen, Robert, going to another country doesn’t make any difference. -I’ve tried all that. You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one -place to another. There’s nothing to that.” - -“But you’ve never been to South America.” - -“South America hell! If you went there the way you feel now it would be -exactly the same. This is a good town. Why don’t you start living your -life in Paris?” - -“I’m sick of Paris, and I’m sick of the Quarter.” - -“Stay away from the Quarter. Cruise around by yourself and see what -happens to you.” - -“Nothing happens to me. I walked alone all one night and nothing -happened except a bicycle cop stopped me and asked to see my papers.” - -“Wasn’t the town nice at night?” - -“I don’t care for Paris.” - -So there you were. I was sorry for him, but it was not a thing you could -do anything about, because right away you ran up against the two -stubbornnesses: South America could fix it and he did not like Paris. He -got the first idea out of a book, and I suppose the second came out of a -book too. - -“Well,” I said, “I’ve got to go up-stairs and get off some cables.” - -“Do you really have to go?” - -“Yes, I’ve got to get these cables off.” - -“Do you mind if I come up and sit around the office?” - -“No, come on up.” - -He sat in the outer room and read the papers, and the Editor and -Publisher and I worked hard for two hours. Then I sorted out the -carbons, stamped on a by-line, put the stuff in a couple of big manila -envelopes and rang for a boy to take them to the Gare St. Lazare. I went -out into the other room and there was Robert Cohn asleep in the big -chair. He was asleep with his head on his arms. I did not like to wake -him up, but I wanted to lock the office and shove off. I put my hand on -his shoulder. He shook his head. “I can’t do it,” he said, and put his -head deeper into his arms. “I can’t do it. Nothing will make me do it.” - -“Robert,” I said, and shook him by the shoulder. He looked up. He smiled -and blinked. - -“Did I talk out loud just then?” - -“Something. But it wasn’t clear.” - -“God, what a rotten dream!” - -“Did the typewriter put you to sleep?” - -“Guess so. I didn’t sleep all last night.” - -“What was the matter?” - -“Talking,” he said. - -I could picture it. I have a rotten habit of picturing the bedroom -scenes of my friends. We went out to the Café Napolitain to have an -_apéritif_ and watch the evening crowd on the Boulevard. - - - - - CHAPTER - 3 - - -It was a warm spring night and I sat at a table on the terrace of the -Napolitain after Robert had gone, watching it get dark and the electric -signs come on, and the red and green stop-and-go traffic-signal, and the -crowd going by, and the horse-cabs clippety-clopping along at the edge -of the solid taxi traffic, and the _poules_ going by, singly and in -pairs, looking for the evening meal. I watched a good-looking girl walk -past the table and watched her go up the street and lost sight of her, -and watched another, and then saw the first one coming back again. She -went by once more and I caught her eye, and she came over and sat down -at the table. The waiter came up. - -“Well, what will you drink?” I asked. - -“Pernod.” - -“That’s not good for little girls.” - -“Little girl yourself. Dites garçon, un pernod.” - -“A pernod for me, too.” - -“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Going on a party?” - -“Sure. Aren’t you?” - -“I don’t know. You never know in this town.” - -“Don’t you like Paris?” - -“No.” - -“Why don’t you go somewhere else?” - -“Isn’t anywhere else.” - -“You’re happy, all right.” - -“Happy, hell!” - -Pernod is greenish imitation absinthe. When you add water it turns -milky. It tastes like licorice and it has a good uplift, but it drops -you just as far. We sat and drank it, and the girl looked sullen. - -“Well,” I said, “are you going to buy me a dinner?” - -She grinned and I saw why she made a point of not laughing. With her -mouth closed she was a rather pretty girl. I paid for the saucers and we -walked out to the street. I hailed a horse-cab and the driver pulled up -at the curb. Settled back in the slow, smoothly rolling _fiacre_ we -moved up the Avenue de l’Opéra, passed the locked doors of the shops, -their windows lighted, the Avenue broad and shiny and almost deserted. -The cab passed the New York _Herald_ bureau with the window full of -clocks. - -“What are all the clocks for?” she asked. - -“They show the hour all over America.” - -“Don’t kid me.” - -We turned off the Avenue up the Rue des Pyramides, through the traffic -of the Rue de Rivoli, and through a dark gate into the Tuileries. She -cuddled against me and I put my arm around her. She looked up to be -kissed. She touched me with one hand and I put her hand away. - -“Never mind.” - -“What’s the matter? You sick?” - -“Yes.” - -“Everybody’s sick. I’m sick, too.” - -We came out of the Tuileries into the light and crossed the Seine and -then turned up the Rue des Saints Pères. - -“You oughtn’t to drink pernod if you’re sick.” - -“You neither.” - -“It doesn’t make any difference with me. It doesn’t make any difference -with a woman.” - -“What are you called?” - -“Georgette. How are you called?” - -“Jacob.” - -“That’s a Flemish name.” - -“American too.” - -“You’re not Flamand?” - -“No, American.” - -“Good, I detest Flamands.” - -By this time we were at the restaurant. I called to the _cocher_ to -stop. We got out and Georgette did not like the looks of the place. -“This is no great thing of a restaurant.” - -“No,” I said. “Maybe you would rather go to Foyot’s. Why don’t you keep -the cab and go on?” - -I had picked her up because of a vague sentimental idea that it would be -nice to eat with some one. It was a long time since I had dined with a -_poule_, and I had forgotten how dull it could be. We went into the -restaurant, passed Madame Lavigne at the desk and into a little room. -Georgette cheered up a little under the food. - -“It isn’t bad here,” she said. “It isn’t chic, but the food is all -right.” - -“Better than you eat in Liège.” - -“Brussels, you mean.” - -We had another bottle of wine and Georgette made a joke. She smiled and -showed all her bad teeth, and we touched glasses. “You’re not a bad -type,” she said. “It’s a shame you’re sick. We get on well. What’s the -matter with you, anyway?” - -“I got hurt in the war,” I said. - -“Oh, that dirty war.” - -We would probably have gone on and discussed the war and agreed that it -was in reality a calamity for civilization, and perhaps would have been -better avoided. I was bored enough. Just then from the other room some -one called: “Barnes! I say, Barnes! Jacob Barnes!” - -“It’s a friend calling me,” I explained, and went out. - -There was Braddocks at a big table with a party: Cohn, Frances Clyne, -Mrs. Braddocks, several people I did not know. - -“You’re coming to the dance, aren’t you?” Braddocks asked. - -“What dance?” - -“Why, the dancings. Don’t you know we’ve revived them?” Mrs. Braddocks -put in. - -“You must come, Jake. We’re all going,” Frances said from the end of the -table. She was tall and had a smile. - -“Of course, he’s coming,” Braddocks said. “Come in and have coffee with -us, Barnes.” - -“Right.” - -“And bring your friend,” said Mrs. Braddocks laughing. She was a -Canadian and had all their easy social graces. - -“Thanks, we’ll be in,” I said. I went back to the small room. - -“Who are your friends?” Georgette asked. - -“Writers and artists.” - -“There are lots of those on this side of the river.” - -“Too many.” - -“I think so. Still, some of them make money.” - -“Oh, yes.” - -We finished the meal and the wine. “Come on,” I said. “We’re going to -have coffee with the others.” - -Georgette opened her bag, made a few passes at her face as she looked in -the little mirror, re-defined her lips with the lipstick, and -straightened her hat. - -“Good,” she said. - -We went into the room full of people and Braddocks and the men at his -table stood up. - -“I wish to present my fiancée, Mademoiselle Georgette Leblanc,” I said. -Georgette smiled that wonderful smile, and we shook hands all round. - -“Are you related to Georgette Leblanc, the singer?” Mrs. Braddocks -asked. - -“Connais pas,” Georgette answered. - -“But you have the same name,” Mrs. Braddocks insisted cordially. - -“No,” said Georgette. “Not at all. My name is Hobin.” - -“But Mr. Barnes introduced you as Mademoiselle Georgette Leblanc. Surely -he did,” insisted Mrs. Braddocks, who in the excitement of talking -French was liable to have no idea what she was saying. - -“He’s a fool,” Georgette said. - -“Oh, it was a joke, then,” Mrs. Braddocks said. - -“Yes,” said Georgette. “To laugh at.” - -“Did you hear that, Henry?” Mrs. Braddocks called down the table to -Braddocks. “Mr. Barnes introduced his fiancée as Mademoiselle Leblanc, -and her name is actually Hobin.” - -“Of course, darling. Mademoiselle Hobin, I’ve known her for a very long -time.” - -“Oh, Mademoiselle Hobin,” Frances Clyne called, speaking French very -rapidly and not seeming so proud and astonished as Mrs. Braddocks at its -coming out really French. “Have you been in Paris long? Do you like it -here? You love Paris, do you not?” - -“Who’s she?” Georgette turned to me. “Do I have to talk to her?” - -She turned to Frances, sitting smiling, her hands folded, her head -poised on her long neck, her lips pursed ready to start talking again. - -“No, I don’t like Paris. It’s expensive and dirty.” - -“Really? I find it so extraordinarily clean. One of the cleanest cities -in all Europe.” - -“I find it dirty.” - -“How strange! But perhaps you have not been here very long.” - -“I’ve been here long enough.” - -“But it does have nice people in it. One must grant that.” - -Georgette turned to me. “You have nice friends.” - -Frances was a little drunk and would have liked to have kept it up but -the coffee came, and Lavigne with the liqueurs, and after that we all -went out and started for Braddocks’s dancing-club. - -The dancing-club was a _bal musette_ in the Rue de la Montagne Sainte -Geneviève. Five nights a week the working people of the Pantheon quarter -danced there. One night a week it was the dancing-club. On Monday nights -it was closed. When we arrived it was quite empty, except for a -policeman sitting near the door, the wife of the proprietor back of the -zinc bar, and the proprietor himself. The daughter of the house came -downstairs as we went in. There were long benches, and tables ran across -the room, and at the far end a dancing-floor. - -“I wish people would come earlier,” Braddocks said. The daughter came up -and wanted to know what we would drink. The proprietor got up on a high -stool beside the dancing-floor and began to play the accordion. He had a -string of bells around one of his ankles and beat time with his foot as -he played. Every one danced. It was hot and we came off the floor -perspiring. - -“My God,” Georgette said. “What a box to sweat in!” - -“It’s hot.” - -“Hot, my God!” - -“Take off your hat.” - -“That’s a good idea.” - -Some one asked Georgette to dance, and I went over to the bar. It was -really very hot and the accordion music was pleasant in the hot night. I -drank a beer, standing in the doorway and getting the cool breath of -wind from the street. Two taxis were coming down the steep street. They -both stopped in front of the Bal. A crowd of young men, some in jerseys -and some in their shirt-sleeves, got out. I could see their hands and -newly washed, wavy hair in the light from the door. The policeman -standing by the door looked at me and smiled. They came in. As they went -in, under the light I saw white hands, wavy hair, white faces, -grimacing, gesturing, talking. With them was Brett. She looked very -lovely and she was very much with them. - -One of them saw Georgette and said: “I do declare. There is an actual -harlot. I’m going to dance with her, Lett. You watch me.” - -The tall dark one, called Lett, said: “Don’t you be rash.” - -The wavy blond one answered: “Don’t you worry, dear.” And with them was -Brett. - -I was very angry. Somehow they always made me angry. I know they are -supposed to be amusing, and you should be tolerant, but I wanted to -swing on one, any one, anything to shatter that superior, simpering -composure. Instead, I walked down the street and had a beer at the bar -at the next Bal. The beer was not good and I had a worse cognac to take -the taste out of my mouth. When I came back to the Bal there was a crowd -on the floor and Georgette was dancing with the tall blond youth, who -danced big-hippily, carrying his head on one side, his eyes lifted as he -danced. As soon as the music stopped another one of them asked her to -dance. She had been taken up by them. I knew then that they would all -dance with her. They are like that. - -I sat down at a table. Cohn was sitting there. Frances was dancing. Mrs. -Braddocks brought up somebody and introduced him as Robert Prentiss. He -was from New York by way of Chicago, and was a rising new novelist. He -had some sort of an English accent. I asked him to have a drink. - -“Thanks so much,” he said, “I’ve just had one.” - -“Have another.” - -“Thanks, I will then.” - -We got the daughter of the house over and each had a _fine à l’eau_. - -“You’re from Kansas City, they tell me,” he said. - -“Yes.” - -“Do you find Paris amusing?” - -“Yes.” - -“Really?” - -I was a little drunk. Not drunk in any positive sense but just enough to -be careless. - -“For God’s sake,” I said, “yes. Don’t you?” - -“Oh, how charmingly you get angry,” he said. “I wish I had that -faculty.” - -I got up and walked over toward the dancing-floor. Mrs. Braddocks -followed me. “Don’t be cross with Robert,” she said. “He’s still only a -child, you know.” - -“I wasn’t cross,” I said. “I just thought perhaps I was going to throw -up.” - -“Your fiancée is having a great success,” Mrs. Braddocks looked out on -the floor where Georgette was dancing in the arms of the tall, dark one, -called Lett. - -“Isn’t she?” I said. - -“Rather,” said Mrs. Braddocks. - -Cohn came up. “Come on, Jake,” he said, “have a drink.” We walked over -to the bar. “What’s the matter with you? You seem all worked up over -something?” - -“Nothing. This whole show makes me sick is all.” - -Brett came up to the bar. - -“Hello, you chaps.” - -“Hello, Brett,” I said. “Why aren’t you tight?” - -“Never going to get tight any more. I say, give a chap a brandy and -soda.” - -She stood holding the glass and I saw Robert Cohn looking at her. He -looked a great deal as his compatriot must have looked when he saw the -promised land. Cohn, of course, was much younger. But he had that look -of eager, deserving expectation. - -Brett was damned good-looking. She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a -tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy’s. She started all -that. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you -missed none of it with that wool jersey. - -“It’s a fine crowd you’re with, Brett,” I said. - -“Aren’t they lovely? And you, my dear. Where did you get it?” - -“At the Napolitain.” - -“And have you had a lovely evening?” - -“Oh, priceless,” I said. - -Brett laughed. “It’s wrong of you, Jake. It’s an insult to all of us. -Look at Frances there, and Jo.” - -This for Cohn’s benefit. - -“It’s in restraint of trade,” Brett said. She laughed again. - -“You’re wonderfully sober,” I said. - -“Yes. Aren’t I? And when one’s with the crowd I’m with, one can drink in -such safety, too.” - -The music started and Robert Cohn said: “Will you dance this with me, -Lady Brett?” - -Brett smiled at him. “I’ve promised to dance this with Jacob,” she -laughed. “You’ve a hell of a biblical name, Jake.” - -“How about the next?” asked Cohn. - -“We’re going,” Brett said. “We’ve a date up at Montmartre.” Dancing, I -looked over Brett’s shoulder and saw Cohn, standing at the bar, still -watching her. - -“You’ve made a new one there,” I said to her. - -“Don’t talk about it. Poor chap. I never knew it till just now.” - -“Oh, well,” I said. “I suppose you like to add them up.” - -“Don’t talk like a fool.” - -“You do.” - -“Oh, well. What if I do?” - -“Nothing,” I said. We were dancing to the accordion and some one was -playing the banjo. It was hot and I felt happy. We passed close to -Georgette dancing with another one of them. - -“What possessed you to bring her?” - -“I don’t know, I just brought her.” - -“You’re getting damned romantic.” - -“No, bored.” - -“Now?” - -“No, not now.” - -“Let’s get out of here. She’s well taken care of.” - -“Do you want to?” - -“Would I ask you if I didn’t want to?” - -We left the floor and I took my coat off a hanger on the wall and put it -on. Brett stood by the bar. Cohn was talking to her. I stopped at the -bar and asked them for an envelope. The patronne found one. I took a -fifty-franc note from my pocket, put it in the envelope, sealed it, and -handed it to the patronne. - -“If the girl I came with asks for me, will you give her this?” I said. -“If she goes out with one of those gentlemen, will you save this for -me?” - -“C’est entendu, Monsieur,” the patronne said. “You go now? So early?” - -“Yes,” I said. - -We started out the door. Cohn was still talking to Brett. She said good -night and took my arm. “Good night, Cohn,” I said. Outside in the street -we looked for a taxi. - -“You’re going to lose your fifty francs,” Brett said. - -“Oh, yes.” - -“No taxis.” - -“We could walk up to the Pantheon and get one.” - -“Come on and we’ll get a drink in the pub next door and send for one.” - -“You wouldn’t walk across the street.” - -“Not if I could help it.” - -We went into the next bar and I sent a waiter for a taxi. - -“Well,” I said, “we’re out away from them.” - -We stood against the tall zinc bar and did not talk and looked at each -other. The waiter came and said the taxi was outside. Brett pressed my -hand hard. I gave the waiter a franc and we went out. “Where should I -tell him?” I asked. - -“Oh, tell him to drive around.” - -I told the driver to go to the Parc Montsouris, and got in, and slammed -the door. Brett was leaning back in the corner, her eyes closed. I got -in and sat beside her. The cab started with a jerk. - -“Oh, darling, I’ve been so miserable,” Brett said. - - - - - CHAPTER - 4 - - -The taxi went up the hill, passed the lighted square, then on into the -dark, still climbing, then levelled out onto a dark street behind St. -Etienne du Mont, went smoothly down the asphalt, passed the trees and -the standing bus at the Place de la Contrescarpe, then turned onto the -cobbles of the Rue Mouffetard. There were lighted bars and late open -shops on each side of the street. We were sitting apart and we jolted -close together going down the old street. Brett’s hat was off. Her head -was back. I saw her face in the lights from the open shops, then it was -dark, then I saw her face clearly as we came out on the Avenue des -Gobelins. The street was torn up and men were working on the car-tracks -by the light of acetylene flares. Brett’s face was white and the long -line of her neck showed in the bright light of the flares. The street -was dark again and I kissed her. Our lips were tight together and then -she turned away and pressed against the corner of the seat, as far away -as she could get. Her head was down. - -“Don’t touch me,” she said. “Please don’t touch me.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“I can’t stand it.” - -“Oh, Brett.” - -“You mustn’t. You must know. I can’t stand it, that’s all. Oh, darling, -please understand!” - -“Don’t you love me?” - -“Love you? I simply turn all to jelly when you touch me.” - -“Isn’t there anything we can do about it?” - -She was sitting up now. My arm was around her and she was leaning back -against me, and we were quite calm. She was looking into my eyes with -that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw -out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else’s -eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there -were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she -was afraid of so many things. - -“And there’s not a damn thing we could do,” I said. - -“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to go through that hell again.” - -“We’d better keep away from each other.” - -“But, darling, I have to see you. It isn’t all that you know.” - -“No, but it always gets to be.” - -“That’s my fault. Don’t we pay for all the things we do, though?” - -She had been looking into my eyes all the time. Her eyes had different -depths, sometimes they seemed perfectly flat. Now you could see all the -way into them. - -“When I think of the hell I’ve put chaps through. I’m paying for it all -now.” - -“Don’t talk like a fool,” I said. “Besides, what happened to me is -supposed to be funny. I never think about it.” - -“Oh, no. I’ll lay you don’t.” - -“Well, let’s shut up about it.” - -“I laughed about it too, myself, once.” She wasn’t looking at me. “A -friend of my brother’s came home that way from Mons. It seemed like a -hell of a joke. Chaps never know anything, do they?” - -“No,” I said. “Nobody ever knows anything.” - -I was pretty well through with the subject. At one time or another I had -probably considered it from most of its various angles, including the -one that certain injuries or imperfections are a subject of merriment -while remaining quite serious for the person possessing them. - -“It’s funny,” I said. “It’s very funny. And it’s a lot of fun, too, to -be in love.” - -“Do you think so?” her eyes looked flat again. - -“I don’t mean fun that way. In a way it’s an enjoyable feeling.” - -“No,” she said. “I think it’s hell on earth.” - -“It’s good to see each other.” - -“No. I don’t think it is.” - -“Don’t you want to?” - -“I have to.” - -We were sitting now like two strangers. On the right was the Parc -Montsouris. The restaurant where they have the pool of live trout and -where you can sit and look out over the park was closed and dark. The -driver leaned his head around. - -“Where do you want to go?” I asked. Brett turned her head away. - -“Oh, go to the Select.” - -“Café Select,” I told the driver. “Boulevard Montparnasse.” We drove -straight down, turning around the Lion de Belfort that guards the -passing Montrouge trams. Brett looked straight ahead. On the Boulevard -Raspail, with the lights of Montparnasse in sight, Brett said: “Would -you mind very much if I asked you to do something?” - -“Don’t be silly.” - -“Kiss me just once more before we get there.” - -When the taxi stopped I got out and paid. Brett came out putting on her -hat. She gave me her hand as she stepped down. Her hand was shaky. “I -say, do I look too much of a mess?” She pulled her man’s felt hat down -and started in for the bar. Inside, against the bar and at tables, were -most of the crowd who a been at the dance. - -“Hello, you chaps,” Brett said. “I’m going to have a drink.” - -“Oh, Brett! Brett!” the little Greek portrait-painter, who called -himself a duke, and whom everybody called Zizi, pushed up to her. “I got -something fine to tell you.” - -“Hello, Zizi,” Brett said. - -“I want you to meet a friend,” Zizi said. A fat man came up. - -“Count Mippipopolous, meet my friend Lady Ashley.” - -“How do you do?” said Brett. - -“Well, does your Ladyship have a good time here in Paris?” asked Count -Mippipopolous, who wore an elk’s tooth on his watch-chain. - -“Rather,” said Brett. - -“Paris is a fine town all right,” said the count. “But I guess you have -pretty big doings yourself over in London.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Brett. “Enormous.” - -Braddocks called to me from a table. “Barnes,” he said, “have a drink. -That girl of yours got in a frightful row.” - -“What about?” - -“Something the patronne’s daughter said. A corking row. She was rather -splendid, you know. Showed her yellow card and demanded the patronne’s -daughter’s too. I say it was a row.” - -“What finally happened?” - -“Oh, some one took her home. Not a bad-looking girl. Wonderful command -of the idiom. Do stay and have a drink.” - -“No,” I said. “I must shove off. Seen Cohn?” - -“He went home with Frances,” Mrs. Braddock put in. - -“Poor chap, he looks awfully down,” Braddocks said. - -“I dare say he is,” said Mrs. Braddocks. - -“I have to shove off,” I said. “Good night.” - -I said good night to Brett at the bar. The count was buying champagne. -“Will you take a glass of wine with us, sir?” he asked. - -“No. Thanks awfully. I have to go.” - -“Really going?” Brett asked. - -“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got a rotten headache.” - -“I’ll see you to-morrow?” - -“Come in at the office.” - -“Hardly.” - -“Well, where will I see you?” - -“Anywhere around five o’clock.” - -“Make it the other side of town then.” - -“Good. I’ll be at the Crillon at five.” - -“Try and be there,” I said. - -“Don’t worry,” Brett said. “I’ve never let you down, have I?” - -“Heard from Mike?” - -“Letter to-day.” - -“Good night, sir,” said the count. - -I went out onto the sidewalk and walked down toward the Boulevard St. -Michel, passed the tables of the Rotonde, still crowded, looked across -the street at the Dome, its tables running out to the edge of the -pavement. Some one waved at me from a table, I did not see who it was -and went on. I wanted to get home. The Boulevard Montparnasse was -deserted. Lavigne’s was closed tight, and they were stacking the tables -outside the Closerie des Lilas. I passed Ney’s statue standing among the -new-leaved chestnut-trees in the arc-light. There was a faded purple -wreath leaning against the base. I stopped and read the inscription: -from the Bonapartist Groups, some date; I forget. He looked very fine, -Marshal Ney in his top-boots, gesturing with his sword among the green -new horse-chestnut leaves. My flat was just across the street, a little -way down the Boulevard St. Michel. - -There was a light in the concierge’s room and I knocked on the door and -she gave me my mail. I wished her good night and went up-stairs. There -were two letters and some papers. I looked at them under the gas-light -in the dining-room. The letters were from the States. One was a bank -statement. It showed a balance of $2432.60. I got out my check-book and -deducted four checks drawn since the first of the month, and discovered -I had a balance of $1832.60. I wrote this on the back of the statement. -The other letter was a wedding announcement. Mr. and Mrs. Aloysius Kirby -announce the marriage of their daughter Katherine—I knew neither the -girl nor the man she was marrying. They must be circularizing the town. -It was a funny name. I felt sure I could remember anybody with a name -like Aloysius. It was a good Catholic name. There was a crest on the -announcement. Like Zizi the Greek duke. And that count. The count was -funny. Brett had a title, too. Lady Ashley. To hell with Brett. To hell -with you, Lady Ashley. - -I lit the lamp beside the bed, turned off the gas, and opened the wide -windows. The bed was far back from the windows, and I sat with the -windows open and undressed by the bed. Outside a night train, running on -the street-car tracks, went by carrying vegetables to the markets. They -were noisy at night when you could not sleep. Undressing, I looked at -myself in the mirror of the big armoire beside the bed. That was a -typically French way to furnish a room. Practical, too, I suppose. Of -all the ways to be wounded. I suppose it was funny. I put on my pajamas -and got into bed. I had the two bull-fight papers, and I took their -wrappers off. One was orange. The other yellow. They would both have the -same news, so whichever I read first would spoil the other. _Le Toril_ -was the better paper, so I started to read it. I read it all the way -through, including the Petite Correspondance and the Cornigrams. I blew -out the lamp. Perhaps I would be able to sleep. - -My head started to work. The old grievance. Well, it was a rotten way to -be wounded and flying on a joke front like the Italian. In the Italian -hospital we were going to form a society. It had a funny name in -Italian. I wonder what became of the others, the Italians. That was in -the Ospedale Maggiore in Milano, Padiglione Ponte. The next building was -the Padiglione Zonda. There was a statue of Ponte, or maybe it was -Zonda. That was where the liaison colonel came to visit me. That was -funny. That was about the first funny thing. I was all bandaged up. But -they had told him about it. Then he made that wonderful speech: “You, a -foreigner, an Englishman” (any foreigner was an Englishman) “have given -more than your life.” What a speech! I would like to have it illuminated -to hang in the office. He never laughed. He was putting himself in my -place, I guess. “Che mala fortuna! Che mala fortuna!” - -I never used to realize it, I guess. I try and play it along and just -not make trouble for people. Probably I never would have had any trouble -if I hadn’t run into Brett when they shipped me to England. I suppose -she only wanted what she couldn’t have. Well, people were that way. To -hell with people. The Catholic Church had an awfully good way of -handling all that. Good advice, anyway. Not to think about it. Oh, it -was swell advice. Try and take it sometime. Try and take it. - -I lay awake thinking and my mind jumping around. Then I couldn’t keep -away from it, and I started to think about Brett and all the rest of it -went away. I was thinking about Brett and my mind stopped jumping around -and started to go in sort of smooth waves. Then all of a sudden I -started to cry. Then after a while it was better and I lay in bed and -listened to the heavy trams go by and way down the street, and then I -went to sleep. - -I woke up. There was a row going on outside. I listened and I thought I -recognized a voice. I put on a dressing-gown and went to the door. The -concierge was talking down-stairs. She was very angry. I heard my name -and called down the stairs. - -“Is that you, Monsieur Barnes?” the concierge called. - -“Yes. It’s me.” - -“There’s a species of woman here who’s waked the whole street up. What -kind of a dirty business at this time of night! She says she must see -you. I’ve told her you’re asleep.” - -Then I heard Brett’s voice. Half asleep I had been sure it was -Georgette. I don’t know why. She could not have known my address. - -“Will you send her up, please?” - -Brett came up the stairs. I saw she was quite drunk. “Silly thing to -do,” she said. “Make an awful row. I say, you weren’t asleep, were you?” - -“What did you think I was doing?” - -“Don’t know. What time is it?” - -I looked at the clock. It was half-past four. “Had no idea what hour it -was,” Brett said. “I say, can a chap sit down? Don’t be cross, darling. -Just left the count. He brought me here.” - -“What’s he like?” I was getting brandy and soda and glasses. - -“Just a little,” said Brett. “Don’t try and make me drunk. The count? -Oh, rather. He’s quite one of us.” - -“Is he a count?” - -“Here’s how. I rather think so, you know. Deserves to be, anyhow. Knows -hell’s own amount about people. Don’t know where he got it all. Owns a -chain of sweetshops in the States.” - -She sipped at her glass. - -“Think he called it a chain. Something like that. Linked them all up. -Told me a little about it. Damned interesting. He’s one of us, though. -Oh, quite. No doubt. One can always tell.” - -She took another drink. - -“How do I buck on about all this? You don’t mind, do you? He’s putting -up for Zizi, you know.” - -“Is Zizi really a duke, too?” - -“I shouldn’t wonder. Greek, you know. Rotten painter. I rather liked the -count.” - -“Where did you go with him?” - -“Oh, everywhere. He just brought me here now. Offered me ten thousand -dollars to go to Biarritz with him. How much is that in pounds?” - -“Around two thousand.” - -“Lot of money. I told him I couldn’t do it. He was awfully nice about -it. Told him I knew too many people in Biarritz.” - -Brett laughed. - -“I say, you are slow on the up-take,” she said. I had only sipped my -brandy and soda. I took a long drink. - -“That’s better. Very funny,” Brett said. “Then he wanted me to go to -Cannes with him. Told him I knew too many people in Cannes. Monte Carlo. -Told him I knew too many people in Monte Carlo. Told him I knew too many -people everywhere. Quite true, too. So I asked him to bring me here.” - -She looked at me, her hand on the table, her glass raised. “Don’t look -like that,” she said. “Told him I was in love with you. True, too. Don’t -look like that. He was damn nice about it. Wants to drive us out to -dinner to-morrow night. Like to go?” - -“Why not?” - -“I’d better go now.” - -“Why?” - -“Just wanted to see you. Damned silly idea. Want to get dressed and come -down? He’s got the car just up the street.” - -“The count?” - -“Himself. And a chauffeur in livery. Going to drive me around and have -breakfast in the Bois. Hampers. Got it all at Zelli’s. Dozen bottles of -Mumms. Tempt you?” - -“I have to work in the morning,” I said. “I’m too far behind you now to -catch up and be any fun.” - -“Don’t be an ass.” - -“Can’t do it.” - -“Right. Send him a tender message?” - -“Anything. Absolutely.” - -“Good night, darling.” - -“Don’t be sentimental.” - -“You make me ill.” - -We kissed good night and Brett shivered. “I’d better go,” she said. -“Good night, darling.” - -“You don’t have to go.” - -“Yes.” - -We kissed again on the stairs and as I called for the cordon the -concierge muttered something behind her door. I went back up-stairs and -from the open window watched Brett walking up the street to the big -limousine drawn up to the curb under the arc-light. She got in and it -started off. I turned around. On the table was an empty glass and a -glass half-full of brandy and soda. I took them both out to the kitchen -and poured the half-full glass down the sink. I turned off the gas in -the dining-room, kicked off my slippers sitting on the bed, and got into -bed. This was Brett, that I had felt like crying about. Then I thought -of her walking up the street and stepping into the car, as I had last -seen her, and of course in a little while I felt like hell again. It is -awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at -night it is another thing. - - - - - CHAPTER - 5 - - -In the morning I walked down the Boulevard to the rue Soufflot for -coffee and brioche. It was a fine morning. The horse-chestnut trees in -the Luxembourg gardens were in bloom. There was the pleasant -early-morning feeling of a hot day. I read the papers with the coffee -and then smoked a cigarette. The flower-women were coming up from the -market and arranging their daily stock. Students went by going up to the -law school, or down to the Sorbonne. The Boulevard was busy with trams -and people going to work. I got on an S bus and rode down to the -Madeleine, standing on the back platform. From the Madeleine I walked -along the Boulevard des Capucines to the Opéra, and up to my office. I -passed the man with the jumping frogs and the man with the boxer toys. I -stepped aside to avoid walking into the thread with which his girl -assistant manipulated the boxers. She was standing looking away, the -thread in her folded hands. The man was urging two tourists to buy. -Three more tourists had stopped and were watching. I walked on behind a -man who was pushing a roller that printed the name CINZANO on the -sidewalk in damp letters. All along people were going to work. It felt -pleasant to be going to work. I walked across the avenue and turned in -to my office. - -Up-stairs in the office I read the French morning papers, smoked, and -then sat at the typewriter and got off a good morning’s work. At eleven -o’clock I went over to the Quai d’Orsay in a taxi and went in and sat -with about a dozen correspondents, while the foreign-office mouthpiece, -a young Nouvelle Revue Française diplomat in horn-rimmed spectacles, -talked and answered questions for half an hour. The President of the -Council was in Lyons making a speech, or, rather he was on his way back. -Several people asked questions to hear themselves talk and there were a -couple of questions asked by news service men who wanted to know the -answers. There was no news. I shared a taxi back from the Quai d’Orsay -with Woolsey and Krum. - -“What do you do nights, Jake?” asked Krum. “I never see you around.” - -“Oh, I’m over in the Quarter.” - -“I’m coming over some night. The Dingo. That’s the great place, isn’t -it?” - -“Yes. That, or this new dive, The Select.” - -“I’ve meant to get over,” said Krum. “You know how it is, though, with a -wife and kids.” - -“Playing any tennis?” Woolsey asked. - -“Well, no,” said Krum. “I can’t say I’ve played any this year. I’ve -tried to get away, but Sundays it’s always rained, and the courts are so -damned crowded.” - -“The Englishmen all have Saturday off,” Woolsey said. - -“Lucky beggars,” said Krum. “Well, I’ll tell you. Some day I’m not going -to be working for an agency. Then I’ll have plenty of time to get out in -the country.” - -“That’s the thing to do. Live out in the country and have a little car.” - -“I’ve been thinking some about getting a car next year.” - -I banged on the glass. The chauffeur stopped. “Here’s my street,” I -said. “Come in and have a drink.” - -“Thanks, old man,” Krum said. Woolsey shook his head. “I’ve got to file -that line he got off this morning.” - -I put a two-franc piece in Krum’s hand. - -“You’re crazy, Jake,” he said. “This is on me.” - -“It’s all on the office, anyway.” - -“Nope. I want to get it.” - -I waved good-by. Krum put his head out. “See you at the lunch on -Wednesday.” - -“You bet.” - -I went to the office in the elevator. Robert Cohn was waiting for me. -“Hello, Jake,” he said. “Going out to lunch?” - -“Yes. Let me see if there is anything new.” - -“Where will we eat?” - -“Anywhere.” - -I was looking over my desk. “Where do you want to eat?” - -“How about Wetzel’s? They’ve got good hors d’œuvres.” - -In the restaurant we ordered hors d’œuvres and beer. The sommelier -brought the beer, tall, beaded on the outside of the steins, and cold. -There were a dozen different dishes of hors d’œuvres. - -“Have any fun last night?” I asked. - -“No. I don’t think so.” - -“How’s the writing going?” - -“Rotten. I can’t get this second book going.” - -“That happens to everybody.” - -“Oh, I’m sure of that. It gets me worried, though.” - -“Thought any more about going to South America?” - -“I mean that.” - -“Well, why don’t you start off?” - -“Frances.” - -“Well,” I said, “take her with you.” - -“She wouldn’t like it. That isn’t the sort of thing she likes. She likes -a lot of people around.” - -“Tell her to go to hell.” - -“I can’t. I’ve got certain obligations to her.” - -He shoved the sliced cucumbers away and took a pickled herring. - -“What do you know about Lady Brett Ashley, Jake?” - -“Her name’s Lady Ashley. Brett’s her own name. She’s a nice girl,” I -said. “She’s getting a divorce and she’s going to marry Mike Campbell. -He’s over in Scotland now. Why?” - -“She’s a remarkably attractive woman.” - -“Isn’t she?” - -“There’s a certain quality about her, a certain fineness. She seems to -be absolutely fine and straight.” - -“She’s very nice.” - -“I don’t know how to describe the quality,” Cohn said. “I suppose it’s -breeding.” - -“You sound as though you liked her pretty well.” - -“I do. I shouldn’t wonder if I were in love with her.” - -“She’s a drunk,” I said. “She’s in love with Mike Campbell, and she’s -going to marry him. He’s going to be rich as hell some day.” - -“I don’t believe she’ll ever marry him.” - -“Why not?” - -“I don’t know. I just don’t believe it. Have you known her a long time?” - -“Yes,” I said. “She was a V. A. D. in a hospital I was in during the -war.” - -“She must have been just a kid then.” - -“She’s thirty-four now.” - -“When did she marry Ashley?” - -“During the war. Her own true love had just kicked off with the -dysentery.” - -“You talk sort of bitter.” - -“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to give you the facts.” - -“I don’t believe she would marry anybody she didn’t love.” - -“Well,” I said. “She’s done it twice.” - -“I don’t believe it.” - -“Well,” I said, “don’t ask me a lot of fool questions if you don’t like -the answers.” - -“I didn’t ask you that.” - -“You asked me what I knew about Brett Ashley.” - -“I didn’t ask you to insult her.” - -“Oh, go to hell.” - -He stood up from the table his face white, and stood there white and -angry behind the little plates of hors d’œuvres. - -“Sit down,” I said. “Don’t be a fool.” - -“You’ve got to take that back.” - -“Oh, cut out the prep-school stuff.” - -“Take it back.” - -“Sure. Anything. I never heard of Brett Ashley. How’s that? - -“No. Not that. About me going to hell.” - -“Oh, don’t go to hell,” I said. “Stick around. We’re just starting -lunch.” - -Cohn smiled again and sat down. He seemed glad to sit down. What the -hell would he have done if he hadn’t sat down? “You say such damned -insulting things, Jake.” - -“I’m sorry. I’ve got a nasty tongue. I never mean it when I say nasty -things.” - -“I know it,” Cohn said. “You’re really about the best friend I have, -Jake.” - -God help you, I thought. “Forget what I said,” I said out loud. “I’m -sorry.” - -“It’s all right. It’s fine. I was just sore for a minute.” - -“Good. Let’s get something else to eat.” - -After we finished the lunch we walked up to the Café de la Paix and had -coffee. I could feel Cohn wanted to bring up Brett again, but I held him -off it. We talked about one thing and another, and I left him to come to -the office. - - - - - CHAPTER - 6 - - -At five o’clock I was in the Hotel Crillon waiting for Brett. She was -not there, so I sat down and wrote some letters. They were not very good -letters but I hoped their being on Crillon stationery would help them. -Brett did not turn up, so about quarter to six I went down to the bar -and had a Jack Rose with George the barman. Brett had not been in the -bar either, and so I looked for her up-stairs on my way out, and took a -taxi to the Café Select. Crossing the Seine I saw a string of barges -being towed empty down the current, riding high, the bargemen at the -sweeps as they came toward the bridge. The river looked nice. It was -always pleasant crossing bridges in Paris. - -The taxi rounded the statue of the inventor of the semaphore engaged in -doing same, and turned up the Boulevard Raspail, and I sat back to let -that part of the ride pass. The Boulevard Raspail always made dull -riding. It was like a certain stretch on the P. L. M. between -Fontainebleau and Montereau that always made me feel bored and dead and -dull until it was over. I suppose it is some association of ideas that -makes those dead places in a journey. There are other streets in Paris -as ugly as the Boulevard Raspail. It is a street I do not mind walking -down at all. But I cannot stand to ride along it. Perhaps I had read -something about it once. That was the way Robert Cohn was about all of -Paris. I wondered where Cohn got that incapacity to enjoy Paris. -Possibly from Mencken. Mencken hates Paris, I believe. So many young men -get their likes and dislikes from Mencken. - -The taxi stopped in front of the Rotonde. No matter what café in -Montparnasse you ask a taxi-driver to bring you to from the right bank -of the river, they always take you to the Rotonde. Ten years from now it -will probably be the Dome. It was near enough, anyway. I walked past the -sad tables of the Rotonde to the Select. There were a few people inside -at the bar, and outside, alone, sat Harvey Stone. He had a pile of -saucers in front of him, and he needed a shave. - -“Sit down,” said Harvey, “I’ve been looking for you.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“Nothing. Just looking for you.” - -“Been out to the races?” - -“No. Not since Sunday.” - -“What do you hear from the States?” - -“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“I don’t know. I’m through with them. I’m absolutely through with them.” - -He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. - -“Do you want to know something, Jake?” - -“Yes.” - -“I haven’t had anything to eat for five days.” - -I figured rapidly back in my mind. It was three days ago that Harvey had -won two hundred francs from me shaking poker dice in the New York Bar. - -“What’s the matter?” - -“No money. Money hasn’t come,” he paused. “I tell you it’s strange, -Jake. When I’m like this I just want to be alone. I want to stay in my -own room. I’m like a cat.” - -I felt in my pocket. - -“Would a hundred help you any, Harvey?” - -“Yes.” - -“Come on. Let’s go and eat.” - -“There’s no hurry. Have a drink.” - -“Better eat.” - -“No. When I get like this I don’t care whether I eat or not.” - -We had a drink. Harvey added my saucer to his own pile. - -“Do you know Mencken, Harvey?” - -“Yes. Why?” - -“What’s he like?” - -“He’s all right. He says some pretty funny things. Last time I had -dinner with him we talked about Hoffenheimer. ‘The trouble is,’ he said, -‘he’s a garter snapper.’ That’s not bad.” - -“That’s not bad.” - -“He’s through now,” Harvey went on. “He’s written about all the things -he knows, and now he’s on all the things he doesn’t know.” - -“I guess he’s all right,” I said. “I just can’t read him.” - -“Oh, nobody reads him now,” Harvey said, “except the people that used to -read the Alexander Hamilton Institute.” - -“Well,” I said. “That was a good thing, too.” - -“Sure,” said Harvey. So we sat and thought deeply for a while. - -“Have another port?” - -“All right,” said Harvey. - -“There comes Cohn,” I said. Robert Cohn was crossing the street. - -“That moron,” said Harvey. Cohn came up to our table. - -“Hello, you bums,” he said. - -“Hello, Robert,” Harvey said. “I was just telling Jake here that you’re -a moron.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Tell us right off. Don’t think. What would you rather do if you could -do anything you wanted?” - -Cohn started to consider. - -“Don’t think. Bring it right out.” - -“I don’t know,” Cohn said. “What’s it all about, anyway?” - -“I mean what would you rather do. What comes into your head first. No -matter how silly it is.” - -“I don’t know,” Cohn said. “I think I’d rather play football again with -what I know about handling myself, now.” - -“I misjudged you,” Harvey said. “You’re not a moron. You’re only a case -of arrested development.” - -“You’re awfully funny, Harvey,” Cohn said. “Some day somebody will push -your face in.” - -Harvey Stone laughed. “You think so. They won’t, though. Because it -wouldn’t make any difference to me. I’m not a fighter.” - -“It would make a difference to you if anybody did it.” - -“No, it wouldn’t. That’s where you make your big mistake. Because you’re -not intelligent.” - -“Cut it out about me.” - -“Sure,” said Harvey. “It doesn’t make any difference to me. You don’t -mean anything to me.” - -“Come on, Harvey,” I said. “Have another porto.” - -“No,” he said. “I’m going up the street and eat. See you later, Jake.” - -He walked out and up the street. I watched him crossing the street -through the taxis, small, heavy, slowly sure of himself in the traffic. - -“He always gets me sore,” Cohn said. “I can’t stand him.” - -“I like him,” I said. “I’m fond of him. You don’t want to get sore at -him.” - -“I know it,” Cohn said. “He just gets on my nerves.” - -“Write this afternoon?” - -“No. I couldn’t get it going. It’s harder to do than my first book. I’m -having a hard time handling it.” - -The sort of healthy conceit that he had when he returned from America -early in the spring was gone. Then he had been sure of his work, only -with these personal longings for adventure. Now the sureness was gone. -Somehow I feel I have not shown Robert Cohn clearly. The reason is that -until he fell in love with Brett, I never heard him make one remark that -would, in any way, detach him from other people. He was nice to watch on -the tennis-court, he had a good body, and he kept it in shape; he -handled his cards well at bridge, and he had a funny sort of -undergraduate quality about him. If he were in a crowd nothing he said -stood out. He wore what used to be called polo shirts at school, and may -be called that still, but he was not professionally youthful. I do not -believe he thought about his clothes much. Externally he had been formed -at Princeton. Internally he had been moulded by the two women who had -trained him. He had a nice, boyish sort of cheerfulness that had never -been trained out of him, and I probably have not brought it out. He -loved to win at tennis. He probably loved to win as much as Lenglen, for -instance. On the other hand, he was not angry at being beaten. When he -fell in love with Brett his tennis game went all to pieces. People beat -him who had never had a chance with him. He was very nice about it. - -Anyhow, we were sitting on the terrace of the Café Select, and Harvey -Stone had just crossed the street. - -“Come on up to the Lilas,” I said. - -“I have a date.” - -“What time?” - -“Frances is coming here at seven-fifteen.” - -“There she is.” - -Frances Clyne was coming toward us from across the street. She was a -very tall girl who walked with a great deal of movement. She waved and -smiled. We watched her cross the street. - -“Hello,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here, Jake. I’ve been wanting to -talk to you.” - -“Hello, Frances,” said Cohn. He smiled. - -“Why, hello, Robert. Are you here?” She went on, talking rapidly. “I’ve -had the darndest time. This one”—shaking her head at Cohn—“didn’t come -home for lunch.” - -“I wasn’t supposed to.” - -“Oh, I know. But you didn’t say anything about it to the cook. Then I -had a date myself, and Paula wasn’t at her office. I went to the Ritz -and waited for her, and she never came, and of course I didn’t have -enough money to lunch at the Ritz——” - -“What did you do?” - -“Oh, went out, of course.” She spoke in a sort of imitation joyful -manner. “I always keep my appointments. No one keeps theirs, nowadays. I -ought to know better. How are you, Jake, anyway?” - -“Fine.” - -“That was a fine girl you had at the dance, and then went off with that -Brett one.” - -“Don’t you like her?” Cohn asked. - -“I think she’s perfectly charming. Don’t you?” - -Cohn said nothing. - -“Look, Jake. I want to talk with you. Would you come over with me to the -Dome? You’ll stay here, won’t you, Robert? Come on, Jake.” - -We crossed the Boulevard Montparnasse and sat down at a table. A boy -came up with the _Paris Times_, and I bought one and opened it. - -“What’s the matter, Frances?” - -“Oh, nothing,” she said, “except that he wants to leave me.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“Oh, he told every one that we were going to be married, and I told my -mother and every one, and now he doesn’t want to do it.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“He’s decided he hasn’t lived enough. I knew it would happen when he -went to New York.” - -She looked up, very bright-eyed and trying to talk inconsequentially. - -“I wouldn’t marry him if he doesn’t want to. Of course I wouldn’t. I -wouldn’t marry him now for anything. But it does seem to me to be a -little late now, after we’ve waited three years, and I’ve just gotten my -divorce.” - -I said nothing. - -“We were going to celebrate so, and instead we’ve just had scenes. It’s -so childish. We have dreadful scenes, and he cries and begs me to be -reasonable, but he says he just can’t do it.” - -“It’s rotten luck.” - -“I should say it is rotten luck. I’ve wasted two years and a half on him -now. And I don’t know now if any man will ever want to marry me. Two -years ago I could have married anybody I wanted, down at Cannes. All the -old ones that wanted to marry somebody chic and settle down were crazy -about me. Now I don’t think I could get anybody.” - -“Sure, you could marry anybody.” - -“No, I don’t believe it. And I’m fond of him, too. And I’d like to have -children. I always thought we’d have children.” - -She looked at me very brightly. “I never liked children much, but I -don’t want to think I’ll never have them. I always thought I’d have them -and then like them.” - -“He’s got children.” - -“Oh, yes. He’s got children, and he’s got money, and he’s got a rich -mother, and he’s written a book, and nobody will publish my stuff; -nobody at all. It isn’t bad, either. And I haven’t got any money at all. -I could have had alimony, but I got the divorce the quickest way.” - -She looked at me again very brightly. - -“It isn’t right. It’s my own fault and it’s not, too. I ought to have -known better. And when I tell him he just cries and says he can’t marry. -Why can’t he marry? I’d be a good wife. I’m easy to get along with. I -leave him alone. It doesn’t do any good.” - -“It’s a rotten shame.” - -“Yes, it is a rotten shame. But there’s no use talking about it, is -there? Come on, let’s go back to the café.” - -“And of course there isn’t anything I can do.” - -“No. Just don’t let him know I talked to you. I know what he wants.” Now -for the first time she dropped her bright, terribly cheerful manner. “He -wants to go back to New York alone, and be there when his book comes out -so when a lot of little chickens like it. That’s what he wants.” - -“Maybe they won’t like it. I don’t think he’s that way. Really.” - -“You don’t know him like I do, Jake. That’s what he wants to do. I know -it. I know it. That’s why he doesn’t want to marry. He wants to have a -big triumph this fall all by himself.” - -“Want to go back to the café?” - -“Yes. Come on.” - -We got up from the table—they had never brought us a drink—and started -across the street toward the Select, where Cohn sat smiling at us from -behind the marble-topped table. - -“Well, what are you smiling at?” Frances asked him. “Feel pretty happy?” - -“I was smiling at you and Jake with your secrets.” - -“Oh, what I’ve told Jake isn’t any secret. Everybody will know it soon -enough. I only wanted to give Jake a decent version.” - -“What was it? About your going to England?” - -“Yes, about my going to England. Oh, Jake! I forgot to tell you. I’m -going to England.” - -“Isn’t that fine!” - -“Yes, that’s the way it’s done in the very best families. Robert’s -sending me. He’s going to give me two hundred pounds and then I’m going -to visit friends. Won’t it be lovely? The friends don’t know about it, -yet.” - -She turned to Cohn and smiled at him. He was not smiling now. - -“You were only going to give me a hundred pounds, weren’t you, Robert? -But I made him give me two hundred. He’s really very generous. Aren’t -you, Robert?” - -I do not know how people could say such terrible things to Robert Cohn. -There are people to whom you could not say insulting things. They give -you a feeling that the world would be destroyed, would actually be -destroyed before your eyes, if you said certain things. But here was -Cohn taking it all. Here it was, all going on right before me, and I did -not even feel an impulse to try and stop it. And this was friendly -joking to what went on later. - -“How can you say such things, Frances?” Cohn interrupted. - -“Listen to him. I’m going to England. I’m going to visit friends. Ever -visit friends that didn’t want you? Oh, they’ll have to take me, all -right. ‘How do you do, my dear? Such a long time since we’ve seen you. -And how is your dear mother?’ Yes, how is my dear mother? She put all -her money into French war bonds. Yes, she did. Probably the only person -in the world that did. ‘And what about Robert?’ or else very careful -talking around Robert. ‘You must be most careful not to mention him, my -dear. Poor Frances has had a most unfortunate experience.’ Won’t it be -fun, Robert? Don’t you think it will be fun, Jake?” - -She turned to me with that terribly bright smile. It was very -satisfactory to her to have an audience for this. - -“And where are you going to be, Robert? It’s my own fault, all right. -Perfectly my own fault. When I made you get rid of your little secretary -on the magazine I ought to have known you’d get rid of me the same way. -Jake doesn’t know about that. Should I tell him?” - -“Shut up, Frances, for God’s sake.” - -“Yes, I’ll tell him. Robert had a little secretary on the magazine. Just -the sweetest little thing in the world, and he thought she was -wonderful, and then I came along and he thought I was pretty wonderful, -too. So I made him get rid of her, and he had brought her to -Provincetown from Carmel when he moved the magazine, and he didn’t even -pay her fare back to the coast. All to please me. He thought I was -pretty fine, then. Didn’t you, Robert? - -“You mustn’t misunderstand, Jake, it was absolutely platonic with the -secretary. Not even platonic. Nothing at all, really. It was just that -she was so nice. And he did that just to please me. Well, I suppose that -we that live by the sword shall perish by the sword. Isn’t that -literary, though? You want to remember that for your next book, Robert. - -“You know Robert is going to get material for a new book. Aren’t you, -Robert? That’s why he’s leaving me. He’s decided I don’t film well. You -see, he was so busy all the time that we were living together, writing -on this book, that he doesn’t remember anything about us. So now he’s -going out and get some new material. Well, I hope he gets something -frightfully interesting. - -“Listen, Robert, dear. Let me tell you something. You won’t mind, will -you? Don’t have scenes with your young ladies. Try not to. Because you -can’t have scenes without crying, and then you pity yourself so much you -can’t remember what the other person’s said. You’ll never be able to -remember any conversations that way. Just try and be calm. I know it’s -awfully hard. But remember, it’s for literature. We all ought to make -sacrifices for literature. Look at me. I’m going to England without a -protest. All for literature. We must all help young writers. Don’t you -think so, Jake? But you’re not a young writer. Are you, Robert? You’re -thirty-four. Still, I suppose that is young for a great writer. Look at -Hardy. Look at Anatole France. He just died a little while ago. Robert -doesn’t think he’s any good, though. Some of his French friends told -him. He doesn’t read French very well himself. He wasn’t a good writer -like you are, was he, Robert? Do you think he ever had to go and look -for material? What do you suppose he said to his mistresses when he -wouldn’t marry them? I wonder if he cried, too? Oh, I’ve just thought of -something.” She put her gloved hand up to her lips. “I know the real -reason why Robert won’t marry me, Jake. It’s just come to me. They’ve -sent it to me in a vision in the Café Select. Isn’t it mystic? Some day -they’ll put a tablet up. Like at Lourdes. Do you want to hear, Robert? -I’ll tell you. It’s so simple. I wonder why I never thought about it. -Why, you see, Robert’s always wanted to have a mistress, and if he -doesn’t marry me, why, then he’s had one. She was his mistress for over -two years. See how it is? And if he marries me, like he’s always -promised he would, that would be the end of all the romance. Don’t you -think that’s bright of me to figure that out? It’s true, too. Look at -him and see if it’s not. Where are you going, Jake?” - -“I’ve got to go in and see Harvey Stone a minute.” - -Cohn looked up as I went in. His face was white. Why did he sit there? -Why did he keep on taking it like that? - -As I stood against the bar looking out I could see them through the -window. Frances was talking on to him, smiling brightly, looking into -his face each time she asked: “Isn’t it so, Robert?” Or maybe she did -not ask that now. Perhaps she said something else. I told the barman I -did not want anything to drink and went out through the side door. As I -went out the door I looked back through the two thicknesses of glass and -saw them sitting there. She was still talking to him. I went down a side -street to the Boulevard Raspail. A taxi came along and I got in and gave -the driver the address of my flat. - - - - - CHAPTER - 7 - - -As I started up the stairs the concierge knocked on the glass of the -door of her lodge, and as I stopped she came out. She had some letters -and a telegram. - -“Here is the post. And there was a lady here to see you.” - -“Did she leave a card?” - -“No. She was with a gentleman. It was the one who was here last night. -In the end I find she is very nice.” - -“Was she with a friend of mine?” - -“I don’t know. He was never here before. He was very large. Very, very -large. She was very nice. Very, very nice. Last night she was, perhaps, -a little—” She put her head on one hand and rocked it up and down. -“I’ll speak perfectly frankly, Monsieur Barnes. Last night I found her -not so gentille. Last night I formed another idea of her. But listen to -what I tell you. She is très, très gentille. She is of very good family. -It is a thing you can see.” - -“They did not leave any word?” - -“Yes. They said they would be back in an hour.” - -“Send them up when they come.” - -“Yes, Monsieur Barnes. And that lady, that lady there is some one. An -eccentric, perhaps, but quelqu’une, quelqu’une!” - -The concierge, before she became a concierge, had owned a drink-selling -concession at the Paris race-courses. Her life-work lay in the pelouse, -but she kept an eye on the people of the pesage, and she took great -pride in telling me which of my guests were well brought up, which were -of good family, who were sportsmen, a French word pronounced with the -accent on the men. The only trouble was that people who did not fall -into any of those three categories were very liable to be told there was -no one home, chez Barnes. One of my friends, an extremely -underfed-looking painter, who was obviously to Madame Duzinell neither -well brought up, of good family, nor a sportsman, wrote me a letter -asking if I could get him a pass to get by the concierge so he could -come up and see me occasionally in the evenings. - -I went up to the flat wondering what Brett had done to the concierge. -The wire was a cable from Bill Gorton, saying he was arriving on the -_France_. I put the mail on the table, went back to the bedroom, -undressed and had a shower. I was rubbing down when I heard the -door-bell pull. I put on a bathrobe and slippers and went to the door. -It was Brett. Back of her was the count. He was holding a great bunch of -roses. - -“Hello, darling,” said Brett. “Aren’t you going to let us in?” - -“Come on. I was just bathing.” - -“Aren’t you the fortunate man. Bathing.” - -“Only a shower. Sit down, Count Mippipopolous. What will you drink?” - -“I don’t know whether you like flowers, sir,” the count said, “but I -took the liberty of just bringing these roses.” - -“Here, give them to me.” Brett took them. “Get me some water in this, -Jake.” I filled the big earthenware jug with water in the kitchen, and -Brett put the roses in it, and placed them in the centre of the -dining-room table. - -“I say. We have had a day.” - -“You don’t remember anything about a date with me at the Crillon?” - -“No. Did we have one? I must have been blind.” - -“You were quite drunk, my dear,” said the count. - -“Wasn’t I, though? And the count’s been a brick, absolutely.” - -“You’ve got hell’s own drag with the concierge now.” - -“I ought to have. Gave her two hundred francs.” - -“Don’t be a damned fool.” - -“His,” she said, and nodded at the count. - -“I thought we ought to give her a little something for last night. It -was very late.” - -“He’s wonderful,” Brett said. “He remembers everything that’s happened.” - -“So do you, my dear.” - -“Fancy,” said Brett. “Who’d want to? I say, Jake, _do_ we get a drink?” - -“You get it while I go in and dress. You know where it is.” - -“Rather.” - -While I dressed I heard Brett put down glasses and then a siphon, and -then heard them talking. I dressed slowly, sitting on the bed. I felt -tired and pretty rotten. Brett came in the room, a glass in her hand, -and sat on the bed. - -“What’s the matter, darling? Do you feel rocky?” - -She kissed me coolly on the forehead. - -“Oh, Brett, I love you so much.” - -“Darling,” she said. Then: “Do you want me to send him away?” - -“No. He’s nice.” - -“I’ll send him away.” - -“No, don’t.” - -“Yes, I’ll send him away.” - -“You can’t just like that.” - -“Can’t I, though? You stay here. He’s mad about me, I tell you.” - -She was gone out of the room. I lay face down on the bed. I was having a -bad time. I heard them talking but I did not listen. Brett came in and -sat on the bed. - -“Poor old darling.” She stroked my head. - -“What did you say to him?” I was lying with my face away from her. I did -not want to see her. - -“Sent him for champagne. He loves to go for champagne.” - -Then later: “Do you feel better, darling? Is the head any better?” - -“It’s better.” - -“Lie quiet. He’s gone to the other side of town.” - -“Couldn’t we live together, Brett? Couldn’t we just live together?” - -“I don’t think so. I’d just _tromper_ you with everybody. You couldn’t -stand it.” - -“I stand it now.” - -“That would be different. It’s my fault, Jake. It’s the way I’m made.” - -“Couldn’t we go off in the country for a while?” - -“It wouldn’t be any good. I’ll go if you like. But I couldn’t live -quietly in the country. Not with my own true love.” - -“I know.” - -“Isn’t it rotten? There isn’t any use my telling you I love you.” - -“You know I love you.” - -“Let’s not talk. Talking’s all bilge. I’m going away from you, and then -Michael’s coming back.” - -“Why are you going away?” - -“Better for you. Better for me.” - -“When are you going?” - -“Soon as I can.” - -“Where?” - -“San Sebastian.” - -“Can’t we go together?” - -“No. That would be a hell of an idea after we’d just talked it out.” - -“We never agreed.” - -“Oh, you know as well as I do. Don’t be obstinate, darling.” - -“Oh, sure,” I said. “I know you’re right. I’m just low, and when I’m low -I talk like a fool.” - -I sat up, leaned over, found my shoes beside the bed and put them on. I -stood up. - -“Don’t look like that, darling.” - -“How do you want me to look?” - -“Oh, don’t be a fool. I’m going away to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow?” - -“Yes. Didn’t I say so? I am.” - -“Let’s have a drink, then. The count will be back.” - -“Yes. He should be back. You know he’s extraordinary about buying -champagne. It means any amount to him.” - -We went into the dining-room. I took up the brandy bottle and poured -Brett a drink and one for myself. There was a ring at the bell-pull. I -went to the door and there was the count. Behind him was the chauffeur -carrying a basket of champagne. - -“Where should I have him put it, sir?” asked the count. - -“In the kitchen,” Brett said. - -“Put it in there, Henry,” the count motioned. “Now go down and get the -ice.” He stood looking after the basket inside the kitchen door. “I -think you’ll find that’s very good wine,” he said. “I know we don’t get -much of a chance to judge good wine in the States now, but I got this -from a friend of mine that’s in the business.” - -“Oh, you always have some one in the trade,” Brett said. - -“This fellow raises the grapes. He’s got thousands of acres of them.” - -“What’s his name?” asked Brett. “Veuve Cliquot?” - -“No,” said the count. “Mumms. He’s a baron.” - -“Isn’t it wonderful,” said Brett. “We all have titles. Why haven’t you a -title, Jake?” - -“I assure you, sir,” the count put his hand on my arm. “It never does a -man any good. Most of the time it costs you money.” - -“Oh, I don’t know. It’s damned useful sometimes,” Brett said. - -“I’ve never known it to do me any good.” - -“You haven’t used it properly. I’ve had hell’s own amount of credit on -mine.” - -“Do sit down, count,” I said. “Let me take that stick.” - -The count was looking at Brett across the table under the gas-light. She -was smoking a cigarette and flicking the ashes on the rug. She saw me -notice it. “I say, Jake, I don’t want to ruin your rugs. Can’t you give -a chap an ash-tray?” - -I found some ash-trays and spread them around. The chauffeur came up -with a bucket full of salted ice. “Put two bottles in it, Henry,” the -count called. - -“Anything else, sir?” - -“No. Wait down in the car.” He turned to Brett and to me. “We’ll want to -ride out to the Bois for dinner?” - -“If you like,” Brett said. “I couldn’t eat a thing.” - -“I always like a good meal,” said the count. - -“Should I bring the wine in, sir?” asked the chauffeur. - -“Yes. Bring it in, Henry,” said the count. He took out a heavy pigskin -cigar-case and offered it to me. “Like to try a real American cigar?” - -“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll finish the cigarette.” - -He cut off the end of his cigar with a gold cutter he wore on one end of -his watch-chain. - -“I like a cigar to really draw,” said the count “Half the cigars you -smoke don’t draw.” - -He lit the cigar, puffed at it, looking across the table at Brett. “And -when you’re divorced, Lady Ashley, then you won’t have a title.” - -“No. What a pity.” - -“No,” said the count. “You don’t need a title. You got class all over -you.” - -“Thanks. Awfully decent of you.” - -“I’m not joking you,” the count blew a cloud of smoke. “You got the most -class of anybody I ever seen. You got it. That’s all.” - -“Nice of you,” said Brett. “Mummy would be pleased. Couldn’t you write -it out, and I’ll send it in a letter to her.” - -“I’d tell her, too,” said the count. “I’m not joking you. I never joke -people. Joke people and you make enemies. That’s what I always say.” - -“You’re right,” Brett said. “You’re terribly right. I always joke people -and I haven’t a friend in the world. Except Jake here.” - -“You don’t joke him.” - -“That’s it.” - -“Do you, now?” asked the count. “Do you joke him?” - -Brett looked at me and wrinkled up the corners of her eyes. - -“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t joke him.” - -“See,” said the count. “You don’t joke him.” - -“This is a hell of a dull talk,” Brett said. “How about some of that -champagne?” - -The count reached down and twirled the bottles in the shiny bucket. “It -isn’t cold, yet. You’re always drinking, my dear. Why don’t you just -talk?” - -“I’ve talked too ruddy much. I’ve talked myself all out to Jake.” - -“I should like to hear you really talk, my dear. When you talk to me you -never finish your sentences at all.” - -“Leave ’em for you to finish. Let any one finish them as they like.” - -“It is a very interesting system,” the count reached down and gave the -bottles a twirl. “Still I would like to hear you talk some time.” - -“Isn’t he a fool?” Brett asked. - -“Now,” the count brought up a bottle. “I think this is cool.” - -I brought a towel and he wiped the bottle dry and held it up. “I like to -drink champagne from magnums. The wine is better but it would have been -too hard to cool.” He held the bottle, looking at it. I put out the -glasses. - -“I say. You might open it,” Brett suggested. - -“Yes, my dear. Now I’ll open it.” - -It was amazing champagne. - -“I say that is wine,” Brett held up her glass. “We ought to toast -something. ‘Here’s to royalty.’” - -“This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don’t want to -mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste.” - -Brett’s glass was empty. - -“You ought to write a book on wines, count,” I said. - -“Mr. Barnes,” answered the count, “all I want out of wines is to enjoy -them.” - -“Let’s enjoy a little more of this,” Brett pushed her glass forward. The -count poured very carefully. “There, my dear. Now you enjoy that slowly, -and then you can get drunk.” - -“Drunk? Drunk?” - -“My dear, you are charming when you are drunk.” - -“Listen to the man.” - -“Mr. Barnes,” the count poured my glass full. “She is the only lady I -have ever known who was as charming when she was drunk as when she was -sober.” - -“You haven’t been around much, have you?” - -“Yes, my dear. I have been around very much. I have been around a very -great deal.” - -“Drink your wine,” said Brett. “We’ve all been around. I dare say Jake -here has seen as much as you have.” - -“My dear, I am sure Mr. Barnes has seen a lot. Don’t think I don’t think -so, sir. I have seen a lot, too.” - -“Of course you have, my dear,” Brett said. “I was only ragging.” - -“I have been in seven wars and four revolutions,” the count said. - -“Soldiering?” Brett asked. - -“Sometimes, my dear. And I have got arrow wounds. Have you ever seen -arrow wounds?” - -“Let’s have a look at them.” - -The count stood up, unbuttoned his vest, and opened his shirt. He pulled -up the undershirt onto his chest and stood, his chest black, and big -stomach muscles bulging under the light. - -“You see them?” - -Below the line where his ribs stopped were two raised white welts. “See -on the back where they come out.” Above the small of the back were the -same two scars, raised as thick as a finger. - -“I say. Those are something.” - -“Clean through.” - -The count was tucking in his shirt. - -“Where did you get those?” I asked. - -“In Abyssinia. When I was twenty-one years old.” - -“What were you doing?” asked Brett. “Were you in the army?” - -“I was on a business trip, my dear.” - -“I told you he was one of us. Didn’t I?” Brett turned to me. “I love -you, count. You’re a darling.” - -“You make me very happy, my dear. But it isn’t true.” - -“Don’t be an ass.” - -“You see, Mr. Barnes, it is because I have lived very much that now I -can enjoy everything so well. Don’t you find it like that?” - -“Yes. Absolutely.” - -“I know,” said the count. “That is the secret. You must get to know the -values.” - -“Doesn’t anything ever happen to your values?” Brett asked. - -“No. Not any more.” - -“Never fall in love?” - -“Always,” said the count. “I am always in love.” - -“What does that do to your values?” - -“That, too, has got a place in my values.” - -“You haven’t any values. You’re dead, that’s all.” - -“No, my dear. You’re not right. I’m not dead at all.” - -We drank three bottles of the champagne and the count left the basket in -my kitchen. We dined at a restaurant in the Bois. It was a good dinner. -Food had an excellent place in the count’s values. So did wine. The -count was in fine form during the meal. So was Brett. It was a good -party. - -“Where would you like to go?” asked the count after dinner. We were the -only people left in the restaurant. The two waiters were standing over -against the door. They wanted to go home. - -“We might go up on the hill,” Brett said. “Haven’t we had a splendid -party?” - -The count was beaming. He was very happy. - -“You are very nice people,” he said. He was smoking a cigar again. “Why -don’t you get married, you two?” - -“We want to lead our own lives,” I said. - -“We have our careers,” Brett said. “Come on. Let’s get out of this.” - -“Have another brandy,” the count said. - -“Get it on the hill.” - -“No. Have it here where it is quiet.” - -“You and your quiet,” said Brett. “What is it men feel about quiet?” - -“We like it,” said the count. “Like you like noise, my dear.” - -“All right,” said Brett. “Let’s have one.” - -“Sommelier!” the count called. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What is the oldest brandy you have?” - -“Eighteen eleven, sir.” - -“Bring us a bottle.” - -“I say. Don’t be ostentatious. Call him off, Jake.” - -“Listen, my dear. I get more value for my money in old brandy than in -any other antiquities.” - -“Got many antiquities?” - -“I got a houseful.” - -Finally we went up to Montmartre. Inside Zelli’s it was crowded, smoky, -and noisy. The music hit you as you went in. Brett and I danced. It was -so crowded we could barely move. The nigger drummer waved at Brett. We -were caught in the jam, dancing in one place in front of him. - -“Hahre you?” - -“Great.” - -“Thaats good.” - -He was all teeth and lips. - -“He’s a great friend of mine,” Brett said. “Damn good drummer.” - -The music stopped and we started toward the table where the count sat. -Then the music started again and we danced. I looked at the count. He -was sitting at the table smoking a cigar. The music stopped again. - -“Let’s go over.” - -Brett started toward the table. The music started and again we danced, -tight in the crowd. - -“You are a rotten dancer, Jake. Michael’s the best dancer I know.” - -“He’s splendid.” - -“He’s got his points.” - -“I like him,” I said. “I’m damned fond of him.” - -“I’m going to marry him,” Brett said. “Funny. I haven’t thought about -him for a week.” - -“Don’t you write him?” - -“Not I. Never write letters.” - -“I’ll bet he writes to you.” - -“Rather. Damned good letters, too.” - -“When are you going to get married?” - -“How do I know? As soon as we can get the divorce. Michael’s trying to -get his mother to put up for it.” - -“Could I help you?” - -“Don’t be an ass. Michael’s people have loads of money.” - -The music stopped. We walked over to the table. The count stood up. - -“Very nice,” he said. “You looked very, very nice.” - -“Don’t you dance, count?” I asked. - -“No. I’m too old.” - -“Oh, come off it,” Brett said. - -“My dear, I would do it if I would enjoy it. I enjoy to watch you -dance.” - -“Splendid,” Brett said. “I’ll dance again for you some time. I say. What -about your little friend, Zizi?” - -“Let me tell you. I support that boy, but I don’t want to have him -around.” - -“He is rather hard.” - -“You know I think that boy’s got a future. But personally I don’t want -him around.” - -“Jake’s rather the same way.” - -“He gives me the willys.” - -“Well,” the count shrugged his shoulders. “About his future you can’t -ever tell. Anyhow, his father was a great friend of my father.” - -“Come on. Let’s dance,” Brett said. - -We danced. It was crowded and close. - -“Oh, darling,” Brett said, “I’m so miserable.” - -I had that feeling of going through something that has all happened -before. “You were happy a minute ago.” - -The drummer shouted: “You can’t two time—” - -“It’s all gone.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“I don’t know. I just feel terribly.” - -“. . . . . .” the drummer chanted. Then turned to his sticks. - -“Want to go?” - -I had the feeling as in a nightmare of it all being something repeated, -something I had been through and that now I must go through again. - -“. . . . . .” the drummer sang softly. - -“Let’s go,” said Brett. “You don’t mind.” - -“. . . . . .” the drummer shouted and grinned at Brett. - -“All right,” I said. We got out from the crowd. Brett went to the -dressing-room. - -“Brett wants to go,” I said to the count. He nodded. “Does she? That’s -fine. You take the car. I’m going to stay here for a while, Mr. Barnes.” - -We shook hands. - -“It was a wonderful time,” I said. “I wish you would let me get this.” I -took a note out of my pocket. - -“Mr. Barnes, don’t be ridiculous,” the count said. - -Brett came over with her wrap on. She kissed the count and put her hand -on his shoulder to keep him from standing up. As we went out the door I -looked back and there were three girls at his table. We got into the big -car. Brett gave the chauffeur the address of her hotel. - -“No, don’t come up,” she said at the hotel. She had rung and the door -was unlatched. - -“Really?” - -“No. Please.” - -“Good night, Brett,” I said. “I’m sorry you feel rotten.” - -“Good night, Jake. Good night, darling. I won’t see you again.” We -kissed standing at the door. She pushed me away. We kissed again. “Oh, -don’t!” Brett said. - -She turned quickly and went into the hotel. The chauffeur drove me -around to my flat. I gave him twenty francs and he touched his cap and -said: “Good night, sir,” and drove off. I rang the bell. The door opened -and I went up-stairs and went to bed. - - - - - BOOK II - - - - - CHAPTER - 8 - - -I did not see Brett again until she came back from San Sebastian. One -card came from her from there. It had a picture of the Concha, and said: -“Darling. Very quiet and healthy. Love to all the chaps. BRETT.” - -Nor did I see Robert Cohn again. I heard Frances had left for England -and I had a note from Cohn saying he was going out in the country for a -couple of weeks, he did not know where, but that he wanted to hold me to -the fishing-trip in Spain we had talked about last winter. I could reach -him always, he wrote, through his bankers. - -Brett was gone, I was not bothered by Cohn’s troubles, I rather enjoyed -not having to play tennis, there was plenty of work to do, I went often -to the races, dined with friends, and put in some extra time at the -office getting things ahead so I could leave it in charge of my -secretary when Bill Gorton and I should shove off to Spain the end of -June. Bill Gorton arrived, put up a couple of days at the flat and went -off to Vienna. He was very cheerful and said the States were wonderful. -New York was wonderful. There had been a grand theatrical season and a -whole crop of great young light heavyweights. Any one of them was a good -prospect to grow up, put on weight and trim Dempsey. Bill was very -happy. He had made a lot of money on his last book, and was going to -make a lot more. We had a good time while he was in Paris, and then he -went off to Vienna. He was coming back in three weeks and we would leave -for Spain to get in some fishing and go to the fiesta at Pamplona. He -wrote that Vienna was wonderful. Then a card from Budapest: “Jake, -Budapest is wonderful.” Then I got a wire: “Back on Monday.” - -Monday evening he turned up at the flat. I heard his taxi stop and went -to the window and called to him; he waved and started up-stairs carrying -his bags. I met him on the stairs, and took one of the bags. - -“Well,” I said, “I hear you had a wonderful trip.” - -“Wonderful,” he said. “Budapest is absolutely wonderful.” - -“How about Vienna?” - -“Not so good, Jake. Not so good. It seemed better than it was.” - -“How do you mean?” I was getting glasses and a siphon. - -“Tight, Jake. I was tight.” - -“That’s strange. Better have a drink.” - -Bill rubbed his forehead. “Remarkable thing,” he said. “Don’t know how -it happened. Suddenly it happened.” - -“Last long?” - -“Four days, Jake. Lasted just four days.” - -“Where did you go?” - -“Don’t remember. Wrote you a post-card. Remember that perfectly.” - -“Do anything else?” - -“Not so sure. Possible.” - -“Go on. Tell me about it.” - -“Can’t remember. Tell you anything I could remember.” - -“Go on. Take that drink and remember.” - -“Might remember a little,” Bill said. “Remember something about a -prize-fight. Enormous Vienna prize-fight. Had a nigger in it. Remember -the nigger perfectly.” - -“Go on.” - -“Wonderful nigger. Looked like Tiger Flowers, only four times as big. -All of a sudden everybody started to throw things. Not me. Nigger’d just -knocked local boy down. Nigger put up his glove. Wanted to make a -speech. Awful noble-looking nigger. Started to make a speech. Then local -white boy hit him. Then he knocked white boy cold. Then everybody -commenced to throw chairs. Nigger went home with us in our car. Couldn’t -get his clothes. Wore my coat. Remember the whole thing now. Big -sporting evening.” - -“What happened?” - -“Loaned the nigger some clothes and went around with him to try and get -his money. Claimed nigger owed them money on account of wrecking hall. -Wonder who translated? Was it me?” - -“Probably it wasn’t you.” - -“You’re right. Wasn’t me at all. Was another fellow. Think we called him -the local Harvard man. Remember him now. Studying music.” - -“How’d you come out?” - -“Not so good, Jake. Injustice everywhere. Promoter claimed nigger -promised let local boy stay. Claimed nigger violated contract. Can’t -knock out Vienna boy in Vienna. ‘My God, Mister Gorton,’ said nigger, ‘I -didn’t do nothing in there for forty minutes but try and let him stay. -That white boy musta ruptured himself swinging at me. I never did hit -him.’” - -“Did you get any money?” - -“No money, Jake. All we could get was nigger’s clothes. Somebody took -his watch, too. Splendid nigger. Big mistake to have come to Vienna. Not -so good, Jake. Not so good.” - -“What became of the nigger?” - -“Went back to Cologne. Lives there. Married. Got a family. Going to -write me a letter and send me the money I loaned him. Wonderful nigger. -Hope I gave him the right address.” - -“You probably did.” - -“Well, anyway, let’s eat,” said Bill. “Unless you want me to tell you -some more travel stories.” - -“Go on.” - -“Let’s eat.” - -We went down-stairs and out onto the Boulevard St. Michel in the warm -June evening. - -“Where will we go?” - -“Want to eat on the island?” - -“Sure.” - -We walked down the Boulevard. At the juncture of the Rue -Denfert-Rochereau with the Boulevard is a statue of two men in flowing -robes. - -“I know who they are.” Bill eyed the monument. “Gentlemen who invented -pharmacy. Don’t try and fool me on Paris.” - -We went on. - -“Here’s a taxidermist’s,” Bill said. “Want to buy anything? Nice stuffed -dog?” - -“Come on,” I said. “You’re pie-eyed.” - -“Pretty nice stuffed dogs,” Bill said. “Certainly brighten up your -flat.” - -“Come on.” - -“Just one stuffed dog. I can take ’em or leave ’em alone. But listen, -Jake. Just one stuffed dog.” - -“Come on.” - -“Mean everything in the world to you after you bought it. Simple -exchange of values. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog.” - -“We’ll get one on the way back.” - -“All right. Have it your own way. Road to hell paved with unbought -stuffed dogs. Not my fault.” - -We went on. - -“How’d you feel that way about dogs so sudden?” - -“Always felt that way about dogs. Always been a great lover of stuffed -animals.” - -We stopped and had a drink. - -“Certainly like to drink,” Bill said. “You ought to try it some times, -Jake.” - -“You’re about a hundred and forty-four ahead of me.” - -“Ought not to daunt you. Never be daunted. Secret of my success. Never -been daunted. Never been daunted in public.” - -“Where were you drinking?” - -“Stopped at the Crillon. George made me a couple of Jack Roses. George’s -a great man. Know the secret of his success? Never been daunted.” - -“You’ll be daunted after about three more pernods.” - -“Not in public. If I begin to feel daunted I’ll go off by myself. I’m -like a cat that way.” - -“When did you see Harvey Stone?” - -“At the Crillon. Harvey was just a little daunted. Hadn’t eaten for -three days. Doesn’t eat any more. Just goes off like a cat. Pretty sad.” - -“He’s all right.” - -“Splendid. Wish he wouldn’t keep going off like a cat, though. Makes me -nervous.” - -“What’ll we do to-night?” - -“Doesn’t make any difference. Only let’s not get daunted. Suppose they -got any hard-boiled eggs here? If they had hard-boiled eggs here we -wouldn’t have to go all the way down to the island to eat.” - -“Nix,” I said. “We’re going to have a regular meal.” - -“Just a suggestion,” said Bill. “Want to start now?” - -“Come on.” - -We started on again down the Boulevard. A horse-cab passed us. Bill -looked at it. - -“See that horse-cab? Going to have that horse-cab stuffed for you for -Christmas. Going to give all my friends stuffed animals. I’m a -nature-writer.” - -A taxi passed, some one in it waved, then banged for the driver to stop. -The taxi backed up to the curb. In it was Brett. - -“Beautiful lady,” said Bill. “Going to kidnap us.” - -“Hullo!” Brett said. “Hullo!” - -“This is Bill Gorton. Lady Ashley.” - -Brett smiled at Bill. “I say I’m just back. Haven’t bathed even. Michael -comes in to-night.” - -“Good. Come on and eat with us, and we’ll all go to meet him.” - -“Must clean myself.” - -“Oh, rot! Come on.” - -“Must bathe. He doesn’t get in till nine.” - -“Come and have a drink, then, before you bathe.” - -“Might do that. Now you’re not talking rot.” - -We got in the taxi. The driver looked around. - -“Stop at the nearest bistro,” I said. - -“We might as well go to the Closerie,” Brett said. “I can’t drink these -rotten brandies.” - -“Closerie des Lilas.” - -Brett turned to Bill. - -“Have you been in this pestilential city long?” - -“Just got in to-day from Budapest.” - -“How was Budapest?” - -“Wonderful. Budapest was wonderful.” - -“Ask him about Vienna.” - -“Vienna,” said Bill, “is a strange city.” - -“Very much like Paris,” Brett smiled at him, wrinkling the corners of -her eyes. - -“Exactly,” Bill said. “Very much like Paris at this moment.” - -“You _have_ a good start.” - -Sitting out on the terraces of the Lilas Brett ordered a whiskey and -soda, I took one, too, and Bill took another pernod. - -“How are you, Jake?” - -“Great,” I said. “I’ve had a good time.” - -Brett looked at me. “I was a fool to go away,” she said. “One’s an ass -to leave Paris.” - -“Did you have a good time?” - -“Oh, all right. Interesting. Not frightfully amusing.” - -“See anybody?” - -“No, hardly anybody. I never went out.” - -“Didn’t you swim?” - -“No. Didn’t do a thing.” - -“Sounds like Vienna,” Bill said. - -Brett wrinkled up the corners of her eyes at him. - -“So that’s the way it was in Vienna.” - -“It was like everything in Vienna.” - -Brett smiled at him again. - -“You’ve a nice friend, Jake.” - -“He’s all right,” I said. “He’s a taxidermist.” - -“That was in another country,” Bill said. “And besides all the animals -were dead.” - -“One more,” Brett said, “and I must run. Do send the waiter for a taxi.” - -“There’s a line of them. Right out in front.” - -“Good.” - -We had the drink and put Brett into her taxi. - -“Mind you’re at the Select around ten. Make him come. Michael will be -there.” - -“We’ll be there,” Bill said. The taxi started and Brett waved. - -“Quite a girl,” Bill said. “She’s damned nice. Who’s Michael?” - -“The man she’s going to marry.” - -“Well, well,” Bill said. “That’s always just the stage I meet anybody. -What’ll I send them? Think they’d like a couple of stuffed race-horses?” - -“We better eat.” - -“Is she really Lady something or other?” Bill asked in the taxi on our -way down to the Ile Saint Louis. - -“Oh, yes. In the stud-book and everything.” - -“Well, well.” - -We ate dinner at Madame Lecomte’s restaurant on the far side of the -island. It was crowded with Americans and we had to stand up and wait -for a place. Some one had put it in the American Women’s Club list as a -quaint restaurant on the Paris quais as yet untouched by Americans, so -we had to wait forty-five minutes for a table. Bill had eaten at the -restaurant in 1918, and right after the armistice, and Madame Lecomte -made a great fuss over seeing him. - -“Doesn’t get us a table, though,” Bill said. “Grand woman, though.” - -We had a good meal, a roast chicken, new green beans, mashed potatoes, a -salad, and some apple-pie and cheese. - -“You’ve got the world here all right,” Bill said to Madame Lecomte. She -raised her hand. “Oh, my God!” - -“You’ll be rich.” - -“I hope so.” - -After the coffee and a _fine_ we got the bill, chalked up the same as -ever on a slate, that was doubtless one of the “quaint” features, paid -it, shook hands, and went out. - -“You never come here any more, Monsieur Barnes,” Madame Lecomte said. - -“Too many compatriots.” - -“Come at lunch-time. It’s not crowded then.” - -“Good. I’ll be down soon.” - -We walked along under the trees that grew out over the river on the Quai -d’Orléans side of the island. Across the river were the broken walls of -old houses that were being torn down. - -“They’re going to cut a street through.” - -“They would,” Bill said. - -We walked on and circled the island. The river was dark and a bateau -mouche went by, all bright with lights, going fast and quiet up and out -of sight under the bridge. Down the river was Notre Dame squatting -against the night sky. We crossed to the left bank of the Seine by the -wooden foot-bridge from the Quai de Bethune, and stopped on the bridge -and looked down the river at Notre Dame. Standing on the bridge the -island looked dark, the houses were high against the sky, and the trees -were shadows. - -“It’s pretty grand,” Bill said. “God, I love to get back.” - -We leaned on the wooden rail of the bridge and looked up the river to -the lights of the big bridges. Below the water was smooth and black. It -made no sound against the piles of the bridge. A man and a girl passed -us. They were walking with their arms around each other. - -We crossed the bridge and walked up the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It was -steep walking, and we went all the way up to the Place Contrescarpe. The -arc-light shone through the leaves of the trees in the square, and -underneath the trees was an S bus ready to start. Music came out of the -door of the Negre Joyeux. Through the window of the Café Aux Amateurs I -saw the long zinc bar. Outside on the terrace working people were -drinking. In the open kitchen of the Amateurs a girl was cooking -potato-chips in oil. There was an iron pot of stew. The girl ladled some -onto a plate for an old man who stood holding a bottle of red wine in -one hand. - -“Want to have a drink?” - -“No,” said Bill. “I don’t need it.” - -We turned to the right off the Place Contrescarpe, walking along smooth -narrow streets with high old houses on both sides. Some of the houses -jutted out toward the street. Others were cut back. We came onto the Rue -du Pot de Fer and followed it along until it brought us to the rigid -north and south of the Rue Saint Jacques and then walked south, past Val -de Grâce, set back behind the courtyard and the iron fence, to the -Boulevard du Port Royal. - -“What do you want to do?” I asked. “Go up to the café and see Brett and -Mike?” - -“Why not?” - -We walked along Port Royal until it became Montparnasse, and then on -past the Lilas, Lavigne’s, and all the little cafés, Damoy’s, crossed -the street to the Rotonde, past its lights and tables to the Select. - -Michael came toward us from the tables. He was tanned and -healthy-looking. - -“Hel-lo, Jake,” he said. “Hel-lo! Hel-lo! How are you, old lad?” - -“You look very fit, Mike.” - -“Oh, I am. I’m frightfully fit. I’ve done nothing but walk. Walk all day -long. One drink a day with my mother at tea.” - -Bill had gone into the bar. He was standing talking with Brett, who was -sitting on a high stool, her legs crossed. She had no stockings on. - -“It’s good to see you, Jake,” Michael said. “I’m a little tight you -know. Amazing, isn’t it? Did you see my nose?” - -There was a patch of dried blood on the bridge of his nose. - -“An old lady’s bags did that,” Mike said. “I reached up to help her with -them and they fell on me.” - -Brett gestured at him from the bar with her cigarette-holder and -wrinkled the corners of her eyes. - -“An old lady,” said Mike. “Her bags _fell_ on me. Let’s go in and see -Brett. I say, she is a piece. You _are_ a lovely lady, Brett. Where did -you get that hat?” - -“Chap bought it for me. Don’t you like it?” - -“It’s a dreadful hat. Do get a good hat.” - -“Oh, we’ve so much money now,” Brett said. “I say, haven’t you met Bill -yet? You _are_ a lovely host, Jake.” - -She turned to Mike. “This is Bill Gorton. This drunkard is Mike -Campbell. Mr. Campbell is an undischarged bankrupt.” - -“Aren’t I, though? You know I met my ex-partner yesterday in London. -Chap who did me in.” - -“What did he say?” - -“Bought me a drink. I thought I might as well take it. I say, Brett, you -_are_ a lovely piece. Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” - -“Beautiful. With this nose?” - -“It’s a lovely nose. Go on, point it at me. Isn’t she a lovely piece?” - -“Couldn’t we have kept the man in Scotland?” - -“I say, Brett, let’s turn in early.” - -“Don’t be indecent, Michael. Remember there are ladies at this bar.” - -“Isn’t she a lovely piece? Don’t you think so, Jake?” - -“There’s a fight to-night,” Bill said. “Like to go?” - -“Fight,” said Mike. “Who’s fighting?” - -“Ledoux and somebody.” - -“He’s very good, Ledoux,” Mike said. “I’d like to see it, rather”—he -was making an effort to pull himself together—“but I can’t go. I had a -date with this thing here. I say, Brett, do get a new hat.” - -Brett pulled the felt hat down far over one eye and smiled out from -under it. “You two run along to the fight. I’ll have to be taking Mr. -Campbell home directly.” - -“I’m not tight,” Mike said. “Perhaps just a little. I say, Brett, you -are a lovely piece.” - -“Go on to the fight,” Brett said. “Mr. Campbell’s getting difficult. -What are these outbursts of affection, Michael?” - -“I say, you are a lovely piece.” - -We said good night. “I’m sorry I can’t go,” Mike said. Brett laughed. I -looked back from the door. Mike had one hand on the bar and was leaning -toward Brett, talking. Brett was looking at him quite coolly, but the -corners of her eyes were smiling. - -Outside on the pavement I said: “Do you want to go to the fight?” - -“Sure,” said Bill. “If we don’t have to walk.” - -“Mike was pretty excited about his girl friend,” I said in the taxi. - -“Well,” said Bill. “You can’t blame him such a hell of a lot.” - - - - - CHAPTER - 9 - - -The Ledoux-Kid Francis fight was the night of the 20th of June. It was a -good fight. The morning after the fight I had a letter from Robert Cohn, -written from Hendaye. He was having a very quiet time, he said, bathing, -playing some golf and much bridge. Hendaye had a splendid beach, but he -was anxious to start on the fishing-trip. When would I be down? If I -would buy him a double-tapered line he would pay me when I came down. - -That same morning I wrote Cohn from the office that Bill and I would -leave Paris on the 25th unless I wired him otherwise, and would meet him -at Bayonne, where we could get a bus over the mountains to Pamplona. The -same evening about seven o’clock I stopped in at the Select to see -Michael and Brett. They were not there, and I went over to the Dingo. -They were inside sitting at the bar. - -“Hello, darling.” Brett put out her hand. - -“Hello, Jake,” Mike said. “I understand I was tight last night.” - -“Weren’t you, though,” Brett said. “Disgraceful business.” - -“Look,” said Mike, “when do you go down to Spain? Would you mind if we -came down with you?” - -“It would be grand.” - -“You wouldn’t mind, really? I’ve been at Pamplona, you know. Brett’s mad -to go. You’re sure we wouldn’t just be a bloody nuisance?” - -“Don’t talk like a fool.” - -“I’m a little tight, you know. I wouldn’t ask you like this if I -weren’t. You’re sure you don’t mind?” - -“Oh, shut up, Michael,” Brett said. “How can the man say he’d mind now? -I’ll ask him later.” - -“But you don’t mind, do you?” - -“Don’t ask that again unless you want to make me sore. Bill and I go -down on the morning of the 25th.” - -“By the way, where is Bill?” Brett asked. - -“He’s out at Chantilly dining with some people.” - -“He’s a good chap.” - -“Splendid chap,” said Mike. “He is, you know.” - -“You don’t remember him,” Brett said. - -“I do. Remember him perfectly. Look, Jake, we’ll come down the night of -the 25th. Brett can’t get up in the morning.” - -“Indeed not!” - -“If our money comes and you’re sure you don’t mind.” - -“It will come, all right. I’ll see to that.” - -“Tell me what tackle to send for.” - -“Get two or three rods with reels, and lines, and some flies.” - -“I won’t fish,” Brett put in. - -“Get two rods, then, and Bill won’t have to buy one.” - -“Right,” said Mike. “I’ll send a wire to the keeper.” - -“Won’t it be splendid,” Brett said. “Spain! We _will_ have fun.” - -“The 25th. When is that?” - -“Saturday.” - -“We _will_ have to get ready.” - -“I say,” said Mike, “I’m going to the barber’s.” - -“I must bathe,” said Brett. “Walk up to the hotel with me, Jake. Be a -good chap.” - -“We _have_ got the loveliest hotel,” Mike said. “I think it’s a -brothel!” - -“We left our bags here at the Dingo when we got in, and they asked us at -this hotel if we wanted a room for the afternoon only. Seemed -frightfully pleased we were going to stay all night.” - -“_I_ believe it’s a brothel,” Mike said. “And _I_ should know.” - -“Oh, shut it and go and get your hair cut.” - -Mike went out. Brett and I sat on at the bar. - -“Have another?” - -“Might.” - -“I needed that,” Brett said. - -We walked up the Rue Delambre. - -“I haven’t seen you since I’ve been back,” Brett said. - -“No.” - -“How _are_ you, Jake?” - -“Fine.” - -Brett looked at me. “I say,” she said, “is Robert Cohn going on this -trip?” - -“Yes. Why?” - -“Don’t you think it will be a bit rough on him?” - -“Why should it?” - -“Who did you think I went down to San Sebastian with?” - -“Congratulations,” I said. - -We walked along. - -“What did you say that for?” - -“I don’t know. What would you like me to say?” - -We walked along and turned a corner. - -“He behaved rather well, too. He gets a little dull.” - -“Does he?” - -“I rather thought it would be good for him.” - -“You might take up social service.” - -“Don’t be nasty.” - -“I won’t.” - -“Didn’t you really know?” - -“No,” I said. “I guess I didn’t think about it.” - -“Do you think it will be too rough on him?” - -“That’s up to him,” I said. “Tell him you’re coming. He can always not -come.” - -“I’ll write him and give him a chance to pull out of it.” - -I did not see Brett again until the night of the 24th of June. - -“Did you hear from Cohn?” - -“Rather. He’s keen about it.” - -“My God!” - -“I thought it was rather odd myself.” - -“Says he can’t wait to see me.” - -“Does he think you’re coming alone?” - -“No. I told him we were all coming down together. Michael and all.” - -“He’s wonderful.” - -“Isn’t he?” - -They expected their money the next day. We arranged to meet at Pamplona. -They would go directly to San Sebastian and take the train from there. -We would all meet at the Montoya in Pamplona. If they did not turn up on -Monday at the latest we would go on ahead up to Burguete in the -mountains, to start fishing. There was a bus to Burguete. I wrote out an -itinerary so they could follow us. - -Bill and I took the morning train from the Gare d’Orsay. It was a lovely -day, not too hot, and the country was beautiful from the start. We went -back into the diner and had breakfast. Leaving the dining-car I asked -the conductor for tickets for the first service. - -“Nothing until the fifth.” - -“What’s this?” - -There were never more than two servings of lunch on that train, and -always plenty of places for both of them. - -“They’re all reserved,” the dining-car conductor said. “There will be a -fifth service at three-thirty.” - -“This is serious,” I said to Bill. - -“Give him ten francs.” - -“Here,” I said. “We want to eat in the first service.” - -The conductor put the ten francs in his pocket. - -“Thank you,” he said. “I would advise you gentlemen to get some -sandwiches. All the places for the first four services were reserved at -the office of the company.” - -“You’ll go a long way, brother,” Bill said to him in English. “I suppose -if I’d given you five francs you would have advised us to jump off the -train.” - -“_Comment?_” - -“Go to hell!” said Bill. “Get the sandwiches made and a bottle of wine. -You tell him, Jake.” - -“And send it up to the next car.” I described where we were. - -In our compartment were a man and his wife and their young son. - -“I suppose you’re Americans, aren’t you?” the man asked. “Having a good -trip?” - -“Wonderful,” said Bill. - -“That’s what you want to do. Travel while you’re young. Mother and I -always wanted to get over, but we had to wait a while.” - -“You could have come over ten years ago, if you’d wanted to,” the wife -said. “What you always said was: ‘See America first!’ I will say we’ve -seen a good deal, take it one way and another.” - -“Say, there’s plenty of Americans on this train,” the husband said. -“They’ve got seven cars of them from Dayton, Ohio. They’ve been on a -pilgrimage to Rome, and now they’re going down to Biarritz and Lourdes.” - -“So, that’s what they are. Pilgrims. Goddam Puritans,” Bill said. - -“What part of the States you boys from?” - -“Kansas City,” I said. “He’s from Chicago.” - -“You both going to Biarritz?” - -“No. We’re going fishing in Spain.” - -“Well, I never cared for it, myself. There’s plenty that do out where I -come from, though. We got some of the best fishing in the State of -Montana. I’ve been out with the boys, but I never cared for it any.” - -“Mighty little fishing you did on them trips,” his wife said. - -He winked at us. - -“You know how the ladies are. If there’s a jug goes along, or a case of -beer, they think it’s hell and damnation.” - -“That’s the way men are,” his wife said to us. She smoothed her -comfortable lap. “I voted against prohibition to please him, and because -I like a little beer in the house, and then he talks that way. It’s a -wonder they ever find any one to marry them.” - -“Say,” said Bill, “do you know that gang of Pilgrim Fathers have -cornered the dining-car until half past three this afternoon?” - -“How do you mean? They can’t do a thing like that.” - -“You try and get seats.” - -“Well, mother, it looks as though we better go back and get another -breakfast.” - -She stood up and straightened her dress. - -“Will you boys keep an eye on our things? Come on, Hubert.” - -They all three went up to the wagon restaurant. A little while after -they were gone a steward went through announcing the first service, and -pilgrims, with their priests, commenced filing down the corridor. Our -friend and his family did not come back. A waiter passed in the corridor -with our sandwiches and the bottle of Chablis, and we called him in. - -“You’re going to work to-day,” I said. - -He nodded his head. “They start now, at ten-thirty.” - -“When do we eat?” - -“Huh! When do I eat?” - -He left two glasses for the bottle, and we paid him for the sandwiches -and tipped him. - -“I’ll get the plates,” he said, “or bring them with you.” - -We ate the sandwiches and drank the Chablis and watched the country out -of the window. The grain was just beginning to ripen and the fields were -full of poppies. The pastureland was green, and there were fine trees, -and sometimes big rivers and chateaux off in the trees. - -At Tours we got off and bought another bottle of wine, and when we got -back in the compartment the gentleman from Montana and his wife and his -son, Hubert, were sitting comfortably. - -“Is there good swimming in Biarritz?” asked Hubert. - -“That boy’s just crazy till he can get in the water,” his mother said. -“It’s pretty hard on youngsters travelling.” - -“There’s good swimming,” I said. “But it’s dangerous when it’s rough.” - -“Did you get a meal?” Bill asked. - -“We sure did. We set right there when they started to come in, and they -must have just thought we were in the party. One of the waiters said -something to us in French, and then they just sent three of them back.” - -“They thought we were snappers, all right,” the man said. “It certainly -shows you the power of the Catholic Church. It’s a pity you boys ain’t -Catholics. You could get a meal, then, all right.” - -“I am,” I said. “That’s what makes me so sore.” - -Finally at a quarter past four we had lunch. Bill had been rather -difficult at the last. He buttonholed a priest who was coming back with -one of the returning streams of pilgrims. - -“When do us Protestants get a chance to eat, father?” - -“I don’t know anything about it. Haven’t you got tickets?” - -“It’s enough to make a man join the Klan,” Bill said. The priest looked -back at him. - -Inside the dining-car the waiters served the fifth successive table -d’hôte meal. The waiter who served us was soaked through. His white -jacket was purple under the arms. - -“He must drink a lot of wine.” - -“Or wear purple undershirts.” - -“Let’s ask him.” - -“No. He’s too tired.” - -The train stopped for half an hour at Bordeaux and we went out through -the station for a little walk. There was not time to get in to the town. -Afterward we passed through the Landes and watched the sun set. There -were wide fire-gaps cut through the pines, and you could look up them -like avenues and see wooded hills way off. About seven-thirty we had -dinner and watched the country through the open window in the diner. It -was all sandy pine country full of heather. There were little clearings -with houses in them, and once in a while we passed a sawmill. It got -dark and we could feel the country hot and sandy and dark outside of the -window, and about nine o’clock we got into Bayonne. The man and his wife -and Hubert all shook hands with us. They were going on to LaNegresse to -change for Biarritz. - -“Well, I hope you have lots of luck,” he said. - -“Be careful about those bull-fights.” - -“Maybe we’ll see you at Biarritz,” Hubert said. - -We got off with our bags and rod-cases and passed through the dark -station and out to the lights and the line of cabs and hotel buses. -There, standing with the hotel runners, was Robert Cohn. He did not see -us at first. Then he started forward. - -“Hello, Jake. Have a good trip?” - -“Fine,” I said. “This is Bill Gorton.” - -“How are you?” - -“Come on,” said Robert. “I’ve got a cab.” He was a little near-sighted. -I had never noticed it before. He was looking at Bill, trying to make -him out. He was shy, too. - -“We’ll go up to my hotel. It’s all right. It’s quite nice.” - -We got into the cab, and the cabman put the bags up on the seat beside -him and climbed up and cracked his whip, and we drove over the dark -bridge and into the town. - -“I’m awfully glad to meet you,” Robert said to Bill. “I’ve heard so much -about you from Jake and I’ve read your books. Did you get my line, -Jake?” - -The cab stopped in front of the hotel and we all got out and went in. It -was a nice hotel, and the people at the desk were very cheerful, and we -each had a good small room. - - - - - CHAPTER - 10 - - -In the morning it was bright, and they were sprinkling the streets of -the town, and we all had breakfast in a café. Bayonne is a nice town. It -is like a very clean Spanish town and it is on a big river. Already, so -early in the morning, it was very hot on the bridge across the river. We -walked out on the bridge and then took a walk through the town. - -I was not at all sure Mike’s rods would come from Scotland in time, so -we hunted a tackle store and finally bought a rod for Bill up-stairs -over a drygoods store. The man who sold the tackle was out, and we had -to wait for him to come back. Finally he came in, and we bought a pretty -good rod cheap, and two landing-nets. - -We went out into the street again and took a look at the cathedral. Cohn -made some remark about it being a very good example of something or -other, I forget what. It seemed like a nice cathedral, nice and dim, -like Spanish churches. Then we went up past the old fort and out to the -local Syndicat d’Initiative office, where the bus was supposed to start -from. There they told us the bus service did not start until the 1st of -July. We found out at the tourist office what we ought to pay for a -motor-car to Pamplona and hired one at a big garage just around the -corner from the Municipal Theatre for four hundred francs. The car was -to pick us up at the hotel in forty minutes, and we stopped at the café -on the square where we had eaten breakfast, and had a beer. It was hot, -but the town had a cool, fresh, early-morning smell and it was pleasant -sitting in the café. A breeze started to blow, and you could feel that -the air came from the sea. There were pigeons out in the square, and the -houses were a yellow, sun-baked color, and I did not want to leave the -café. But we had to go to the hotel to get our bags packed and pay the -bill. We paid for the beers, we matched and I think Cohn paid, and went -up to the hotel. It was only sixteen francs apiece for Bill and me, with -ten per cent added for the service, and we had the bags sent down and -waited for Robert Cohn. While we were waiting I saw a cockroach on the -parquet floor that must have been at least three inches long. I pointed -him out to Bill and then put my shoe on him. We agreed he must have just -come in from the garden. It was really an awfully clean hotel. - -Cohn came down, finally, and we all went out to the car. It was a big, -closed car, with a driver in a white duster with blue collar and cuffs, -and we had him put the back of the car down. He piled in the bags and we -started off up the street and out of the town. We passed some lovely -gardens and had a good look back at the town, and then we were out in -the country, green and rolling, and the road climbing all the time. We -passed lots of Basques with oxen, or cattle, hauling carts along the -road, and nice farmhouses, low roofs, and all white-plastered. In the -Basque country the land all looks very rich and green and the houses and -villages look well-off and clean. Every village had a pelota court and -on some of them kids were playing in the hot sun. There were signs on -the walls of the churches saying it was forbidden to play pelota against -them, and the houses in the villages had red tiled roofs, and then the -road turned off and commenced to climb and we were going way up close -along a hillside, with a valley below and hills stretched off back -toward the sea. You couldn’t see the sea. It was too far away. You could -see only hills and more hills, and you knew where the sea was. - -We crossed the Spanish frontier. There was a little stream and a bridge, -and Spanish carabineers, with patent-leather Bonaparte hats, and short -guns on their backs, on one side, and on the other fat Frenchmen in -kepis and mustaches. They only opened one bag and took the passports in -and looked at them. There was a general store and inn on each side of -the line. The chauffeur had to go in and fill out some papers about the -car and we got out and went over to the stream to see if there were any -trout. Bill tried to talk some Spanish to one of the carabineers, but it -did not go very well. Robert Cohn asked, pointing with his finger, if -there were any trout in the stream, and the carabineer said yes, but not -many. - -I asked him if he ever fished, and he said no, that he didn’t care for -it. - -Just then an old man with long, sunburned hair and beard, and clothes -that looked as though they were made of gunny-sacking, came striding up -to the bridge. He was carrying a long staff, and he had a kid slung on -his back, tied by the four legs, the head hanging down. - -The carabineer waved him back with his sword. The man turned without -saying anything, and started back up the white road into Spain. - -“What’s the matter with the old one?” I asked. - -“He hasn’t got any passport.” - -I offered the guard a cigarette. He took it and thanked me. - -“What will he do?” I asked. - -The guard spat in the dust. - -“Oh, he’ll just wade across the stream.” - -“Do you have much smuggling?” - -“Oh,” he said, “they go through.” - -The chauffeur came out, folding up the papers and putting them in the -inside pocket of his coat. We all got in the car and it started up the -white dusty road into Spain. For a while the country was much as it had -been; then, climbing all the time, we crossed the top of a Col, the road -winding back and forth on itself, and then it was really Spain. There -were long brown mountains and a few pines and far-off forests of -beech-trees on some of the mountainsides. The road went along the summit -of the Col and then dropped down, and the driver had to honk, and slow -up, and turn out to avoid running into two donkeys that were sleeping in -the road. We came down out of the mountains and through an oak forest, -and there were white cattle grazing in the forest. Down below there were -grassy plains and clear streams, and then we crossed a stream and went -through a gloomy little village, and started to climb again. We climbed -up and up and crossed another high Col and turned along it, and the road -ran down to the right, and we saw a whole new range of mountains off to -the south, all brown and baked-looking and furrowed in strange shapes. - -After a while we came out of the mountains, and there were trees along -both sides of the road, and a stream and ripe fields of grain, and the -road went on, very white and straight ahead, and then lifted to a little -rise, and off on the left was a hill with an old castle, with buildings -close around it and a field of grain going right up to the walls and -shifting in the wind. I was up in front with the driver and I turned -around. Robert Cohn was asleep, but Bill looked and nodded his head. -Then we crossed a wide plain, and there was a big river off on the right -shining in the sun from between the line of trees, and away off you -could see the plateau of Pamplona rising out of the plain, and the walls -of the city, and the great brown cathedral, and the broken skyline of -the other churches. In back of the plateau were the mountains, and every -way you looked there were other mountains, and ahead the road stretched -out white across the plain going toward Pamplona. - -We came into the town on the other side of the plateau, the road -slanting up steeply and dustily with shade-trees on both sides, and then -levelling out through the new part of town they are building up outside -the old walls. We passed the bull-ring, high and white and -concrete-looking in the sun, and then came into the big square by a side -street and stopped in front of the Hotel Montoya. - -The driver helped us down with the bags. There was a crowd of kids -watching the car, and the square was hot, and the trees were green, and -the flags hung on their staffs, and it was good to get out of the sun -and under the shade of the arcade that runs all the way around the -square. Montoya was glad to see us, and shook hands and gave us good -rooms looking out on the square, and then we washed and cleaned up and -went down-stairs in the dining-room for lunch. The driver stayed for -lunch, too, and afterward we paid him and he started back to Bayonne. - -There are two dining-rooms in the Montoya. One is up-stairs on the -second floor and looks out on the square. The other is down one floor -below the level of the square and has a door that opens on the back -street that the bulls pass along when they run through the streets early -in the morning on their way to the ring. It is always cool in the -down-stairs dining-room and we had a very good lunch. The first meal in -Spain was always a shock with the hors d’œuvres, an egg course, two meat -courses, vegetables, salad, and dessert and fruit. You have to drink -plenty of wine to get it all down. Robert Cohn tried to say he did not -want any of the second meat course, but we would not interpret for him, -and so the waitress brought him something else as a replacement, a plate -of cold meats, I think. Cohn had been rather nervous ever since we had -met at Bayonne. He did not know whether we knew Brett had been with him -at San Sebastian, and it made him rather awkward. - -“Well,” I said, “Brett and Mike ought to get in to-night.” - -“I’m not sure they’ll come,” Cohn said. - -“Why not?” Bill said. “Of course they’ll come.” - -“They’re always late,” I said. - -“I rather think they’re not coming,” Robert Cohn said. - -He said it with an air of superior knowledge that irritated both of us. - -“I’ll bet you fifty pesetas they’re here to-night,” Bill said. He always -bets when he is angered, and so he usually bets foolishly. - -“I’ll take it,” Cohn said. “Good. You remember it, Jake. Fifty pesetas.” - -“I’ll remember it myself,” Bill said. I saw he was angry and wanted to -smooth him down. - -“It’s a sure thing they’ll come,” I said. “But maybe not to-night.” - -“Want to call it off?” Cohn asked. - -“No. Why should I? Make it a hundred if you like.” - -“All right. I’ll take that.” - -“That’s enough,” I said. “Or you’ll have to make a book and give me some -of it.” - -“I’m satisfied,” Cohn said. He smiled. “You’ll probably win it back at -bridge, anyway.” - -“You haven’t got it yet,” Bill said. - -We went out to walk around under the arcade to the Café Iruña for -coffee. Cohn said he was going over and get a shave. - -“Say,” Bill said to me, “have I got any chance on that bet?” - -“You’ve got a rotten chance. They’ve never been on time anywhere. If -their money doesn’t come it’s a cinch they won’t get in to-night.” - -“I was sorry as soon as I opened my mouth. But I had to call him. He’s -all right, I guess, but where does he get this inside stuff? Mike and -Brett fixed it up with us about coming down here.” - -I saw Cohn coming over across the square. - -“Here he comes.” - -“Well, let him not get superior and Jewish.” - -“The barber shop’s closed,” Cohn said. “It’s not open till four.” - -We had coffee at the Iruña, sitting in comfortable wicker chairs looking -out from the cool of the arcade at the big square. After a while Bill -went to write some letters and Cohn went over to the barber-shop. It was -still closed, so he decided to go up to the hotel and get a bath, and I -sat out in front of the café and then went for a walk in the town. It -was very hot, but I kept on the shady side of the streets and went -through the market and had a good time seeing the town again. I went to -the Ayuntamiento and found the old gentleman who subscribes for the -bull-fight tickets for me every year, and he had gotten the money I sent -him from Paris and renewed my subscriptions, so that was all set. He was -the archivist, and all the archives of the town were in his office. That -has nothing to do with the story. Anyway, his office had a green baize -door and a big wooden door, and when I went out I left him sitting among -the archives that covered all the walls, and I shut both the doors, and -as I went out of the building into the street the porter stopped me to -brush off my coat. - -“You must have been in a motor-car,” he said. - -The back of the collar and the upper part of the shoulders were gray -with dust. - -“From Bayonne.” - -“Well, well,” he said. “I knew you were in a motor-car from the way the -dust was.” So I gave him two copper coins. - -At the end of the street I saw the cathedral and walked up toward it. -The first time I ever saw it I thought the façade was ugly but I liked -it now. I went inside. It was dim and dark and the pillars went high up, -and there were people praying, and it smelt of incense, and there were -some wonderful big windows. I knelt and started to pray and prayed for -everybody I thought of, Brett and Mike and Bill and Robert Cohn and -myself, and all the bull-fighters, separately for the ones I liked, and -lumping all the rest, then I prayed for myself again, and while I was -praying for myself I found I was getting sleepy, so I prayed that the -bull-fights would be good, and that it would be a fine fiesta, and that -we would get some fishing. I wondered if there was anything else I might -pray for, and I thought I would like to have some money, so I prayed -that I would make a lot of money, and then I started to think how I -would make it, and thinking of making money reminded me of the count, -and I started wondering about where he was, and regretting I hadn’t seen -him since that night in Montmartre, and about something funny Brett told -me about him, and as all the time I was kneeling with my forehead on the -wood in front of me, and was thinking of myself as praying, I was a -little ashamed, and regretted that I was such a rotten Catholic, but -realized there was nothing I could do about it, at least for a while, -and maybe never, but that anyway it was a grand religion, and I only -wished I felt religious and maybe I would the next time; and then I was -out in the hot sun on the steps of the cathedral, and the forefingers -and the thumb of my right hand were still damp, and I felt them dry in -the sun. The sunlight was hot and hard, and I crossed over beside some -buildings, and walked back along side-streets to the hotel. - -At dinner that night we found that Robert Cohn had taken a bath, had had -a shave and a haircut and a shampoo, and something put on his hair -afterward to make it stay down. He was nervous, and I did not try to -help him any. The train was due in at nine o’clock from San Sebastian, -and, if Brett and Mike were coming, they would be on it. At twenty -minutes to nine we were not half through dinner. Robert Cohn got up from -the table and said he would go to the station. I said I would go with -him, just to devil him. Bill said he would be damned if he would leave -his dinner. I said we would be right back. - -We walked to the station. I was enjoying Cohn’s nervousness. I hoped -Brett would be on the train. At the station the train was late, and we -sat on a baggage-truck and waited outside in the dark. I have never seen -a man in civil life as nervous as Robert Cohn—nor as eager. I was -enjoying it. It was lousy to enjoy it, but I felt lousy. Cohn had a -wonderful quality of bringing out the worst in anybody. - -After a while we heard the train-whistle way off below on the other side -of the plateau, and then we saw the headlight coming up the hill. We -went inside the station and stood with a crowd of people just back of -the gates, and the train came in and stopped, and everybody started -coming out through the gates. - -They were not in the crowd. We waited till everybody had gone through -and out of the station and gotten into buses, or taken cabs, or were -walking with their friends or relatives through the dark into the town. - -“I knew they wouldn’t come,” Robert said. We were going back to the -hotel. - -“I thought they might,” I said. - -Bill was eating fruit when we came in and finishing a bottle of wine. - -“Didn’t come, eh?” - -“No.” - -“Do you mind if I give you that hundred pesetas in the morning, Cohn?” -Bill asked. “I haven’t changed any money here yet.” - -“Oh, forget about it,” Robert Cohn said. “Let’s bet on something else. -Can you bet on bull-fights?” - -“You could,” Bill said, “but you don’t need to.” - -“It would be like betting on the war,” I said. “You don’t need any -economic interest.” - -“I’m very curious to see them,” Robert said. - -Montoya came up to our table. He had a telegram in his hand. “It’s for -you.” He handed it to me. - -It read: “Stopped night San Sebastian.” - -“It’s from them,” I said. I put it in my pocket. Ordinarily I should -have handed it over. - -“They’ve stopped over in San Sebastian,” I said. “Send their regards to -you.” - -Why I felt that impulse to devil him I do not know. Of course I do know. -I was blind, unforgivingly jealous of what had happened to him. The fact -that I took it as a matter of course did not alter that any. I certainly -did hate him. I do not think I ever really hated him until he had that -little spell of superiority at lunch—that and when he went through all -that barbering. So I put the telegram in my pocket. The telegram came to -me, anyway. - -“Well,” I said. “We ought to pull out on the noon bus for Burguete. They -can follow us if they get in to-morrow night.” - -There were only two trains up from San Sebastian, an early morning train -and the one we had just met. - -“That sounds like a good idea,” Cohn said. - -“The sooner we get on the stream the better.” - -“It’s all one to me when we start,” Bill said. “The sooner the better.” - -We sat in the Iruña for a while and had coffee and then took a little -walk out to the bull-ring and across the field and under the trees at -the edge of the cliff and looked down at the river in the dark, and I -turned in early. Bill and Cohn stayed out in the café quite late, I -believe, because I was asleep when they came in. - -In the morning I bought three tickets for the bus to Burguete. It was -scheduled to leave at two o’clock. There was nothing earlier. I was -sitting over at the Iruña reading the papers when I saw Robert Cohn -coming across the square. He came up to the table and sat down in one of -the wicker chairs. - -“This is a comfortable café,” he said. “Did you have a good night, -Jake?” - -“I slept like a log.” - -“I didn’t sleep very well. Bill and I were out late, too.” - -“Where were you?” - -“Here. And after it shut we went over to that other café. The old man -there speaks German and English.” - -“The Café Suizo.” - -“That’s it. He seems like a nice old fellow. I think it’s a better café -than this one.” - -“It’s not so good in the daytime,” I said. “Too hot. By the way, I got -the bus tickets.” - -“I’m not going up to-day. You and Bill go on ahead.” - -“I’ve got your ticket.” - -“Give it to me. I’ll get the money back.” - -“It’s five pesetas.” - -Robert Cohn took out a silver five-peseta piece and gave it to me. - -“I ought to stay,” he said. “You see I’m afraid there’s some sort of -misunderstanding.” - -“Why,” I said. “They may not come here for three or four days now if -they start on parties at San Sebastian.” - -“That’s just it,” said Robert. “I’m afraid they expected to meet me at -San Sebastian, and that’s why they stopped over.” - -“What makes you think that?” - -“Well, I wrote suggesting it to Brett.” - -“Why in hell didn’t you stay there and meet them then?” I started to -say, but I stopped. I thought that idea would come to him by itself, but -I do not believe it ever did. - -He was being confidential now and it was giving him pleasure to be able -to talk with the understanding that I knew there was something between -him and Brett. - -“Well, Bill and I will go up right after lunch,” I said. - -“I wish I could go. We’ve been looking forward to this fishing all -winter.” He was being sentimental about it. “But I ought to stay. I -really ought. As soon as they come I’ll bring them right up.” - -“Let’s find Bill.” - -“I want to go over to the barber-shop.” - -“See you at lunch.” - -I found Bill up in his room. He was shaving. - -“Oh, yes, he told me all about it last night,” Bill said. “He’s a great -little confider. He said he had a date with Brett at San Sebastian.” - -“The lying bastard!” - -“Oh, no,” said Bill. “Don’t get sore. Don’t get sore at this stage of -the trip. How did you ever happen to know this fellow, anyway?” - -“Don’t rub it in.” - -Bill looked around, half-shaved, and then went on talking into the -mirror while he lathered his face. - -“Didn’t you send him with a letter to me in New York last winter? Thank -God, I’m a travelling man. Haven’t you got some more Jewish friends you -could bring along?” He rubbed his chin with his thumb, looked at it, and -then started scraping again. - -“You’ve got some fine ones yourself.” - -“Oh, yes. I’ve got some darbs. But not alongside of this Robert Cohn. -The funny thing is he’s nice, too. I like him. But he’s just so awful.” - -“He can be damn nice.” - -“I know it. That’s the terrible part.” - -I laughed. - -“Yes. Go on and laugh,” said Bill. “You weren’t out with him last night -until two o’clock.” - -“Was he very bad?” - -“Awful. What’s all this about him and Brett, anyway? Did she ever have -anything to do with him?” - -He raised his chin up and pulled it from side to side. - -“Sure. She went down to San Sebastian with him.” - -“What a damn-fool thing to do. Why did she do that?” - -“She wanted to get out of town and she can’t go anywhere alone. She said -she thought it would be good for him.” - -“What bloody-fool things people do. Why didn’t she go off with some of -her own people? Or you?”—he slurred that over—“or me? Why not me?” He -looked at his face carefully in the glass, put a big dab of lather on -each cheek-bone. “It’s an honest face. It’s a face any woman would be -safe with.” - -“She’d never seen it.” - -“She should have. All women should see it. It’s a face that ought to be -thrown on every screen in the country. Every woman ought to be given a -copy of this face as she leaves the altar. Mothers should tell their -daughters about this face. My son”—he pointed the razor at me—“go west -with this face and grow up with the country.” - -He ducked down to the bowl, rinsed his face with cold water, put on some -alcohol, and then looked at himself carefully in the glass, pulling down -his long upper lip. - -“My God!” he said, “isn’t it an awful face?” - -He looked in the glass. - -“And as for this Robert Cohn,” Bill said, “he makes me sick, and he can -go to hell, and I’m damn glad he’s staying here so we won’t have him -fishing with us.” - -“You’re damn right.” - -“We’re going trout-fishing. We’re going trout-fishing in the Irati -River, and we’re going to get tight now at lunch on the wine of the -country, and then take a swell bus ride.” - -“Come on. Let’s go over to the Iruña and start,” I said. - - - - - CHAPTER - 11 - - -It was baking hot in the square when we came out after lunch with our -bags and the rod-case to go to Burguete. People were on top of the bus, -and others were climbing up a ladder. Bill went up and Robert sat beside -Bill to save a place for me, and I went back in the hotel to get a -couple of bottles of wine to take with us. When I came out the bus was -crowded. Men and women were sitting on all the baggage and boxes on top, -and the women all had their fans going in the sun. It certainly was hot. -Robert climbed down and I fitted into the place he had saved on the one -wooden seat that ran across the top. - -Robert Cohn stood in the shade of the arcade waiting for us start. A -Basque with a big leather wine-bag in his lap lay across the top of the -bus in front of our seat, leaning back against our legs. He offered the -wine-skin to Bill and to me, and when I tipped it up to drink he -imitated the sound of a klaxon motor-horn so well and so suddenly that I -spilled some of the wine, and everybody laughed. He apologized and made -me take another drink. He made the klaxon again a little later, and it -fooled me the second time. He was very good at it. The Basques liked it. -The man next to Bill was talking to him in Spanish and Bill was not -getting it, so he offered the man one of the bottles of wine. The man -waved it away. He said it was too hot and he had drunk too much at -lunch. When Bill offered the bottle the second time he took a long -drink, and then the bottle went all over that part of the bus. Every one -took a drink very politely, and then they made us cork it up and put it -away. They all wanted us to drink from their leather wine-bottles. They -were peasants going up into the hills. - -Finally, after a couple more false klaxons, the bus started, and Robert -Cohn waved good-by to us, and all the Basques waved good-by to him. As -soon as we started out on the road outside of town it was cool. It felt -nice riding high up and close under the trees. The bus went quite fast -and made a good breeze, and as we went out along the road with the dust -powdering the trees and down the hill, we had a fine view, back through -the trees, of the town rising up from the bluff above the river. The -Basque lying against my knees pointed out the view with the neck of the -wine-bottle, and winked at us. He nodded his head. - -“Pretty nice, eh?” - -“These Basques are swell people,” Bill said. - -The Basque lying against my legs was tanned the color of saddle-leather. -He wore a black smock like all the rest. There were wrinkles in his -tanned neck. He turned around and offered his wine-bag to Bill. Bill -handed him one of our bottles. The Basque wagged a forefinger at him and -handed the bottle back, slapping in the cork with the palm of his hand. -He shoved the wine-bag up. - -“Arriba! Arriba!” he said. “Lift it up.” - -Bill raised the wine-skin and let the stream of wine spurt out and into -his mouth, his head tipped back. When he stopped drinking and tipped the -leather bottle down a few drops ran down his chin. - -“No! No!” several Basques said. “Not like that.” One snatched the bottle -away from the owner, who was himself about to give a demonstration. He -was a young fellow and he held the wine-bottle at full arms’ length and -raised it high up, squeezing the leather bag with his hand so the stream -of wine hissed into his mouth. He held the bag out there, the wine -making a flat, hard trajectory into his mouth, and he kept on swallowing -smoothly and regularly. - -“Hey!” the owner of the bottle shouted. “Whose wine is that?” - -The drinker waggled his little finger at him and smiled at us with his -eyes. Then he bit the stream off sharp, made a quick lift with the -wine-bag and lowered it down to the owner. He winked at us. The owner -shook the wine-skin sadly. - -We passed through a town and stopped in front of the posada, and the -driver took on several packages. Then we started on again, and outside -the town the road commenced to mount. We were going through farming -country with rocky hills that sloped down into the fields. The -grain-fields went up the hillsides. Now as we went higher there was a -wind blowing the grain. The road was white and dusty, and the dust rose -under the wheels and hung in the air behind us. The road climbed up into -the hills and left the rich grain-fields below. Now there were only -patches of grain on the bare hillsides and on each side of the -water-courses. We turned sharply out to the side of the road to give -room to pass to a long string of six mules, following one after the -other, hauling a high-hooded wagon loaded with freight. The wagon and -the mules were covered with dust. Close behind was another string of -mules and another wagon. This was loaded with lumber, and the arriero -driving the mules leaned back and put on the thick wooden brakes as we -passed. Up here the country was quite barren and the hills were rocky -and hard-baked clay furrowed by the rain. - -We came around a curve into a town, and on both sides opened out a -sudden green valley. A stream went through the centre of the town and -fields of grapes touched the houses. - -The bus stopped in front of a posada and many of the passengers got -down, and a lot of the baggage was unstrapped from the roof from under -the big tarpaulins and lifted down. Bill and I got down and went into -the posada. There was a low, dark room with saddles and harness, and -hay-forks made of white wood, and clusters of canvas rope-soled shoes -and hams and slabs of bacon and white garlics and long sausages hanging -from the roof. It was cool and dusky, and we stood in front of a long -wooden counter with two women behind it serving drinks. Behind them were -shelves stacked with supplies and goods. - -We each had an aguardiente and paid forty centimes for the two drinks. I -gave the woman fifty centimes to make a tip, and she gave me back the -copper piece, thinking I had misunderstood the price. - -Two of our Basques came in and insisted on buying a drink. So they -bought a drink and then we bought a drink, and then they slapped us on -the back and bought another drink. Then we bought, and then we all went -out into the sunlight and the heat, and climbed back on top of the bus. -There was plenty of room now for every one to sit on the seat, and the -Basque who had been lying on the tin roof now sat between us. The woman -who had been serving drinks came out wiping her hands on her apron and -talked to somebody inside the bus. Then the driver came out swinging two -flat leather mail-pouches and climbed up, and everybody waving we -started off. - -The road left the green valley at once, and we were up in the hills -again. Bill and the wine-bottle Basque were having a conversation. A man -leaned over from the other side of the seat and asked in English: -“You’re Americans?” - -“Sure.” - -“I been there,” he said. “Forty years ago.” - -He was an old man, as brown as the others, with the stubble of a white -beard. - -“How was it?” - -“What you say?” - -“How was America?” - -“Oh, I was in California. It was fine.” - -“Why did you leave?” - -“What you say?” - -“Why did you come back here?” - -“Oh! I come back to get married. I was going to go back but my wife she -don’t like to travel. Where you from?” - -“Kansas City.” - -“I been there,” he said. “I been in Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, -Denver, Los Angeles, Salt Lake City.” - -He named them carefully. - -“How long were you over?” - -“Fifteen years. Then I come back and got married.” - -“Have a drink?” - -“All right,” he said. “You can’t get this in America, eh?” - -“There’s plenty if you can pay for it.” - -“What you come over here for?” - -“We’re going to the fiesta at Pamplona.” - -“You like the bull-fights?” - -“Sure. Don’t you?” - -“Yes,” he said. “I guess I like them.” - -Then after a little: - -“Where you go now?” - -“Up to Burguete to fish.” - -“Well,” he said, “I hope you catch something.” - -He shook hands and turned around to the back seat again. The other -Basques had been impressed. He sat back comfortably and smiled at me -when I turned around to look at the country. But the effort of talking -American seemed to have tired him. He did not say anything after that. - -The bus climbed steadily up the road. The country was barren and rocks -stuck up through the clay. There was no grass beside the road. Looking -back we could see the country spread out below. Far back the fields were -squares of green and brown on the hillsides. Making the horizon were the -brown mountains. They were strangely shaped. As we climbed higher the -horizon kept changing. As the bus ground slowly up the road we could see -other mountains coming up in the south. Then the road came over the -crest, flattened out, and went into a forest. It was a forest of cork -oaks, and the sun came through the trees in patches, and there were -cattle grazing back in the trees. We went through the forest and the -road came out and turned along a rise of land, and out ahead of us was a -rolling green plain, with dark mountains beyond it. These were not like -the brown, heat-baked mountains we had left behind. These were wooded -and there were clouds coming down from them. The green plain stretched -off. It was cut by fences and the white of the road showed through the -trunks of a double line of trees that crossed the plain toward the -north. As we came to the edge of the rise we saw the red roofs and white -houses of Burguete ahead strung out on the plain, and away off on the -shoulder of the first dark mountain was the gray metal-sheathed roof of -the monastery of Roncesvalles. - -“There’s Roncevaux,” I said. - -“Where?” - -“Way off there where the mountain starts.” - -“It’s cold up here,” Bill said. - -“It’s high,” I said. “It must be twelve hundred metres.” - -“It’s awful cold,” Bill said. - -The bus levelled down onto the straight line of road that ran to -Burguete. We passed a crossroads and crossed a bridge over a stream. The -houses of Burguete were along both sides of the road. There were no -side-streets. We passed the church and the school-yard, and the bus -stopped. We got down and the driver handed down our bags and the -rod-case. A carabineer in his cocked hat and yellow leather cross-straps -came up. - -“What’s in there?” he pointed to the rod-case. - -I opened it and showed him. He asked to see our fishing permits and I -got them out. He looked at the date and then waved us on. - -“Is that all right?” I asked. - -“Yes. Of course.” - -We went up the street, past the whitewashed stone houses, families -sitting in their doorways watching us, to the inn. - -The fat woman who ran the inn came out from the kitchen and shook hands -with us. She took off her spectacles, wiped them, and put them on again. -It was cold in the inn and the wind was starting to blow outside. The -woman sent a girl up-stairs with us to show the room. There were two -beds, a washstand, a clothes-chest, and a big, framed steel-engraving of -Nuestra Señora de Roncesvalles. The wind was blowing against the -shutters. The room was on the north side of the inn. We washed, put on -sweaters, and came down-stairs into the dining-room. It had a stone -floor, low ceiling, and was oak-panelled. The shutters were up and it -was so cold you could see your breath. - -“My God!” said Bill. “It can’t be this cold to-morrow. I’m not going to -wade a stream in this weather.” - -There was an upright piano in the far corner of the room beyond the -wooden tables and Bill went over and started to play. - -“I got to keep warm,” he said. - -I went out to find the woman and ask her how much the room and board -was. She put her hands under her apron and looked away from me. - -“Twelve pesetas.” - -“Why, we only paid that in Pamplona.” - -She did not say anything, just took off her glasses and wiped them on -her apron. - -“That’s too much,” I said. “We didn’t pay more than that at a big -hotel.” - -“We’ve put in a bathroom.” - -“Haven’t you got anything cheaper?” - -“Not in the summer. Now is the big season.” - -We were the only people in the inn. Well, I thought, it’s only a few -days. - -“Is the wine included?” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“Well,” I said. “It’s all right.” - -I went back to Bill. He blew his breath at me to show how cold it was, -and went on playing. I sat at one of the tables and looked at the -pictures on the wall. There was one panel of rabbits, dead, one of -pheasants, also dead, and one panel of dead ducks. The panels were all -dark and smoky-looking. There was a cupboard full of liqueur bottles. I -looked at them all. Bill was still playing. “How about a hot rum punch?” -he said. “This isn’t going to keep me warm permanently.” - -I went out and told the woman what a rum punch was and how to make it. -In a few minutes a girl brought a stone pitcher, steaming, into the -room. Bill came over from the piano and we drank the hot punch and -listened to the wind. - -“There isn’t too much rum in that.” - -I went over to the cupboard and brought the rum bottle and poured a -half-tumblerful into the pitcher. - -“Direct action,” said Bill. “It beats legislation.” - -The girl came in and laid the table for supper. - -“It blows like hell up here,” Bill said. - -The girl brought in a big bowl of hot vegetable soup and the wine. We -had fried trout afterward and some sort of a stew and a big bowl full of -wild strawberries. We did not lose money on the wine, and the girl was -shy but nice about bringing it. The old woman looked in once and counted -the empty bottles. - -After supper we went up-stairs and smoked and read in bed to keep warm. -Once in the night I woke and heard the wind blowing. It felt good to be -warm and in bed. - - - - - CHAPTER - 12 - - -When I woke in the morning I went to the window and looked out. It had -cleared and there were no clouds on the mountains. Outside under the -window were some carts and an old diligence, the wood of the roof -cracked and split by the weather. It must have been left from the days -before the motor-buses. A goat hopped up on one of the carts and then to -the roof of the diligence. He jerked his head at the other goats below -and when I waved at him he bounded down. - -Bill was still sleeping, so I dressed, put on my shoes outside in the -hall, and went down-stairs. No one was stirring down-stairs, so I -unbolted the door and went out. It was cool outside in the early morning -and the sun had not yet dried the dew that had come when the wind died -down. I hunted around in the shed behind the inn and found a sort of -mattock, and went down toward the stream to try and dig some worms for -bait. The stream was clear and shallow but it did not look trouty. On -the grassy bank where it was damp I drove the mattock into the earth and -loosened a chunk of sod. There were worms underneath. They slid out of -sight as I lifted the sod and I dug carefully and got a good many. -Digging at the edge of the damp ground I filled two empty tobacco-tins -with worms and sifted dirt onto them. The goats watched me dig. - -When I went back into the inn the woman was down in the kitchen, and I -asked her to get coffee for us, and that we wanted a lunch. Bill was -awake and sitting on the edge of the bed. - -“I saw you out of the window,” he said. “Didn’t want to interrupt you. -What were you doing? Burying your money?” - -“You lazy bum!” - -“Been working for the common good? Splendid. I want you to do that every -morning.” - -“Come on,” I said. “Get up.” - -“What? Get up? I never get up.” - -He climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up to his chin. - -“Try and argue me into getting up.” - -I went on looking for the tackle and putting it all together in the -tackle-bag. - -“Aren’t you interested?” Bill asked. - -“I’m going down and eat.” - -“Eat? Why didn’t you say eat? I thought you just wanted me to get up for -fun. Eat? Fine. Now you’re reasonable. You go out and dig some more -worms and I’ll be right down.” - -“Oh, go to hell!” - -“Work for the good of all.” Bill stepped into his underclothes. “Show -irony and pity.” - -I started out of the room with the tackle-bag, the nets, and the -rod-case. - -“Hey! come back!” - -I put my head in the door. - -“Aren’t you going to show a little irony and pity?” - -I thumbed my nose. - -“That’s not irony.” - -As I went down-stairs I heard Bill singing, “Irony and Pity. When you’re -feeling . . . Oh, Give them Irony and Give them Pity. Oh, give them -Irony. When they’re feeling . . . Just a little irony. Just a little -pity . . .” He kept on singing until he came down-stairs. The tune was: -“The Bells are Ringing for Me and my Gal.” I was reading a week-old -Spanish paper. - -“What’s all this irony and pity?” - -“What? Don’t you know about Irony and Pity?” - -“No. Who got it up?” - -“Everybody. They’re mad about it in New York. It’s just like the -Fratellinis used to be.” - -The girl came in with the coffee and buttered toast. Or, rather, it was -bread toasted and buttered. - -“Ask her if she’s got any jam,” Bill said. “Be ironical with her.” - -“Have you got any jam?” - -“That’s not ironical. I wish I could talk Spanish.” - -The coffee was good and we drank it out of big bowls. The girl brought -in a glass dish of raspberry jam. - -“Thank you.” - -“Hey! that’s not the way,” Bill said. “Say something ironical. Make some -crack about Primo de Rivera.” - -“I could ask her what kind of a jam they think they’ve gotten into in -the Riff.” - -“Poor,” said Bill. “Very poor. You can’t do it. That’s all. You don’t -understand irony. You have no pity. Say something pitiful.” - -“Robert Cohn.” - -“Not so bad. That’s better. Now why is Cohn pitiful? Be ironic.” - -He took a big gulp of coffee. - -“Aw, hell!” I said. “It’s too early in the morning.” - -“There you go. And you claim you want to be a writer, too. You’re only a -newspaper man. An expatriated newspaper man. You ought to be ironical -the minute you get out of bed. You ought to wake up with your mouth full -of pity.” - -“Go on,” I said. “Who did you get this stuff from?” - -“Everybody. Don’t you read? Don’t you ever see anybody? You know what -you are? You’re an expatriate. Why don’t you live in New York? Then -you’d know these things. What do you want me to do? Come over here and -tell you every year?” - -“Take some more coffee,” I said. - -“Good. Coffee is good for you. It’s the caffeine in it. Caffeine, we are -here. Caffeine puts a man on her horse and a woman in his grave. You -know what’s the trouble with you? You’re an expatriate. One of the worst -type. Haven’t you heard that? Nobody that ever left their own country -ever wrote anything worth printing. Not even in the newspapers.” - -He drank the coffee. - -“You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get -precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to -death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not -working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafés.” - -“It sounds like a swell life,” I said. “When do I work?” - -“You don’t work. One group claims women support you. Another group -claims you’re impotent.” - -“No,” I said. “I just had an accident.” - -“Never mention that,” Bill said. “That’s the sort of thing that can’t be -spoken of. That’s what you ought to work up into a mystery. Like Henry’s -bicycle.” - -He had been going splendidly, but he stopped. I was afraid he thought he -had hurt me with that crack about being impotent. I wanted to start him -again. - -“It wasn’t a bicycle,” I said. “He was riding horseback.” - -“I heard it was a tricycle.” - -“Well,” I said. “A plane is sort of like a tricycle. The joystick works -the same way.” - -“But you don’t pedal it.” - -“No,” I said, “I guess you don’t pedal it.” - -“Let’s lay off that,” Bill said. - -“All right. I was just standing up for the tricycle.” - -“I think he’s a good writer, too,” Bill said. “And you’re a hell of a -good guy. Anybody ever tell you you were a good guy?” - -“I’m not a good guy.” - -“Listen. You’re a hell of a good guy, and I’m fonder of you than anybody -on earth. I couldn’t tell you that in New York. It’d mean I was a -faggot. That was what the Civil War was about. Abraham Lincoln was a -faggot. He was in love with General Grant. So was Jefferson Davis. -Lincoln just freed the slaves on a bet. The Dred Scott case was framed -by the Anti-Saloon League. Sex explains it all. The Colonel’s Lady and -Judy O’Grady are Lesbians under their skin.” - -He stopped. - -“Want to hear some more?” - -“Shoot,” I said. - -“I don’t know any more. Tell you some more at lunch.” - -“Old Bill,” I said. - -“You bum!” - -We packed the lunch and two bottles of wine in the rucksack, and Bill -put it on. I carried the rod-case and the landing-nets slung over my -back. We started up the road and then went across a meadow and found a -path that crossed the fields and went toward the woods on the slope of -the first hill. We walked across the fields on the sandy path. The -fields were rolling and grassy and the grass was short from the sheep -grazing. The cattle were up in the hills. We heard their bells in the -woods. - -The path crossed a stream on a foot-log. The log was surfaced off, and -there was a sapling bent across for a rail. In the flat pool beside the -stream tadpoles spotted the sand. We went up a steep bank and across the -rolling fields. Looking back we saw Burguete, white houses and red -roofs, and the white road with a truck going along it and the dust -rising. - -Beyond the fields we crossed another faster-flowing stream. A sandy road -led down to the ford and beyond into the woods. The path crossed the -stream on another foot-log below the ford, and joined the road, and we -went into the woods. - -It was a beech wood and the trees were very old. Their roots bulked -above the ground and the branches were twisted. We walked on the road -between the thick trunks of the old beeches and the sunlight came -through the leaves in light patches on the grass. The trees were big, -and the foliage was thick but it was not gloomy. There was no -undergrowth, only the smooth grass, very green and fresh, and the big -gray trees well spaced as though it were a park. - -“This is country,” Bill said. - -The road went up a hill and we got into thick woods, and the road kept -on climbing. Sometimes it dipped down but rose again steeply. All the -time we heard the cattle in the woods. Finally, the road came out on the -top of the hills. We were on the top of the height of land that was the -highest part of the range of wooded hills we had seen from Burguete. -There were wild strawberries growing on the sunny side of the ridge in a -little clearing in the trees. - -Ahead the road came out of the forest and went along the shoulder of the -ridge of hills. The hills ahead were not wooded, and there were great -fields of yellow gorse. Way off we saw the steep bluffs, dark with trees -and jutting with gray stone, that marked the course of the Irati River. - -“We have to follow this road along the ridge, cross these hills, go -through the woods on the far hills, and come down to the Irati valley,” -I pointed out to Bill. - -“That’s a hell of a hike.” - -“It’s too far to go and fish and come back the same day, comfortably.” - -“Comfortably. That’s a nice word. We’ll have to go like hell to get -there and back and have any fishing at all.” - -It was a long walk and the country was very fine, but we were tired when -we came down the steep road that led out of the wooded hills into the -valley of the Rio de la Fabrica. - -The road came out from the shadow of the woods into the hot sun. Ahead -was a river-valley. Beyond the river was a steep hill. There was a field -of buckwheat on the hill. We saw a white house under some trees on the -hillside. It was very hot and we stopped under some trees beside a dam -that crossed the river. - -Bill put the pack against one of the trees and we jointed up the rods, -put on the reels, tied on leaders, and got ready to fish. - -“You’re sure this thing has trout in it?” Bill asked. - -“It’s full of them.” - -“I’m going to fish a fly. You got any McGintys?” - -“There’s some in there.” - -“You going to fish bait?” - -“Yeah. I’m going to fish the dam here.” - -“Well, I’ll take the fly-book, then.” He tied on a fly. “Where’d I -better go? Up or down?” - -“Down is the best. They’re plenty up above, too.” - -Bill went down the bank. - -“Take a worm can.” - -“No, I don’t want one. If they won’t take a fly I’ll just flick it -around.” - -Bill was down below watching the stream. - -“Say,” he called up against the noise of the dam. “How about putting the -wine in that spring up the road?” - -“All right,” I shouted. Bill waved his hand and started down the stream. -I found the two wine-bottles in the pack, and carried them up the road -to where the water of a spring flowed out of an iron pipe. There was a -board over the spring and I lifted it and, knocking the corks firmly -into the bottles, lowered them down into the water. It was so cold my -hand and wrist felt numbed. I put back the slab of wood, and hoped -nobody would find the wine. - -I got my rod that was leaning against the tree, took the bait-can and -landing-net, and walked out onto the dam. It was built to provide a head -of water for driving logs. The gate was up, and I sat on one of the -squared timbers and watched the smooth apron of water before the river -tumbled into the falls. In the white water at the foot of the dam it was -deep. As I baited up, a trout shot up out of the white water into the -falls and was carried down. Before I could finish baiting, another trout -jumped at the falls, making the same lovely arc and disappearing into -the water that was thundering down. I put on a good-sized sinker and -dropped into the white water close to the edge of the timbers of the -dam. - -I did not feel the first trout strike. When I started to pull up I felt -that I had one and brought him, fighting and bending the rod almost -double, out of the boiling water at the foot of the falls, and swung him -up and onto the dam. He was a good trout, and I banged his head against -the timber so that he quivered out straight, and then slipped him into -my bag. - -While I had him on, several trout had jumped at the falls. As soon as I -baited up and dropped in again I hooked another and brought him in the -same way. In a little while I had six. They were all about the same -size. I laid them out, side by side, all their heads pointing the same -way, and looked at them. They were beautifully colored and firm and hard -from the cold water. It was a hot day, so I slit them all and shucked -out the insides, gills and all, and tossed them over across the river. I -took the trout ashore, washed them in the cold, smoothly heavy water -above the dam, and then picked some ferns and packed them all in the -bag, three trout on a layer of ferns, then another layer of fems, then -three more trout, and then covered them with ferns. They looked nice in -the ferns, and now the bag was bulky, and I put it in the shade of the -tree. - -It was very hot on the dam, so I put my worm-can in the shade with the -bag, and got a book out of the pack and settled down under the tree to -read until Bill should come up for lunch. - -It was a little past noon and there was not much shade, but I sat -against the trunk of two of the trees that grew together, and read. The -book was something by A. E. W. Mason, and I was reading a wonderful -story about a man who had been frozen in the Alps and then fallen into a -glacier and disappeared, and his bride was going to wait twenty-four -years exactly for his body to come out on the moraine, while her true -love waited too, and they were still waiting when Bill came up. - -“Get any?” he asked. He had his rod and his bag and his net all in one -hand, and he was sweating. I hadn’t heard him come up, because of the -noise from the dam. - -“Six. What did you get?” - -Bill sat down, opened up his bag, laid a big trout on the grass. He took -out three more, each one a little bigger than the last, and laid them -side by side in the shade from the tree. His face was sweaty and happy. - -“How are yours?” - -“Smaller.” - -“Let’s see them.” - -“They’re packed.” - -“How big are they really?” - -“They’re all about the size of your smallest.” - -“You’re not holding out on me?” - -“I wish I were.” - -“Get them all on worms?” - -“Yes.” - -“You lazy bum!” - -Bill put the trout in the bag and started for the river, swinging the -open bag. He was wet from the waist down and I knew he must have been -wading the stream. - -I walked up the road and got out the two bottles of wine. They were -cold. Moisture beaded on the bottles as I walked back to the trees. I -spread the lunch on a newspaper, and uncorked one of the bottles and -leaned the other against a tree. Bill came up drying his hands, his bag -plump with ferns. - -“Let’s see that bottle,” he said. He pulled the cork, and tipped up the -bottle and drank. “Whew! That makes my eyes ache.” - -“Let’s try it.” - -The wine was icy cold and tasted faintly rusty. - -“That’s not such filthy wine,” Bill said. - -“The cold helps it,” I said. - -We unwrapped the little parcels of lunch. - -“Chicken.” - -“There’s hard-boiled eggs.” - -“Find any salt?” - -“First the egg,” said Bill. “Then the chicken. Even Bryan could see -that.” - -“He’s dead. I read it in the paper yesterday.” - -“No. Not really?” - -“Yes. Bryan’s dead.” - -Bill laid down the egg he was peeling. - -“Gentlemen,” he said, and unwrapped a drumstick from a piece of -newspaper. “I reverse the order. For Bryan’s sake. As a tribute to the -Great Commoner. First the chicken; then the egg.” - -“Wonder what day God created the chicken?” - -“Oh,” said Bill, sucking the drumstick, “how should we know? We should -not question. Our stay on earth is not for long. Let us rejoice and -believe and give thanks.” - -“Eat an egg.” - -Bill gestured with the drumstick in one hand and the bottle of wine in -the other. - -“Let us rejoice in our blessings. Let us utilize the fowls of the air. -Let us utilize the product of the vine. Will you utilize a little, -brother?” - -“After you, brother.” - -Bill took a long drink. - -“Utilize a little, brother,” he handed me the bottle. “Let us not doubt, -brother. Let us not pry into the holy mysteries of the hen-coop with -simian fingers. Let us accept on faith and simply say—I want you to -join with me in saying—What shall we say, brother?” He pointed the -drumstick at me and went on. “Let me tell you. We will say, and I for -one am proud to say—and I want you to say with me, on your knees, -brother. Let no man be ashamed to kneel here in the great out-of-doors. -Remember the woods were God’s first temples. Let us kneel and say: -‘Don’t eat that, Lady—that’s Mencken.’” - -“Here,” I said. “Utilize a little of this.” - -We uncorked the other bottle. - -“What’s the matter?” I said. “Didn’t you like Bryan?” - -“I loved Bryan,” said Bill. “We were like brothers.” - -“Where did you know him?” - -“He and Mencken and I all went to Holy Cross together.” - -“And Frankie Fritsch.” - -“It’s a lie. Frankie Fritsch went to Fordham.” - -“Well,” I said, “I went to Loyola with Bishop Manning.” - -“It’s a lie,” Bill said. “I went to Loyola with Bishop Manning myself.” - -“You’re cock-eyed,” I said. - -“On wine?” - -“Why not?” - -“It’s the humidity,” Bill said. “They ought to take this damn humidity -away.” - -“Have another shot.” - -“Is this all we’ve got?” - -“Only the two bottles.” - -“Do you know what you are?” Bill looked at the bottle affectionately. - -“No,” I said. - -“You’re in the pay of the Anti-Saloon League.” - -“I went to Notre Dame with Wayne B. Wheeler.” - -“It’s a lie,” said Bill. “I went to Austin Business College with Wayne -B. Wheeler. He was class president.” - -“Well,” I said, “the saloon must go.” - -“You’re right there, old classmate,” Bill said. “The saloon must go, and -I will take it with me.” - -“You’re cock-eyed.” - -“On wine?” - -“On wine.” - -“Well, maybe I am.” - -“Want to take a nap?” - -“All right.” - -We lay with our heads in the shade and looked up into the trees. - -“You asleep?” - -“No,” Bill said. “I was thinking.” - -I shut my eyes. It felt good lying on the ground. - -“Say,” Bill said, “what about this Brett business?” - -“What about it?” - -“Were you ever in love with her?” - -“Sure.” - -“For how long?” - -“Off and on for a hell of a long time.” - -“Oh, hell!” Bill said. “I’m sorry, fella.” - -“It’s all right,” I said. “I don’t give a damn any more.” - -“Really?” - -“Really. Only I’d a hell of a lot rather not talk about it.” - -“You aren’t sore I asked you?” - -“Why the hell should I be?” - -“I’m going to sleep,” Bill said. He put a newspaper over his face. - -“Listen, Jake,” he said, “are you really a Catholic?” - -“Technically.” - -“What does that mean?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“All right, I’ll go to sleep now,” he said. “Don’t keep me awake by -talking so much.” - -I went to sleep, too. When I woke up Bill was packing the rucksack. It -was late in the afternoon and the shadow from the trees was long and -went out over the dam. I was stiff from sleeping on the ground. - -“What did you do? Wake up?” Bill asked. “Why didn’t you spend the -night?” I stretched and rubbed my eyes. - -“I had a lovely dream,” Bill said. “I don’t remember what it was about, -but it was a lovely dream.” - -“I don’t think I dreamt.” - -“You ought to dream,” Bill said. “All our biggest business men have been -dreamers. Look at Ford. Look at President Coolidge. Look at Rockefeller. -Look at Jo Davidson.” - -I disjointed my rod and Bill’s and packed them in the rod-case. I put -the reels in the tackle-bag. Bill had packed the rucksack and we put one -of the trout-bags in. I carried the other. - -“Well,” said Bill, “have we got everything?” - -“The worms.” - -“Your worms. Put them in there.” - -He had the pack on his back and I put the worm-cans in one of the -outside flap pockets. - -“You got everything now?” - -I looked around on the grass at the foot of the elm-trees. - -“Yes.” - -We started up the road into the woods. It was a long walk home to -Burguete, and it was dark when we came down across the fields to the -road, and along the road between the houses of the town, their windows -lighted, to the inn. - -We stayed five days at Burguete and had good fishing. The nights were -cold and the days were hot, and there was always a breeze even in the -heat of the day. It was hot enough so that it felt good to wade in a -cold stream, and the sun dried you when you came out and sat on the -bank. We found a stream with a pool deep enough to swim in. In the -evenings we played three-handed bridge with an Englishman named Harris, -who had walked over from Saint Jean Pied de Port and was stopping at the -inn for the fishing. He was very pleasant and went with us twice to the -Irati River. There was no word from Robert Cohn nor from Brett and Mike. - - - - - CHAPTER - 13 - - -One morning I went down to breakfast and the Englishman, Harris, was -already at the table. He was reading the paper through spectacles. He -looked up and smiled. - -“Good morning,” he said. “Letter for you. I stopped at the post and they -gave it me with mine.” - -The letter was at my place at the table, leaning against a coffee-cup. -Harris was reading the paper again. I opened the letter. It had been -forwarded from Pamplona. It was dated San Sebastian, Sunday: - - DEAR JAKE, - - We got here Friday, Brett passed out on the train, so brought - her here for 3 days rest with old friends of ours. We go to - Montoya Hotel Pamplona Tuesday, arriving at I don’t know what - hour. Will you send a note by the bus to tell us what to do to - rejoin you all on Wednesday. All our love and sorry to be late, - but Brett was really done in and will be quite all right by - Tues. and is practically so now. I know her so well and try to - look after her but it’s not so easy. Love to all the chaps, - - MICHAEL. - -“What day of the week is it?” I asked Harris. - -“Wednesday, I think. Yes, quite. Wednesday. Wonderful how one loses -track of the days up here in the mountains.” - -“Yes. We’ve been here nearly a week.” - -“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving?” - -“Yes. We’ll go in on the afternoon bus, I’m afraid.” - -“What a rotten business. I had hoped we’d all have another go at the -Irati together.” - -“We have to go _into_ Pamplona. We’re meeting people there.” - -“What rotten luck for me. We’ve had a jolly time here at Burguete.” - -“Come on in to Pamplona. We can play some bridge there, and there’s -going to be a damned fine fiesta.” - -“I’d like to. Awfully nice of you to ask me. I’d best stop on here, -though. I’ve not much more time to fish.” - -“You want those big ones in the Irati.” - -“I say, I do, you know. They’re enormous trout there.” - -“I’d like to try them once more.” - -“Do. Stop over another day. Be a good chap.” - -“We really have to get into town,” I said. - -“What a pity.” - -After breakfast Bill and I were sitting warming in the sun on a bench -out in front of the inn and talking it over. I saw a girl coming up the -road from the centre of the town. She stopped in front of us and took a -telegram out of the leather wallet that hung against her skirt. - -“Por ustedes?” - -I looked at it. The address was: “Barnes, Burguete.” - -“Yes. It’s for us.” - -She brought out a book for me to sign, and I gave her a couple of -coppers. The telegram was in Spanish: “Vengo Jueves Cohn.” - -I handed it to Bill. - -“What does the word Cohn mean?” he asked. - -“What a lousy telegram!” I said. “He could send ten words for the same -price. ‘I come Thursday.’ That gives you a lot of dope, doesn’t it?” - -“It gives you all the dope that’s of interest to Cohn.” - -“We’re going in, anyway,” I said. “There’s no use trying to move Brett -and Mike out here and back before the fiesta. Should we answer it?” - -“We might as well,” said Bill. “There’s no need for us to be snooty.” - -We walked up to the post-office and asked for a telegraph blank. - -“What will we say?” Bill asked. - -“‘Arriving to-night.’ That’s enough.” - -We paid for the message and walked back to the inn. Harris was there and -the three of us walked up to Roncesvalles. We went through the -monastery. - -“It’s a remarkable place,” Harris said, when we came out. “But you know -I’m not much on those sort of places.” - -“Me either,” Bill said. - -“It’s a remarkable place, though,” Harris said. “I wouldn’t not have -seen it. I’d been intending coming up each day.” - -“It isn’t the same as fishing, though, is it?” Bill asked. He liked -Harris. - -“I say not.” - -We were standing in front of the old chapel of the monastery. - -“Isn’t that a pub across the way?” Harris asked. “Or do my eyes deceive -me?” - -“It has the look of a pub,” Bill said. - -“It looks to me like a pub,” I said. - -“I say,” said Harris, “let’s utilize it.” He had taken up utilizing from -Bill. - -We had a bottle of wine apiece. Harris would not let us pay. He talked -Spanish quite well, and the innkeeper would not take our money. - -“I say. You don’t know what it’s meant to me to have you chaps up here.” - -“We’ve had a grand time, Harris.” - -Harris was a little tight. - -“I say. Really you don’t know how much it means. I’ve not had much fun -since the war.” - -“We’ll fish together again, some time. Don’t you forget it, Harris.” - -“We must. We _have_ had such a jolly good time.” - -“How about another bottle around?” - -“Jolly good idea,” said Harris. - -“This is mine,” said Bill. “Or we don’t drink it.” - -“I wish you’d let me pay for it. It _does_ give me pleasure, you know.” - -“This is going to give me pleasure,” Bill said. - -The innkeeper brought in the fourth bottle. We had kept the same -glasses. Harris lifted his glass. - -“I say. You know this does utilize well.” - -Bill slapped him on the back. - -“Good old Harris.” - -“I say. You know my name isn’t really Harris. It’s Wilson-Harris. All -one name. With a hyphen, you know.” - -“Good old Wilson-Harris,” Bill said. “We call you Harris because we’re -so fond of you.” - -“I say, Barnes. You don’t know what this all means to me.” - -“Come on and utilize another glass,” I said. - -“Barnes. Really, Barnes, you can’t know. That’s all.” - -“Drink up, Harris.” - -We walked back down the road from Roncesvalles with Harris between us. -We had lunch at the inn and Harris went with us to the bus. He gave us -his card, with his address in London and his club and his business -address, and as we got on the bus he handed us each an envelope. I -opened mine and there were a dozen flies in it. Harris had tied them -himself. He tied all his own flies. - -“I say, Harris—” I began. - -“No, no!” he said. He was climbing down from the bus. “They’re not -first-rate flies at all. I only thought if you fished them some time it -might remind you of what a good time we had.” - -The bus started. Harris stood in front of the post-office. He waved. As -we started along the road he turned and walked back toward the inn. - -“Say, wasn’t that Harris nice?” Bill said. - -“I think he really did have a good time.” - -“Harris? You bet he did.” - -“I wish he’d come into Pamplona.” - -“He wanted to fish.” - -“Yes. You couldn’t tell how English would mix with each other, anyway.” - -“I suppose not.” - -We got into Pamplona late in the afternoon and the bus stopped in front -of the Hotel Montoya. Out in the plaza they were stringing -electric-light wires to light the plaza for the fiesta. A few kids came -up when the bus stopped, and a customs officer for the town made all the -people getting down from the bus open their bundles on the sidewalk. We -went into the hotel and on the stairs I met Montoya. He shook hands with -us, smiling in his embarrassed way. - -“Your friends are here,” he said. - -“Mr. Campbell?” - -“Yes. Mr. Cohn and Mr. Campbell and Lady Ashley.” - -He smiled as though there were something I would hear about. - -“When did they get in?” - -“Yesterday. I’ve saved you the rooms you had.” - -“That’s fine. Did you give Mr. Campbell the room on the plaza?” - -“Yes. All the rooms we looked at.” - -“Where are our friends now?” - -“I think they went to the pelota.” - -“And how about the bulls?” - -Montoya smiled. “To-night,” he said. “To-night at seven o’clock they -bring in the Villar bulls, and to-morrow come the Miuras. Do you all go -down?” - -“Oh, yes. They’ve never seen a desencajonada.” - -Montoya put his hand on my shoulder. - -“I’ll see you there.” - -He smiled again. He always smiled as though bull-fighting were a very -special secret between the two of us; a rather shocking but really very -deep secret that we knew about. He always smiled as though there were -something lewd about the secret to outsiders, but that it was something -that we understood. It would not do to expose it to people who would not -understand. - -“Your friend, is he aficionado, too?” Montoya smiled at Bill. - -“Yes. He came all the way from New York to see the San Fermines.” - -“Yes?” Montoya politely disbelieved. “But he’s not aficionado like you.” - -He put his hand on my shoulder again embarrassedly. - -“Yes,” I said. “He’s a real aficionado.” - -“But he’s not aficionado like you are.” - -Aficion means passion. An aficionado is one who is passionate about the -bull-fights. All the good bull-fighters stayed at Montoya’s hotel; that -is, those with aficion stayed there. The commercial bull-fighters stayed -once, perhaps, and then did not come back. The good ones came each year. -In Montoya’s room were their photographs. The photographs were dedicated -to Juanito Montoya or to his sister. The photographs of bull-fighters -Montoya had really believed in were framed. Photographs of bull-fighters -who had been without aficion Montoya kept in a drawer of his desk. They -often had the most flattering inscriptions. But they did not mean -anything. One day Montoya took them all out and dropped them in the -waste-basket. He did not want them around. - -We often talked about bulls and bull-fighters. I had stopped at the -Montoya for several years. We never talked for very long at a time. It -was simply the pleasure of discovering what we each felt. Men would come -in from distant towns and before they left Pamplona stop and talk for a -few minutes with Montoya about bulls. These men were aficionados. Those -who were aficionados could always get rooms even when the hotel was -full. Montoya introduced me to some of them. They were always very -polite at first, and it amused them very much that I should be an -American. Somehow it was taken for granted that an American could not -have aficion. He might simulate it or confuse it with excitement, but he -could not really have it. When they saw that I had aficion, and there -was no password, no set questions that could bring it out, rather it was -a sort of oral spiritual examination with the questions always a little -on the defensive and never apparent, there was this same embarrassed -putting the hand on the shoulder, or a “Buen hombre.” But nearly always -there was the actual touching. It seemed as though they wanted to touch -you to make it certain. - -Montoya could forgive anything of a bull-fighter who had aficion. He -could forgive attacks of nerves, panic, bad unexplainable actions, all -sorts of lapses. For one who had aficion he could forgive anything. At -once he forgave me all my friends. Without his ever saying anything they -were simply a little something shameful between us, like the spilling -open of the horses in bull-fighting. - -Bill had gone up-stairs as we came in, and I found him washing and -changing in his room. - -“Well,” he said, “talk a lot of Spanish?” - -“He was telling me about the bulls coming in to-night.” - -“Let’s find the gang and go down.” - -“All right. They’ll probably be at the café.” - -“Have you got tickets?” - -“Yes. I got them for all the unloadings.” - -“What’s it like?” He was pulling his cheek before the glass, looking to -see if there were unshaved patches under the line of the jaw. - -“It’s pretty good,” I said. “They let the bulls out of the cages one at -a time, and they have steers in the corral to receive them and keep them -from fighting, and the bulls tear in at the steers and the steers run -around like old maids trying to quiet them down.” - -“Do they ever gore the steers?” - -“Sure. Sometimes they go right after them and kill them.” - -“Can’t the steers do anything?” - -“No. They’re trying to make friends.” - -“What do they have them in for?” - -“To quiet down the bulls and keep them from breaking horns against the -stone walls, or goring each other.” - -“Must be swell being a steer.” - -We went down the stairs and out of the door and walked across the square -toward the Café Iruña. There were two lonely looking ticket-houses -standing in the square. Their windows, marked SOL, SOL Y SOMBRA, and -SOMBRA, were shut. They would not open until the day before the fiesta. - -Across the square the white wicker tables and chairs of the Iruña -extended out beyond the Arcade to the edge of the street. I looked for -Brett and Mike at the tables. There they were. Brett and Mike and Robert -Cohn. Brett was wearing a Basque beret. So was Mike. Robert Cohn was -bare-headed and wearing his spectacles. Brett saw us coming and waved. -Her eyes crinkled up as we came up to the table. - -“Hello, you chaps!” she called. - -Brett was happy. Mike had a way of getting an intensity of feeling into -shaking hands. Robert Cohn shook hands because we were back. - -“Where the hell have you been?” I asked. - -“I brought them up here,” Cohn said. - -“What rot,” Brett said. “We’d have gotten here earlier if you hadn’t -come.” - -“You’d never have gotten here.” - -“What rot! You chaps are brown. Look at Bill.” - -“Did you get good fishing?” Mike asked. “We wanted to join you.” - -“It wasn’t bad. We missed you.” - -“I wanted to come,” Cohn said, “but I thought I ought to bring them.” - -“You bring us. What rot.” - -“Was it really good?” Mike asked. “Did you take many?” - -“Some days we took a dozen apiece. There was an Englishman up there.” - -“Named Harris,” Bill said. “Ever know him, Mike? He was in the war, -too.” - -“Fortunate fellow,” Mike said. “What times we had. How I wish those dear -days were back.” - -“Don’t be an ass.” - -“Were you in the war, Mike?” Cohn asked. - -“Was I not.” - -“He was a very distinguished soldier,” Brett said. “Tell them about the -time your horse bolted down Piccadilly.” - -“I’ll not. I’ve told that four times.” - -“You never told me,” Robert Cohn said. - -“I’ll not tell that story. It reflects discredit on me.” - -“Tell them about your medals.” - -“I’ll not. That story reflects great discredit on me.” - -“What story’s that?” - -“Brett will tell you. She tells all the stories that reflect discredit -on me.” - -“Go on. Tell it, Brett.” - -“Should I?” - -“I’ll tell it myself.” - -“What medals have you got, Mike?” - -“I haven’t got any medals.” - -“You must have some.” - -“I suppose I’ve the usual medals. But I never sent in for them. One time -there was this wopping big dinner and the Prince of Wales was to be -there, and the cards said medals will be worn. So naturally I had no -medals, and I stopped at my tailor’s and he was impressed by the -invitation, and I thought that’s a good piece of business, and I said to -him: ‘You’ve got to fix me up with some medals.’ He said: ‘What medals, -sir?’ And I said: ‘Oh, any medals. Just give me a few medals.’ So he -said: ‘What medals _have_ you, sir?’ And I said: ‘How should I know?’ -Did he think I spent all my time reading the bloody gazette? ‘Just give -me a good lot. Pick them out yourself.’ So he got me some medals, you -know, miniature medals, and handed me the box, and I put it in my pocket -and forgot it. Well, I went to the dinner, and it was the night they’d -shot Henry Wilson, so the Prince didn’t come and the King didn’t come, -and no one wore any medals, and all these coves were busy taking off -their medals, and I had mine in my pocket.” - -He stopped for us to laugh. - -“Is that all?” - -“That’s all. Perhaps I didn’t tell it right.” - -“You didn’t,” said Brett. “But no matter.” - -We were all laughing. - -“Ah, yes,” said Mike. “I know now. It was a damn dull dinner, and I -couldn’t stick it, so I left. Later on in the evening I found the box in -my pocket. What’s this? I said. Medals? Bloody military medals? So I cut -them all off their backing—you know, they put them on a strip—and gave -them all around. Gave one to each girl. Form of souvenir. They thought I -was hell’s own shakes of a soldier. Give away medals in a night club. -Dashing fellow.” - -“Tell the rest,” Brett said. - -“Don’t you think that was funny?” Mike asked. We were all laughing. “It -was. I swear it was. Any rate, my tailor wrote me and wanted the medals -back. Sent a man around. Kept on writing for months. Seems some chap had -left them to be cleaned. Frightfully military cove. Set hell’s own store -by them.” Mike paused. “Rotten luck for the tailor,” he said. - -“You don’t mean it,” Bill said. “I should think it would have been grand -for the tailor.” - -“Frightfully good tailor. Never believe it to see me now,” Mike said. “I -used to pay him a hundred pounds a year just to keep him quiet. So he -wouldn’t send me any bills. Frightful blow to him when I went bankrupt. -It was right after the medals. Gave his letters rather a bitter tone.” - -“How did you go bankrupt?” Bill asked. - -“Two ways,” Mike said. “Gradually and then suddenly.” - -“What brought it on?” - -“Friends,” said Mike. “I had a lot of friends. False friends. Then I had -creditors, too. Probably had more creditors than anybody in England.” - -“Tell them about in the court,” Brett said. - -“I don’t remember,” Mike said. “I was just a little tight.” - -“Tight!” Brett exclaimed. “You were blind!” - -“Extraordinary thing,” Mike said. “Met my former partner the other day. -Offered to buy me a drink.” - -“Tell them about your learned counsel,” Brett said. - -“I will not,” Mike said. “My learned counsel was blind, too. I say this -is a gloomy subject. Are we going down and see these bulls unloaded or -not?” - -“Let’s go down.” - -We called the waiter, paid, and started to walk through the town. I -started off walking with Brett, but Robert Cohn came up and joined her -on the other side. The three of us walked along, past the Ayuntamiento -with the banners hung from the balcony, down past the market and down -past the steep street that led to the bridge across the Arga. There were -many people walking to go and see the bulls, and carriages drove down -the hill and across the bridge, the drivers, the horses, and the whips -rising above the walking people in the street. Across the bridge we -turned up a road to the corrals. We passed a wine-shop with a sign in -the window: Good Wine 30 Centimes A Liter. - -“That’s where we’ll go when funds get low,” Brett said. - -The woman standing in the door of the wine-shop looked at us as we -passed. She called to some one in the house and three girls came to the -window and stared. They were staring at Brett. - -At the gate of the corrals two men took tickets from the people that -went in. We went in through the gate. There were trees inside and a low, -stone house. At the far end was the stone wall of the corrals, with -apertures in the stone that were like loopholes running all along the -face of each corral. A ladder led up to the top of the wall, and people -were climbing up the ladder and spreading down to stand on the walls -that separated the two corrals. As we came up the ladder, walking across -the grass under the trees, we passed the big, gray painted cages with -the bulls in them. There was one bull in each travelling-box. They had -come by train from a bull-breeding ranch in Castile, and had been -unloaded off flat-cars at the station and brought up here to be let out -of their cages into the corrals. Each cage was stencilled with the name -and the brand of the bull-breeder. - -We climbed up and found a place on the wall looking down into the -corral. The stone walls were whitewashed, and there was straw on the -ground and wooden feed-boxes and water-troughs set against the wall. - -“Look up there,” I said. - -Beyond the river rose the plateau of the town. All along the old walls -and ramparts people were standing. The three lines of fortifications -made three black lines of people. Above the walls there were heads in -the windows of the houses. At the far end of the plateau boys had -climbed into the trees. - -“They must think something is going to happen,” Brett said. - -“They want to see the bulls.” - -Mike and Bill were on the other wall across the pit of the corral. They -waved to us. People who had come late were standing behind us, pressing -against us when other people crowded them. - -“Why don’t they start?” Robert Cohn asked. - -A single mule was hitched to one of the cages and dragged it up against -the gate in the corral wall. The men shoved and lifted it with crowbars -into position against the gate. Men were standing on the wall ready to -pull up the gate of the corral and then the gate of the cage. At the -other end of the corral a gate opened and two steers came in, swaying -their heads and trotting, their lean flanks swinging. They stood -together at the far end, their heads toward the gate where the bull -would enter. - -“They don’t look happy,” Brett said. - -The men on top of the wall leaned back and pulled up the door of the -corral. Then they pulled up the door of the cage. - -I leaned way over the wall and tried to see into the cage. It was dark. -Some one rapped on the cage with an iron bar. Inside something seemed to -explode. The bull, striking into the wood from side to side with his -horns, made a great noise. Then I saw a dark muzzle and the shadow of -horns, and then, with a clattering on the wood in the hollow box, the -bull charged and came out into the corral, skidding with his forefeet in -the straw as he stopped, his head up, the great hump of muscle on his -neck swollen tight, his body muscles quivering as he looked up at the -crowd on the stone walls. The two steers backed away against the wall, -their heads sunken, their eyes watching the bull. - -The bull saw them and charged. A man shouted from behind one of the -boxes and slapped his hat against the planks, and the bull, before he -reached the steer, turned, gathered himself and charged where the man -had been, trying to reach him behind the planks with a half-dozen quick, -searching drives with the right horn. - -“My God, isn’t he beautiful?” Brett said. We were looking right down on -him. - -“Look how he knows how to use his horns,” I said. “He’s got a left and a -right just like a boxer.” - -“Not really?” - -“You watch.” - -“It goes too fast.” - -“Wait. There’ll be another one in a minute.” - -They had backed up another cage into the entrance. In the far corner a -man, from behind one of the plank shelters, attracted the bull, and -while the bull was facing away the gate was pulled up and a second bull -came out into the corral. - -He charged straight for the steers and two men ran out from behind the -planks and shouted, to turn him. He did not change his direction and the -men shouted: “Hah! Hah! Toro!” and waved their arms; the two steers -turned sideways to take the shock, and the bull drove into one of the -steers. - -“Don’t look,” I said to Brett. She was watching, fascinated. - -“Fine,” I said. “If it doesn’t buck you.” - -“I saw it,” she said. “I saw him shift from his left to his right horn.” - -“Damn good!” - -The steer was down now, his neck stretched out, his head twisted, he lay -the way he had fallen. Suddenly the bull left off and made for the other -steer which had been standing at the far end, his head swinging, -watching it all. The steer ran awkwardly and the bull caught him, hooked -him lightly in the flank, and then turned away and looked up at the -crowd on the walls, his crest of muscle rising. The steer came up to him -and made as though to nose at him and the bull hooked perfunctorily. The -next time he nosed at the steer and then the two of them trotted over to -the other bull. - -When the next bull came out, all three, the two bulls and the steer, -stood together, their heads side by side, their horns against the -newcomer. In a few minutes the steer picked the new bull up, quieted him -down, and made him one of the herd. When the last two bulls had been -unloaded the herd were all together. - -The steer who had been gored had gotten to his feet and stood against -the stone wall. None of the bulls came near him, and he did not attempt -to join the herd. - -We climbed down from the wall with the crowd, and had a last look at the -bulls through the loopholes in the wall of the corral. They were all -quiet now, their heads down. We got a carriage outside and rode up to -the café. Mike and Bill came in half an hour later. They had stopped on -the way for several drinks. - -We were sitting in the café. - -“That’s an extraordinary business,” Brett said. - -“Will those last ones fight as well as the first?” Robert Cohn asked. -“They seemed to quiet down awfully fast.” - -“They all know each other,” I said. “They’re only dangerous when they’re -alone, or only two or three of them together.” - -“What do you mean, dangerous?” Bill said. “They all looked dangerous to -me.” - -“They only want to kill when they’re alone. Of course, if you went in -there you’d probably detach one of them from the herd, and he’d be -dangerous.” - -“That’s too complicated,” Bill said. “Don’t you ever detach me from the -herd, Mike.” - -“I say,” Mike said, “they _were_ fine bulls, weren’t they? Did you see -their horns?” - -“Did I not,” said Brett. “I had no idea what they were like.” - -“Did you see the one hit that steer?” Mike asked. “That was -extraordinary.” - -“It’s no life being a steer,” Robert Cohn said. - -“Don’t you think so?” Mike said. “I would have thought you’d loved being -a steer, Robert.” - -“What do you mean, Mike?” - -“They lead such a quiet life. They never say anything and they’re always -hanging about so.” - -We were embarrassed. Bill laughed. Robert Cohn was angry. Mike went on -talking. - -“I should think you’d love it. You’d never have to say a word. Come on, -Robert. Do say something. Don’t just sit there.” - -“I said something, Mike. Don’t you remember? About the steers.” - -“Oh, say something more. Say something funny. Can’t you see we’re all -having a good time here?” - -“Come off it, Michael. You’re drunk,” Brett said. - -“I’m not drunk. I’m quite serious. _Is_ Robert Cohn going to follow -Brett around like a steer all the time?” - -“Shut up, Michael. Try and show a little breeding.” - -“Breeding be damned. Who has any breeding, anyway, except the bulls? -Aren’t the bulls lovely? Don’t you like them, Bill? Why don’t you say -something, Robert? Don’t sit there looking like a bloody funeral. What -if Brett did sleep with you? She’s slept with lots of better people than -you.” - -“Shut up,” Cohn said. He stood up. “Shut up, Mike.” - -“Oh, don’t stand up and act as though you were going to hit me. That -won’t make any difference to me. Tell me, Robert. Why do you follow -Brett around like a poor bloody steer? Don’t you know you’re not wanted? -I know when I’m not wanted. Why don’t you know when you’re not wanted? -You came down to San Sebastian where you weren’t wanted, and followed -Brett around like a bloody steer. Do you think that’s right?” - -“Shut up. You’re drunk.” - -“Perhaps I am drunk. Why aren’t you drunk? Why don’t you ever get drunk, -Robert? You know you didn’t have a good time at San Sebastian because -none of our friends would invite you on any of the parties. You can’t -blame them hardly. Can you? I asked them to. They wouldn’t do it. You -can’t blame them, now. Can you? Now, answer me. Can you blame them?” - -“Go to hell, Mike.” - -“I can’t blame them. Can you blame them? Why do you follow Brett around? -Haven’t you any manners? How do you think it makes _me_ feel?” - -“You’re a splendid one to talk about manners,” Brett said. “You’ve such -lovely manners.” - -“Come on, Robert,” Bill said. - -“What do you follow her around for?” - -Bill stood up and took hold of Cohn. - -“Don’t go,” Mike said. “Robert Cohn’s going to buy a drink.” - -Bill went off with Cohn. Cohn’s face was sallow. Mike went on talking. I -sat and listened for a while. Brett looked disgusted. - -“I say, Michael, you might not be such a bloody ass,” she interrupted. -“I’m not saying he’s not right, you know.” She turned to me. - -The emotion left Mike’s voice. We were all friends together. - -“I’m not so damn drunk as I sounded,” he said. - -“I know you’re not,” Brett said. - -“We’re none of us sober,” I said. - -“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” - -“But you put it so badly,” Brett laughed. - -“He was an ass, though. He came down to San Sebastian where he damn well -wasn’t wanted. He hung around Brett and just _looked_ at her. It made me -damned well sick.” - -“He did behave very badly,” Brett said. - -“Mark you. Brett’s had affairs with men before. She tells me all about -everything. She gave me this chap Cohn’s letters to read. I wouldn’t -read them.” - -“Damned noble of you.” - -“No, listen, Jake. Brett’s gone off with men. But they weren’t ever -Jews, and they didn’t come and hang about afterward.” - -“Damned good chaps,” Brett said. “It’s all rot to talk about it. Michael -and I understand each other.” - -“She gave me Robert Cohn’s letters. I wouldn’t read them.” - -“You wouldn’t read any letters, darling. You wouldn’t read mine.” - -“I can’t read letters,” Mike said. “Funny, isn’t it?” - -“You can’t read anything.” - -“No. You’re wrong there. I read quite a bit. I read when I’m at home.” - -“You’ll be writing next,” Brett said. “Come on, Michael. Do buck up. -You’ve got to go through with this thing now. He’s here. Don’t spoil the -fiesta.” - -“Well, let him behave, then.” - -“He’ll behave. I’ll tell him.” - -“You tell him, Jake. Tell him either he must behave or get out.” - -“Yes,” I said, “it would be nice for me to tell him.” - -“Look, Brett. Tell Jake what Robert calls you. That is perfect, you -know.” - -“Oh, no. I can’t.” - -“Go on. We’re all friends. Aren’t we all friends, Jake?” - -“I can’t tell him. It’s too ridiculous.” - -“I’ll tell him.” - -“You won’t, Michael. Don’t be an ass.” - -“He calls her Circe,” Mike said. “He claims she turns men into swine. -Damn good. I wish I were one of these literary chaps.” - -“He’d be good, you know,” Brett said. “He writes a good letter.” - -“I know,” I said. “He wrote me from San Sebastian.” - -“That was nothing,” Brett said. “He can write a damned amusing letter.” - -“She made me write that. She was supposed to be ill.” - -“I damned well was, too.” - -“Come on,” I said, “we must go in and eat.” - -“How should I meet Cohn?” Mike said. - -“Just act as though nothing had happened.” - -“It’s quite all right with me,” Mike said. “I’m not embarrassed.” - -“If he says anything, just say you were tight.” - -“Quite. And the funny thing is I think I was tight.” - -“Come on,” Brett said. “Are these poisonous things paid for? I must -bathe before dinner.” - -We walked across the square. It was dark and all around the square were -the lights from the cafés under the arcades. We walked across the gravel -under the trees to the hotel. - -They went up-stairs and I stopped to speak with Montoya. - -“Well, how did you like the bulls?” he asked. - -“Good. They were nice bulls.” - -“They’re all right”—Montoya shook his head—“but they’re not too good.” - -“What didn’t you like about them?” - -“I don’t know. They just didn’t give me the feeling that they were so -good.” - -“I know what you mean.” - -“They’re all right.” - -“Yes. They’re all right.” - -“How did your friends like them?” - -“Fine.” - -“Good,” Montoya said. - -I went up-stairs. Bill was in his room standing on the balcony looking -out at the square. I stood beside him. - -“Where’s Cohn?” - -“Up-stairs in his room.” - -“How does he feel?” - -“Like hell, naturally. Mike was awful. He’s terrible when he’s tight.” - -“He wasn’t so tight.” - -“The hell he wasn’t. I know what we had before we came to the café.” - -“He sobered up afterward.” - -“Good. He was terrible. I don’t like Cohn, God knows, and I think it was -a silly trick for him to go down to San Sebastian, but nobody has any -business to talk like Mike.” - -“How’d you like the bulls?” - -“Grand. It’s grand the way they bring them out.” - -“To-morrow come the Miuras.” - -“When does the fiesta start?” - -“Day after to-morrow.” - -“We’ve got to keep Mike from getting so tight. That kind of stuff is -terrible.” - -“We’d better get cleaned up for supper.” - -“Yes. That will be a pleasant meal.” - -“Won’t it?” - -As a matter of fact, supper was a pleasant meal. Brett wore a black, -sleeveless evening dress. She looked quite beautiful. Mike acted as -though nothing had happened. I had to go up and bring Robert Cohn down. -He was reserved and formal, and his face was still taut and sallow, but -he cheered up finally. He could not stop looking at Brett. It seemed to -make him happy. It must have been pleasant for him to see her looking so -lovely, and know he had been away with her and that every one knew it. -They could not take that away from him. Bill was very funny. So was -Michael. They were good together. - -It was like certain dinners I remember from the war. There was much -wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could -not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and -was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people. - - - - - CHAPTER - 14 - - -I do not know what time I got to bed. I remember undressing, putting on -a bathrobe, and standing out on the balcony. I knew I was quite drunk, -and when I came in I put on the light over the head of the bed and -started to read. I was reading a book by Turgenieff. Probably I read the -same two pages over several times. It was one of the stories in “A -Sportsman’s Sketches.” I had read it before, but it seemed quite new. -The country became very clear and the feeling of pressure in my head -seemed to loosen. I was very drunk and I did not want to shut my eyes -because the room would go round and round. If I kept on reading that -feeling would pass. - -I heard Brett and Robert Cohn come up the stairs. Cohn said good night -outside the door and went on up to his room. I heard Brett go into the -room next door. Mike was already in bed. He had come in with me an hour -before. He woke as she came in, and they talked together. I heard them -laugh. I turned off the light and tried to go to sleep. It was not -necessary to read any more. I could shut my eyes without getting the -wheeling sensation. But I could not sleep. There is no reason why -because it is dark you should look at things differently from when it is -light. The hell there isn’t! - -I figured that all out once, and for six months I never slept with the -electric light off. That was another bright idea. To hell with women, -anyway. To hell with you, Brett Ashley. - -Women made such swell friends. Awfully swell. In the first place, you -had to be in love with a woman to have a basis of friendship. I had been -having Brett for a friend. I had not been thinking about her side of it. -I had been getting something for nothing. That only delayed the -presentation of the bill. The bill always came. That was one of the -swell things you could count on. - -I thought I had paid for everything. Not like the woman pays and pays -and pays. No idea of retribution or punishment. Just exchange of values. -You gave up something and got something else. Or you worked for -something. You paid some way for everything that was any good. I paid my -way into enough things that I liked, so that I had a good time. Either -you paid by learning about them, or by experience, or by taking chances, -or by money. Enjoying living was learning to get your money’s worth and -knowing when you had it. You could get your money’s worth. The world was -a good place to buy in. It seemed like a fine philosophy. In five years, -I thought, it will seem just as silly as all the other fine philosophies -I’ve had. - -Perhaps that wasn’t true, though. Perhaps as you went along you did -learn something. I did not care what it was all about. All I wanted to -know was how to live in it. Maybe if you found out how to live in it you -learned from that what it was all about. - -I wished Mike would not behave so terribly to Cohn, though. Mike was a -bad drunk. Brett was a good drunk. Bill was a good drunk. Cohn was never -drunk. Mike was unpleasant after he passed a certain point. I liked to -see him hurt Cohn. I wished he would not do it, though, because -afterward it made me disgusted at myself. That was morality; things that -made you disgusted afterward. No, that must be immorality. That was a -large statement. What a lot of bilge I could think up at night. What -rot, I could hear Brett say it. What rot! When you were with English you -got into the habit of using English expressions in your thinking. The -English spoken language—the upper classes, anyway—must have fewer -words than the Eskimo. Of course I didn’t know anything about the -Eskimo. Maybe the Eskimo was a fine language. Say the Cherokee. I didn’t -know anything about the Cherokee, either. The English talked with -inflected phrases. One phrase to mean everything. I liked them, though. -I liked the way they talked. Take Harris. Still Harris was not the upper -classes. - -I turned on the light again and read. I read the Turgenieff. I knew that -now, reading it in the oversensitized state of my mind after much too -much brandy, I would remember it somewhere, and afterward it would seem -as though it had really happened to me. I would always have it. That was -another good thing you paid for and then had. Some time along toward -daylight I went to sleep. - - * * * * * - -The next two days in Pamplona were quiet, and there were no more rows. -The town was getting ready for the fiesta. Workmen put up the gate-posts -that were to shut off the side streets when the bulls were released from -the corrals and came running through the streets in the morning on their -way to the ring. The workmen dug holes and fitted in the timbers, each -timber numbered for its regular place. Out on the plateau beyond the -town employees of the bull-ring exercised picador horses, galloping them -stiff-legged on the hard, sun-baked fields behind the bull-ring. The big -gate of the bull-ring was open, and inside the amphitheatre was being -swept. The ring was rolled and sprinkled, and carpenters replaced -weakened or cracked planks in the barrera. Standing at the edge of the -smooth rolled sand you could look up in the empty stands and see old -women sweeping out the boxes. - -Outside, the fence that led from the last street of the town to the -entrance of the bull-ring was already in place and made a long pen; the -crowd would come running down with the bulls behind them on the morning -of the day of the first bull-fight. Out across the plain, where the -horse and cattle fair would be, some gypsies had camped under the trees. -The wine and aguardiente sellers were putting up their booths. One booth -advertised =ANIS DEL TORO=. The cloth sign hung against the -planks in the hot sun. In the big square that was the centre of the town -there was no change yet. We sat in the white wicker chairs on the -terrasse of the café and watched the motor-buses come in and unload -peasants from the country coming in to the market, and we watched the -buses fill up and start out with peasants sitting with their saddle-bags -full of the things they had bought in the town. The tall gray -motor-buses were the only life of the square except for the pigeons and -the man with a hose who sprinkled the gravelled square and watered the -streets. - -In the evening was the paseo. For an hour after dinner every one, all -the good-looking girls, the officers from the garrison, all the -fashionable people of the town, walked in the street on one side of the -square while the café tables filled with the regular after-dinner crowd. - -During the morning I usually sat in the café and read the Madrid papers -and then walked in the town or out into the country. Sometimes Bill went -along. Sometimes he wrote in his room. Robert Cohn spent the mornings -studying Spanish or trying to get a shave at the barber-shop. Brett and -Mike never got up until noon. We all had a vermouth at the café. It was -a quiet life and no one was drunk. I went to church a couple of times, -once with Brett. She said she wanted to hear me go to confession, but I -told her that not only was it impossible but it was not as interesting -as it sounded, and, besides, it would be in a language she did not know. -We met Cohn as we came out of church, and although it was obvious he had -followed us, yet he was very pleasant and nice, and we all three went -for a walk out to the gypsy camp, and Brett had her fortune told. - -It was a good morning, there were high white clouds above the mountains. -It had rained a little in the night and it was fresh and cool on the -plateau, and there was a wonderful view. We all felt good and we felt -healthy, and I felt quite friendly to Cohn. You could not be upset about -anything on a day like that. - -That was the last day before the fiesta. - - - - - CHAPTER - 15 - - -At noon of Sunday, the 6th of July, the fiesta exploded. There is no -other way to describe it. People had been coming in all day from the -country, but they were assimilated in the town and you did not notice -them. The square was as quiet in the hot sun as on any other day. The -peasants were in the outlying wine-shops. There they were drinking, -getting ready for the fiesta. They had come in so recently from the -plains and the hills that it was necessary that they make their shifting -in values gradually. They could not start in paying café prices. They -got their money’s worth in the wine-shops. Money still had a definite -value in hours worked and bushels of grain sold. Late in the fiesta it -would not matter what they paid, nor where they bought. - -Now on the day of the starting of the fiesta of San Fermin they had been -in the wine-shops of the narrow streets of the town since early morning. -Going down the streets in the morning on the way to mass in the -cathedral, I heard them singing through the open doors of the shops. -They were warming up. There were many people at the eleven o’clock mass. -San Fermin is also a religious festival. - -I walked down the hill from the cathedral and up the street to the café -on the square. It was a little before noon. Robert Cohn and Bill were -sitting at one of the tables. The marble-topped tables and the white -wicker chairs were gone. They were replaced by cast-iron tables and -severe folding chairs. The café was like a battleship stripped for -action. To-day the waiters did not leave you alone all morning to read -without asking if you wanted to order something. A waiter came up as -soon as I sat down. - -“What are you drinking?” I asked Bill and Robert. - -“Sherry,” Cohn said. - -“Jerez,” I said to the waiter. - -Before the waiter brought the sherry the rocket that announced the -fiesta went up in the square. It burst and there was a gray ball of -smoke high up above the Theatre Gayarre, across on the other side of the -plaza. The ball of smoke hung in the sky like a shrapnel burst, and as I -watched, another rocket came up to it, trickling smoke in the bright -sunlight. I saw the bright flash as it burst and another little cloud of -smoke appeared. By the time the second rocket had burst there were so -many people in the arcade, that had been empty a minute before, that the -waiter, holding the bottle high up over his head, could hardly get -through the crowd to our table. People were coming into the square from -all sides, and down the street we heard the pipes and the fifes and the -drums coming. They were playing the _riau-riau_ music, the pipes shrill -and the drums pounding, and behind them came the men and boys dancing. -When the fifers stopped they all crouched down in the street, and when -the reed-pipes and the fifes shrilled, and the flat, dry, hollow drums -tapped it out again, they all went up in the air dancing. In the crowd -you saw only the heads and shoulders of the dancers going up and down. - -In the square a man, bent over, was playing on a reed-pipe, and a crowd -of children were following him shouting, and pulling at his clothes. He -came out of the square, the children following him, and piped them past -the café and down a side street. We saw his blank pockmarked face as he -went by, piping, the children close behind him shouting and pulling at -him. - -“He must be the village idiot,” Bill said. “My God! look at that!” - -Down the street came dancers. The street was solid with dancers, all -men. They were all dancing in time behind their own fifers and drummers. -They were a club of some sort, and all wore workmen’s blue smocks, and -red handkerchiefs around their necks, and carried a great banner on two -poles. The banner danced up and down with them as they came down -surrounded by the crowd. - -“Hurray for Wine! Hurray for the Foreigners!” was painted on the banner. - -“Where are the foreigners?” Robert Cohn asked. - -“We’re the foreigners,” Bill said. - -All the time rockets were going up. The café tables were all full now. -The square was emptying of people and the crowd was filling the cafés. - -“Where’s Brett and Mike?” Bill asked. - -“I’ll go and get them,” Cohn said. - -“Bring them here.” - -The fiesta was really started. It kept up day and night for seven days. -The dancing kept up, the drinking kept up, the noise went on. The things -that happened could only have happened during a fiesta. Everything -became quite unreal finally and it seemed as though nothing could have -any consequences. It seemed out of place to think of consequences during -the fiesta. All during the fiesta you had the feeling, even when it was -quiet, that you had to shout any remark to make it heard. It was the -same feeling about any action. It was a fiesta and it went on for seven -days. - -That afternoon was the big religious procession. San Fermin was -translated from one church to another. In the procession were all the -dignitaries, civil and religious. We could not see them because the -crowd was too great. Ahead of the formal procession and behind it danced -the _riau-riau_ dancers. There was one mass of yellow shirts dancing up -and down in the crowd. All we could see of the procession through the -closely pressed people that crowded all the side streets and curbs were -the great giants, cigar-store Indians, thirty feet high, Moors, a King -and Queen, whirling and waltzing solemnly to the _riau-riau_. - -They were all standing outside the chapel where San Fermin and the -dignitaries had passed in, leaving a guard of soldiers, the giants, with -the men who danced in them standing beside their resting frames, and the -dwarfs moving with their whacking bladders through the crowd. We started -inside and there was a smell of incense and people filing back into the -church, but Brett was stopped just inside the door because she had no -hat, so we went out again and along the street that ran back from the -chapel into town. The street was lined on both sides with people keeping -their place at the curb for the return of the procession. Some dancers -formed a circle around Brett and started to dance. They wore big wreaths -of white garlics around their necks. They took Bill and me by the arms -and put us in the circle. Bill started to dance, too. They were all -chanting. Brett wanted to dance but they did not want her to. They -wanted her as an image to dance around. When the song ended with the -sharp _riau-riau!_ they rushed us into a wine-shop. - -We stood at the counter. They had Brett seated on a wine-cask. It was -dark in the wine-shop and full of men singing, hard-voiced singing. Back -of the counter they drew the wine from casks. I put down money for the -wine, but one of the men picked it up and put it back in my pocket. - -“I want a leather wine-bottle,” Bill said. - -“There’s a place down the street,” I said. “I’ll go get a couple.” - -The dancers did not want me to go out. Three of them were sitting on the -high wine-cask beside Brett, teaching her to drink out of the -wine-skins. They had hung a wreath of garlics around her neck. Some one -insisted on giving her a glass. Somebody was teaching Bill a song. -Singing it into his ear. Beating time on Bill’s back. - -I explained to them that I would be back. Outside in the street I went -down the street looking for the shop that made leather wine-bottles. The -crowd was packed on the sidewalks and many of the shops were shuttered, -and I could not find it. I walked as far as the church, looking on both -sides of the street. Then I asked a man and he took me by the arm and -led me to it. The shutters were up but the door was open. - -Inside it smelled of fresh tanned leather and hot tar. A man was -stencilling completed wine-skins. They hung from the roof in bunches. He -took one down, blew it up, screwed the nozzle tight, and then jumped on -it - -“See! It doesn’t leak.” - -“I want another one, too. A big one.” - -He took down a big one that would hold a gallon or more, from the roof. -He blew it up, his cheeks puffing ahead of the wine-skin, and stood on -the bota holding on to a chair. - -“What are you going to do? Sell them in Bayonne?” - -“No. Drink out of them.” - -He slapped me on the back. - -“Good man. Eight pesetas for the two. The lowest price.” - -The man who was stencilling the new ones and tossing them into a pile -stopped. - -“It’s true,” he said. “Eight pesetas is cheap.” - -I paid and went out and along the street back to the wine-shop. It was -darker than ever inside and very crowded. I did not see Brett and Bill, -and some one said they were in the back room. At the counter the girl -filled the two wine-skins for me. One held two litres. The other held -five litres. Filling them both cost three pesetas sixty centimos. Some -one at the counter, that I had never seen before, tried to pay for the -wine, but I finally paid for it myself. The man who had wanted to pay -then bought me a drink. He would not let me buy one in return, but said -he would take a rinse of the mouth from the new wine-bag. He tipped the -big five-litre bag up and squeezed it so the wine hissed against the -back of his throat. - -“All right,” he said, and handed back the bag. - -In the back room Brett and Bill were sitting on barrels surrounded by -the dancers. Everybody had his arms on everybody else’s shoulders, and -they were all singing. Mike was sitting at a table with several men in -their shirt-sleeves, eating from a bowl of tuna fish, chopped onions and -vinegar. They were all drinking wine and mopping up the oil and vinegar -with pieces of bread. - -“Hello, Jake. Hello!” Mike called. “Come here. I want you to meet my -friends. We’re all having an hors-d’œuvre.” - -I was introduced to the people at the table. They supplied their names -to Mike and sent for a fork for me. - -“Stop eating their dinner, Michael,” Brett shouted from the -wine-barrels. - -“I don’t want to eat up your meal,” I said when some one handed me a -fork. - -“Eat,” he said. “What do you think it’s here for?” - -I unscrewed the nozzle of the big wine-bottle and handed it around. -Every one took a drink, tipping the wine-skin at arm’s length. - -Outside, above the singing, we could hear the music of the procession -going by. - -“Isn’t that the procession?” Mike asked. - -“Nada,” some one said. “It’s nothing. Drink up. Lift the bottle.” - -“Where did they find you?” I asked Mike. - -“Some one brought me here,” Mike said. “They said you were here.” - -“Where’s Cohn?” - -“He’s passed out,” Brett called. “They’ve put him away somewhere.” - -“Where is he?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“How should we know,” Bill said. “I think he’s dead.” - -“He’s not dead,” Mike said. “I know he’s not dead. He’s just passed out -on Anis del Mono.” - -As he said Anis del Mono one of the men at the table looked up, brought -out a bottle from inside his smock, and handed it to me. - -“No,” I said. “No, thanks!” - -“Yes. Yes. Arriba! Up with the bottle!” - -I took a drink. It tasted of licorice and warmed all the way. I could -feel it warming in my stomach. - -“Where the hell is Cohn?” - -“I don’t know,” Mike said. “I’ll ask. Where is the drunken comrade?” he -asked in Spanish. - -“You want to see him?” - -“Yes,” I said. - -“Not me,” said Mike. “This gent.” - -The Anis del Mono man wiped his mouth and stood up. - -“Come on.” - -In a back room Robert Cohn was sleeping quietly on some wine-casks. It -was almost too dark to see his face. They had covered him with a coat -and another coat was folded under his head. Around his neck and on his -chest was a big wreath of twisted garlics. - -“Let him sleep,” the man whispered. “He’s all right.” - -Two hours later Cohn appeared. He came into the front room still with -the wreath of garlics around his neck. The Spaniards shouted when he -came in. Cohn wiped his eyes and grinned. - -“I must have been sleeping,” he said. - -“Oh, not at all,” Brett said. - -“You were only dead,” Bill said. - -“Aren’t we going to go and have some supper?” Cohn asked. - -“Do you want to eat?” - -“Yes. Why not? I’m hungry.” - -“Eat those garlics, Robert,” Mike said. “I say. Do eat those garlics.” - -Cohn stood there. His sleep had made him quite all right. - -“Do let’s go and eat,” Brett said. “I must get a bath.” - -“Come on,” Bill said. “Let’s translate Brett to the hotel.” - -We said good-bye to many people and shook hands with many people and -went out. Outside it was dark. - -“What time is it do you suppose?” Cohn asked. - -“It’s to-morrow,” Mike said. “You’ve been asleep two days.” - -“No,” said Cohn, “what time is it?” - -“It’s ten o’clock.” - -“What a lot we’ve drunk.” - -“You mean what a lot _we’ve_ drunk. You went to sleep.” - -Going down the dark streets to the hotel we saw the sky-rockets going up -in the square. Down the side streets that led to the square we saw the -square solid with people, those in the centre all dancing. - -It was a big meal at the hotel. It was the first meal of the prices -being doubled for the fiesta, and there were several new courses. After -the dinner we were out in the town. I remember resolving that I would -stay up all night to watch the bulls go through the streets at six -o’clock in the morning, and being so sleepy that I went to bed around -four o’clock. The others stayed up. - -My own room was locked and I could not find the key, so I went up-stairs -and slept on one of the beds in Cohn’s room. The fiesta was going on -outside in the night, but I was too sleepy for it to keep me awake. When -I woke it was the sound of the rocket exploding that announced the -release of the bulls from the corrals at the edge of town. They would -race through the streets and out to the bull-ring. I had been sleeping -heavily and I woke feeling I was too late. I put on a coat of Cohn’s and -went out on the balcony. Down below the narrow street was empty. All the -balconies were crowded with people. Suddenly a crowd came down the -street. They were all running, packed close together. They passed along -and up the street toward the bull-ring and behind them came more men -running faster, and then some stragglers who were really running. Behind -them was a little bare space, and then the bulls galloping, tossing -their heads up and down. It all went out of sight around the corner. One -man fell, rolled to the gutter, and lay quiet. But the bulls went right -on and did not notice him. They were all running together. - -After they went out of sight a great roar came from the bull-ring. It -kept on. Then finally the pop of the rocket that meant the bulls had -gotten through the people in the ring and into the corrals. I went back -in the room and got into bed. I had been standing on the stone balcony -in bare feet. I knew our crowd must have all been out at the bull-ring. -Back in bed, I went to sleep. - -Cohn woke me when he came in. He started to undress and went over and -closed the window because the people on the balcony of the house just -across the street were looking in. - -“Did you see the show?” I asked. - -“Yes. We were all there.” - -“Anybody get hurt?” - -“One of the bulls got into the crowd in the ring and tossed six or eight -people.” - -“How did Brett like it?” - -“It was all so sudden there wasn’t any time for it to bother anybody.” - -“I wish I’d been up.” - -“We didn’t know where you were. We went to your room but it was locked.” - -“Where did you stay up?” - -“We danced at some club.” - -“I got sleepy,” I said. - -“My gosh! I’m sleepy now,” Cohn said. “Doesn’t this thing ever stop?” - -“Not for a week.” - -Bill opened the door and put his head in. - -“Where were you, Jake?” - -“I saw them go through from the balcony. How was it?” - -“Grand.” - -“Where you going?” - -“To sleep.” - -No one was up before noon. We ate at tables set out under the arcade. -The town was full of people. We had to wait for a table. After lunch we -went over to the Iruña. It had filled up, and as the time for the -bull-fight came it got fuller, and the tables were crowded closer. There -was a close, crowded hum that came every day before the bull-fight. The -café did not make this same noise at any other time, no matter how -crowded it was. This hum went on, and we were in it and a part of it. - -I had taken six seats for all the fights. Three of them were barreras, -the first row at the ring-side, and three were sobrepuertos, seats with -wooden backs, half-way up the amphitheatre. Mike thought Brett had best -sit high up for her first time, and Cohn wanted to sit with them. Bill -and I were going to sit in the barreras, and I gave the extra ticket to -a waiter to sell. Bill said something to Cohn about what to do and how -to look so he would not mind the horses. Bill had seen one season of -bull-fights. - -“I’m not worried about how I’ll stand it. I’m only afraid I may be -bored,” Cohn said. - -“You think so?” - -“Don’t look at the horses, after the bull hits them,” I said to Brett. -“Watch the charge and see the picador try and keep the bull off, but -then don’t look again until the horse is dead if it’s been hit.” - -“I’m a little nervy about it,” Brett said. “I’m worried whether I’ll be -able to go through with it all right.” - -“You’ll be all right. There’s nothing but that horse part that will -bother you, and they’re only in for a few minutes with each bull. Just -don’t watch when it’s bad.” - -“She’ll be all right,” Mike said. “I’ll look after her.” - -“I don’t think you’ll be bored,” Bill said. - -“I’m going over to the hotel to get the glasses and the wine-skin,” I -said. “See you back here. Don’t get cock-eyed.” - -“I’ll come along,” Bill said. Brett smiled at us. - -We walked around through the arcade to avoid the heat of the square. - -“That Cohn gets me,” Bill said. “He’s got this Jewish superiority so -strong that he thinks the only emotion he’ll get out of the fight will -be being bored.” - -“We’ll watch him with the glasses,” I said. - -“Oh, to hell with him!” - -“He spends a lot of time there.” - -“I want him to stay there.” - -In the hotel on the stairs we met Montoya. - -“Come on,” said Montoya. “Do you want to meet Pedro Romero?” - -“Fine,” said Bill. “Let’s go see him.” - -We followed Montoya up a flight and down the corridor. - -“He’s in room number eight,” Montoya explained. “He’s getting dressed -for the bull-fight.” - -Montoya knocked on the door and opened it. It was a gloomy room with a -little light coming in from the window on the narrow street. There were -two beds separated by a monastic partition. The electric light was on. -The boy stood very straight and unsmiling in his bull-fighting clothes. -His jacket hung over the back of a chair. They were just finishing -winding his sash. His black hair shone under the electric light. He wore -a white linen shirt and the sword-handler finished his sash and stood up -and stepped back. Pedro Romero nodded, seeming very far away and -dignified when we shook hands. Montoya said something about what great -aficionados we were, and that we wanted to wish him luck. Romero -listened very seriously. Then he turned to me. He was the best-looking -boy I have ever seen. - -“You go to the bull-fight,” he said in English. - -“You know English,” I said, feeling like an idiot. - -“No,” he answered, and smiled. - -One of three men who had been sitting on the beds came up and asked us -if we spoke French. “Would you like me to interpret for you? Is there -anything you would like to ask Pedro Romero?” - -We thanked him. What was there that you would like to ask? The boy was -nineteen years old, alone except for his sword-handler, and the three -hangers-on, and the bull-fight was to commence in twenty minutes. We -wished him “Mucha suerte,” shook hands, and went out. He was standing, -straight and handsome and altogether by himself, alone in the room with -the hangers-on as we shut the door. - -“He’s a fine boy, don’t you think so?” Montoya asked. - -“He’s a good-looking kid,” I said. - -“He looks like a torero,” Montoya said. “He has the type.” - -“He’s a fine boy.” - -“We’ll see how he is in the ring,” Montoya said. - -We found the big leather wine-bottle leaning against the wall in my -room, took it and the field-glasses, locked the door, and went -down-stairs. - -It was a good bull-fight. Bill and I were very excited about Pedro -Romero. Montoya was sitting about ten places away. After Romero had -killed his first bull Montoya caught my eye and nodded his head. This -was a real one. There had not been a real one for a long time. Of the -other two matadors, one was very fair and the other was passable. But -there was no comparison with Romero, although neither of his bulls was -much. - -Several times during the bull-fight I looked up at Mike and Brett and -Cohn, with the glasses. They seemed to be all right. Brett did not look -upset. All three were leaning forward on the concrete railing in front -of them. - -“Let me take the glasses,” Bill said. - -“Does Cohn look bored?” I asked. - -“That kike!” - -Outside the ring, after the bull-fight was over, you could not move in -the crowd. We could not make our way through but had to be moved with -the whole thing, slowly, as a glacier, back to town. We had that -disturbed emotional feeling that always comes after a bull-fight, and -the feeling of elation that comes after a good bull-fight. The fiesta -was going on. The drums pounded and the pipe music was shrill, and -everywhere the flow of the crowd was broken by patches of dancers. The -dancers were in a crowd, so you did not see the intricate play of the -feet. All you saw was the heads and shoulders going up and down, up and -down. Finally, we got out of the crowd and made for the café. The waiter -saved chairs for the others, and we each ordered an absinthe and watched -the crowd in the square and the dancers. - -“What do you suppose that dance is?” Bill asked. - -“It’s a sort of jota.” - -“They’re not all the same,” Bill said. “They dance differently to all -the different tunes.” - -“It’s swell dancing.” - -In front of us on a clear part of the street a company of boys were -dancing. The steps were very intricate and their faces were intent and -concentrated. They all looked down while they danced. Their rope-soled -shoes tapped and spatted on the pavement. The toes touched. The heels -touched. The balls of the feet touched. Then the music broke wildly and -the step was finished and they were all dancing on up the street. - -“Here come the gentry,” Bill said. - -They were crossing the street - -“Hello, men,” I said. - -“Hello, gents!” said Brett. “You saved us seats? How nice.” - -“I say,” Mike said, “that Romero what’shisname is somebody. Am I wrong?” - -“Oh, isn’t he lovely,” Brett said. “And those green trousers.” - -“Brett never took her eyes off them.” - -“I say, I must borrow your glasses to-morrow.” - -“How did it go?” - -“Wonderfully! Simply perfect. I say, it is a spectacle!” - -“How about the horses?” - -“I couldn’t help looking at them.” - -“She couldn’t take her eyes off them,” Mike said. “She’s an -extraordinary wench.” - -“They do have some rather awful things happen to them,” Brett said. “I -couldn’t look away, though.” - -“Did you feel all right?” - -“I didn’t feel badly at all.” - -“Robert Cohn did,” Mike put in. “You were quite green, Robert.” - -“The first horse did bother me,” Cohn said. - -“You weren’t bored, were you?” asked Bill. - -Cohn laughed. - -“No. I wasn’t bored. I wish you’d forgive me that.” - -“It’s all right,” Bill said, “so long as you weren’t bored.” - -“He didn’t look bored,” Mike said. “I thought he was going to be sick.” - -“I never felt that bad. It was just for a minute.” - -“I thought he was going to be sick. You weren’t bored, were you, -Robert?” - -“Let up on that, Mike. I said I was sorry I said it.” - -“He was, you know. He was positively green.” - -“Oh, shove it along, Michael.” - -“You mustn’t ever get bored at your first bull-fight, Robert,” Mike -said. “It might make such a mess.” - -“Oh, shove it along, Michael,” Brett said. - -“He said Brett was a sadist,” Mike said. “Brett’s not a sadist. She’s -just a lovely, healthy wench.” - -“Are you a sadist, Brett?” I asked. - -“Hope not.” - -“He said Brett was a sadist just because she has a good, healthy -stomach.” - -“Won’t be healthy long.” - -Bill got Mike started on something else than Cohn. The waiter brought -the absinthe glasses. - -“Did you really like it?” Bill asked Cohn. - -“No, I can’t say I liked it. I think it’s a wonderful show.” - -“Gad, yes! What a spectacle!” Brett said. - -“I wish they didn’t have the horse part,” Cohn said. - -“They’re not important,” Bill said. “After a while you never notice -anything disgusting.” - -“It is a bit strong just at the start,” Brett said. “There’s a dreadful -moment for me just when the bull starts for the horse.” - -“The bulls were fine,” Cohn said. - -“They were very good,” Mike said. - -“I want to sit down below, next time.” Brett drank from her glass of -absinthe. - -“She wants to see the bull-fighters close by,” Mike said. - -“They are something,” Brett said. “That Romero lad is just a child.” - -“He’s a damned good-looking boy,” I said. “When we were up in his room I -never saw a better-looking kid.” - -“How old do you suppose he is?” - -“Nineteen or twenty.” - -“Just imagine it.” - -The bull-fight on the second day was much better than on the first. -Brett sat between Mike and me at the barrera, and Bill and Cohn went up -above. Romero was the whole show. I do not think Brett saw any other -bull-fighter. No one else did either, except the hard-shelled -technicians. It was all Romero. There were two other matadors, but they -did not count. I sat beside Brett and explained to Brett what it was all -about. I told her about watching the bull, not the horse, when the bulls -charged the picadors, and got her to watching the picador place the -point of his pic so that she saw what it was all about, so that it -became more something that was going on with a definite end, and less of -a spectacle with unexplained horrors. I had her watch how Romero took -the bull away from a fallen horse with his cape, and how he held him -with the cape and turned him, smoothly and suavely, never wasting the -bull. She saw how Romero avoided every brusque movement and saved his -bulls for the last when he wanted them, not winded and discomposed but -smoothly worn down. She saw how close Romero always worked to the bull, -and I pointed out to her the tricks the other bull-fighters used to make -it look as though they were working closely. She saw why she liked -Romero’s cape-work and why she did not like the others. - -Romero never made any contortions, always it was straight and pure and -natural in line. The others twisted themselves like corkscrews, their -elbows raised, and leaned against the flanks of the bull after his horns -had passed, to give a faked look of danger. Afterward, all that was -faked turned bad and gave an unpleasant feeling. Romero’s bull-fighting -gave real emotion, because he kept the absolute purity of line in his -movements and always quietly and calmly let the horns pass him close -each time. He did not have to emphasize their closeness. Brett saw how -something that was beautiful done close to the bull was ridiculous if it -were done a little way off. I told her how since the death of Joselito -all the bull-fighters had been developing a technic that simulated this -appearance of danger in order to give a fake emotional feeling, while -the bull-fighter was really safe. Romero had the old thing, the holding -of his purity of line through the maximum of exposure, while he -dominated the bull by making him realize he was unattainable, while he -prepared him for the killing. - -“I’ve never seen him do an awkward thing,” Brett said. - -“You won’t until he gets frightened,” I said. - -“He’ll never be frightened,” Mike said. “He knows too damned much.” - -“He knew everything when he started. The others can’t ever learn what he -was born with.” - -“And God, what looks,” Brett said. - -“I believe, you know, that she’s falling in love with this bull-fighter -chap,” Mike said. - -“I wouldn’t be surprised.” - -“Be a good chap, Jake. Don’t tell her anything more about him. Tell her -how they beat their old mothers.” - -“Tell me what drunks they are.” - -“Oh, frightful,” Mike said. “Drunk all day and spend all their time -beating their poor old mothers.” - -“He looks that way,” Brett said. - -“Doesn’t he?” I said. - -They had hitched the mules to the dead bull and then the whips cracked, -the men ran, and the mules, straining forward, their legs pushing, broke -into a gallop, and the bull, one horn up, his head on its side, swept a -swath smoothly across the sand and out the red gate. - -“This next is the last one.” - -“Not really,” Brett said. She leaned forward on the barrera. Romero -waved his picadors to their places, then stood, his cape against his -chest, looking across the ring to where the bull would come out. - -After it was over we went out and were pressed tight in the crowd. - -“These bull-fights are hell on one,” Brett said. “I’m limp as a rag.” - -“Oh, you’ll get a drink,” Mike said. - -The next day Pedro Romero did not fight. It was Miura bulls, and a very -bad bull-fight. The next day there was no bull-fight scheduled. But all -day and all night the fiesta kept on. - - - - - CHAPTER - 16 - - -In the morning it was raining. A fog had come over the mountains from -the sea. You could not see the tops of the mountains. The plateau was -dull and gloomy, and the shapes of the trees and the houses were -changed. I walked out beyond the town to look at the weather. The bad -weather was coming over the mountains from the sea. - -The flags in the square hung wet from the white poles and the banners -were wet and hung damp against the front of the houses, and in between -the steady drizzle the rain came down and drove every one under the -arcades and made pools of water in the square, and the streets wet and -dark and deserted; yet the fiesta kept up without any pause. It was only -driven under cover. - -The covered seats of the bull-ring had been crowded with people sitting -out of the rain watching the concourse of Basque and Navarrais dancers -and singers, and afterward the Val Carlos dancers in their costumes -danced down the street in the rain, the drums sounding hollow and damp, -and the chiefs of the bands riding ahead on their big, heavy-footed -horses, their costumes wet, the horses’ coats wet in the rain. The crowd -was in the cafés and the dancers came in, too, and sat, their -tight-wound white legs under the tables, shaking the water from their -belled caps, and spreading their red and purple jackets over the chairs -to dry. It was raining hard outside. - -I left the crowd in the café and went over to the hotel to get shaved -for dinner. I was shaving in my room when there was a knock on the door. - -“Come in,” I called. - -Montoya walked in. - -“How are you?” he said. - -“Fine,” I said. - -“No bulls to-day.” - -“No,” I said, “nothing but rain.” - -“Where are your friends?” - -“Over at the Iruña.” - -Montoya smiled his embarrassed smile. - -“Look,” he said. “Do you know the American ambassador?” - -“Yes,” I said. “Everybody knows the American ambassador.” - -“He’s here in town, now.” - -“Yes,” I said. “Everybody’s seen them.” - -“I’ve seen them, too,” Montoya said. He didn’t say anything. I went on -shaving. - -“Sit down,” I said. “Let me send for a drink.” - -“No, I have to go.” - -I finished shaving and put my face down into the bowl and washed it with -cold water. Montoya was standing there looking more embarrassed. - -“Look,” he said. “I’ve just had a message from them at the Grand Hotel -that they want Pedro Romero and Marcial Lalanda to come over for coffee -to-night after dinner.” - -“Well,” I said, “it can’t hurt Marcial any.” - -“Marcial has been in San Sebastian all day. He drove over in a car this -morning with Marquez. I don’t think they’ll be back to-night.” - -Montoya stood embarrassed. He wanted me to say something. - -“Don’t give Romero the message,” I said. - -“You think so?” - -“Absolutely.” - -Montoya was very pleased. - -“I wanted to ask you because you were an American,” he said. - -“That’s what I’d do.” - -“Look,” said Montoya. “People take a boy like that. They don’t know what -he’s worth. They don’t know what he means. Any foreigner can flatter -him. They start this Grand Hotel business, and in one year they’re -through.” - -“Like Algabeno,” I said. - -“Yes, like Algabeno.” - -“They’re a fine lot,” I said. “There’s one American woman down here now -that collects bull-fighters.” - -“I know. They only want the young ones.” - -“Yes,” I said. “The old ones get fat.” - -“Or crazy like Gallo.” - -“Well,” I said, “it’s easy. All you have to do is not give him the -message.” - -“He’s such a fine boy,” said Montoya. “He ought to stay with his own -people. He shouldn’t mix in that stuff.” - -“Won’t you have a drink?” I asked. - -“No,” said Montoya, “I have to go.” He went out. - -I went down-stairs and out the door and took a walk around through the -arcades around the square. It was still raining. I looked in at the -Iruña for the gang and they were not there, so I walked on around the -square and back to the hotel. They were eating dinner in the down-stairs -dining-room. - -They were well ahead of me and it was no use trying to catch them. Bill -was buying shoe-shines for Mike. Bootblacks opened the street door and -each one Bill called over and started to work on Mike. - -“This is the eleventh time my boots have been polished,” Mike said. “I -say, Bill is an ass.” - -The bootblacks had evidently spread the report. Another came in. - -“Limpia botas?” he said to Bill. - -“No,” said Bill. “For this Señor.” - -The bootblack knelt down beside the one at work and started on Mike’s -free shoe that shone already in the electric light. - -“Bill’s a yell of laughter,” Mike said. - -I was drinking red wine, and so far behind them that I felt a little -uncomfortable about all this shoe-shining. I looked around the room. At -the next table was Pedro Romero. He stood up when I nodded, and asked me -to come over and meet a friend. His table was beside ours, almost -touching. I met the friend, a Madrid bull-fight critic, a little man -with a drawn face. I told Romero how much I liked his work, and he was -very pleased. We talked Spanish and the critic knew a little French. I -reached to our table for my wine-bottle, but the critic took my arm. -Romero laughed. - -“Drink here,” he said in English. - -He was very bashful about his English, but he was really very pleased -with it, and as we went on talking he brought out words he was not sure -of, and asked me about them. He was anxious to know the English for -_Corrida de toros_, the exact translation. Bull-fight he was suspicious -of. I explained that bull-fight in Spanish was the _lidia_ of a _toro_. -The Spanish word _corrida_ means in English the running of bulls—the -French translation is _Course de taureaux_. The critic put that in. -There is no Spanish word for bull-fight. - -Pedro Romero said he had learned a little English in Gibraltar. He was -born in Ronda. That is not far above Gibraltar. He started bull-fighting -in Malaga in the bull-fighting school there. He had only been at it -three years. The bull-fight critic joked him about the number of -_Malagueño_ expressions he used. He was nineteen years old, he said. His -older brother was with him as a banderillero, but he did not live in -this hotel. He lived in a smaller hotel with the other people who worked -for Romero. He asked me how many times I had seen him in the ring. I -told him only three. It was really only two, but I did not want to -explain after I had made the mistake. - -“Where did you see me the other time? In Madrid?” - -“Yes,” I lied. I had read the accounts of his two appearances in Madrid -in the bull-fight papers, so I was all right. - -“The first or the second time?” - -“The first.” - -“I was very bad,” he said. “The second time I was better. You remember?” -He turned to the critic. - -He was not at all embarrassed. He talked of his work as something -altogether apart from himself. There was nothing conceited or braggartly -about him. - -“I like it very much that you like my work,” he said. “But you haven’t -seen it yet. To-morrow, if I get a good bull, I will try and show it to -you.” - -When he said this he smiled, anxious that neither the bull-fight critic -nor I would think he was boasting. - -“I am anxious to see it,” the critic said. “I would like to be -convinced.” - -“He doesn’t like my work much.” Romero turned to me. He was serious. - -The critic explained that he liked it very much, but that so far it had -been incomplete. - -“Wait till to-morrow, if a good one comes out.” - -“Have you seen the bulls for to-morrow?” the critic asked me. - -“Yes. I saw them unloaded.” - -Pedro Romero leaned forward. - -“What did you think of them?” - -“Very nice,” I said. “About twenty-six arrobas. Very short horns. -Haven’t you seen them?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Romero. - -“They won’t weigh twenty-six arrobas,” said the critic. - -“No,” said Romero. - -“They’ve got bananas for horns,” the critic said. - -“You call them bananas?” asked Romero. He turned to me and smiled. -“_You_ wouldn’t call them bananas?” - -“No,” I said. “They’re horns all right.” - -“They’re very short,” said Pedro Romero. “Very, very short. Still, they -aren’t bananas.” - -“I say, Jake,” Brett called from the next table, “you _have_ deserted -us.” - -“Just temporarily,” I said. “We’re talking bulls.” - -“You _are_ superior.” - -“Tell him that bulls have no balls,” Mike shouted. He was drunk. - -Romero looked at me inquiringly. - -“Drunk,” I said. “Borracho! Muy borracho!” - -“You might introduce your friends,” Brett said. She had not stopped -looking at Pedro Romero. I asked them if they would like to have coffee -with us. They both stood up. Romero’s face was very brown. He had very -nice manners. - -I introduced them all around and they started to sit down, but there was -not enough room, so we all moved over to the big table by the wall to -have coffee. Mike ordered a bottle of Fundador and glasses for -everybody. There was a lot of drunken talking. - -“Tell him I think writing is lousy,” Bill said. “Go on, tell him. Tell -him I’m ashamed of being a writer.” - -Pedro Romero was sitting beside Brett and listening to her. - -“Go on. Tell him!” Bill said. - -Romero looked up smiling. - -“This gentleman,” I said, “is a writer.” - -Romero was impressed. “This other one, too,” I said, pointing at Cohn. - -“He looks like Villalta,” Romero said, looking at Bill. “Rafael, doesn’t -he look like Villalta?” - -“I can’t see it,” the critic said. - -“Really,” Romero said in Spanish. “He looks a lot like Villalta. What -does the drunken one do?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Is that why he drinks?” - -“No. He’s waiting to marry this lady.” - -“Tell him bulls have no balls!” Mike shouted, very drunk, from the other -end of the table. - -“What does he say?” - -“He’s drunk.” - -“Jake,” Mike called. “Tell him bulls have no balls!” - -“You understand?” I said. - -“Yes.” - -I was sure he didn’t, so it was all right. - -“Tell him Brett wants to see him put on those green pants.” - -“Pipe down, Mike.” - -“Tell him Brett is dying to know how he can get into those pants.” - -“Pipe down.” - -During this Romero was fingering his glass and talking with Brett. Brett -was talking French and he was talking Spanish and a little English, and -laughing. - -Bill was filling the glasses. - -“Tell him Brett wants to come into——” - -“Oh, pipe down, Mike, for Christ’s sake!” - -Romero looked up smiling. “Pipe down! I know that,” he said. - -Just then Montoya came into the room. He started to smile at me, then he -saw Pedro Romero with a big glass of cognac in his hand, sitting -laughing between me and a woman with bare shoulders, at a table full of -drunks. He did not even nod. - -Montoya went out of the room. Mike was on his feet proposing a toast. -“Let’s all drink to—” he began. “Pedro Romero,” I said. Everybody stood -up. Romero took it very seriously, and we touched glasses and drank it -down, I rushing it a little because Mike was trying to make it clear -that that was not at all what he was going to drink to. But it went off -all right, and Pedro Romero shook hands with every one and he and the -critic went out together. - -“My God! he’s a lovely boy,” Brett said. “And how I would love to see -him get into those clothes. He must use a shoe-horn.” - -“I started to tell him,” Mike began. “And Jake kept interrupting me. Why -do you interrupt me? Do you think you talk Spanish better than I do?” - -“Oh, shut up, Mike! Nobody interrupted you.” - -“No, I’d like to get this settled.” He turned away from me. “Do you -think you amount to something, Cohn? Do you think you belong here among -us? People who are out to have a good time? For God’s sake don’t be so -noisy, Cohn!” - -“Oh, cut it out, Mike,” Cohn said. - -“Do you think Brett wants you here? Do you think you add to the party? -Why don’t you say something?” - -“I said all I had to say the other night, Mike.” - -“I’m not one of you literary chaps.” Mike stood shakily and leaned -against the table. “I’m not clever. But I do know when I’m not wanted. -Why don’t you see when you’re not wanted, Cohn? Go away. Go away, for -God’s sake. Take that sad Jewish face away. Don’t you think I’m right?” - -He looked at us. - -“Sure,” I said. “Let’s all go over to the Iruña.” - -“No. Don’t you think I’m right? I love that woman.” - -“Oh, don’t start that again. Do shove it along, Michael,” Brett said. - -“Don’t you think I’m right, Jake?” - -Cohn still sat at the table. His face had the sallow, yellow look it got -when he was insulted, but somehow he seemed to be enjoying it. The -childish, drunken heroics of it. It was his affair with a lady of title. - -“Jake,” Mike said. He was almost crying. “You know I’m right. Listen, -you!” He turned to Cohn: “Go away! Go away now!” - -“But I won’t go, Mike,” said Cohn. - -“Then I’ll make you!” Mike started toward him around the table. Cohn -stood up and took off his glasses. He stood waiting, his face sallow, -his hands fairly low, proudly and firmly waiting for the assault, ready -to do battle for his lady love. - -I grabbed Mike. “Come on to the café,” I said. “You can’t hit him here -in the hotel.” - -“Good!” said Mike. “Good idea!” - -We started off. I looked back as Mike stumbled up the stairs and saw -Cohn putting his glasses on again. Bill was sitting at the table pouring -another glass of Fundador. Brett was sitting looking straight ahead at -nothing. - -Outside on the square it had stopped raining and the moon was trying to -get through the clouds. There was a wind blowing. The military band was -playing and the crowd was massed on the far side of the square where the -fireworks specialist and his son were trying to send up fire balloons. A -balloon would start up jerkily, on a great bias, and be torn by the wind -or blown against the houses of the square. Some fell into the crowd. The -magnesium flared and the fireworks exploded and chased about in the -crowd. There was no one dancing in the square. The gravel was too wet. - -Brett came out with Bill and joined us. We stood in the crowd and -watched Don Manuel Orquito, the fireworks king, standing on a little -platform, carefully starting the balloons with sticks, standing above -the heads of the crowd to launch the balloons off into the wind. The -wind brought them all down, and Don Manuel Orquito’s face was sweaty in -the light of his complicated fireworks that fell into the crowd and -charged and chased, sputtering and cracking, between the legs of the -people. The people shouted as each new luminous paper bubble careened, -caught fire, and fell. - -“They’re razzing Don Manuel,” Bill said. - -“How do you know he’s Don Manuel?” Brett said. - -“His name’s on the programme. Don Manuel Orquito, the pirotecnico of -esta ciudad.” - -“Globos illuminados,” Mike said. “A collection of globos illuminados. -That’s what the paper said.” - -The wind blew the band music away. - -“I say, I wish one would go up,” Brett said. “That Don Manuel chap is -furious.” - -“He’s probably worked for weeks fixing them to go off, spelling out -‘Hail to San Fermin,’” Bill said. - -“Globos illuminados,” Mike said. “A bunch of bloody globos illuminados.” - -“Come on,” said Brett. “We can’t stand here.” - -“Her ladyship wants a drink,” Mike said. - -“How you know things,” Brett said. - -Inside, the café was crowded and very noisy. No one noticed us come in. -We could not find a table. There was a great noise going on. - -“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Bill said. - -Outside the paseo was going in under the arcade. There were some English -and Americans from Biarritz in sport clothes scattered at the tables. -Some of the women stared at the people going by with lorgnons. We had -acquired, at some time, a friend of Bill’s from Biarritz. She was -staying with another girl at the Grand Hotel. The other girl had a -headache and had gone to bed. - -“Here’s the pub,” Mike said. It was the Bar Milano, a small, tough bar -where you could get food and where they danced in the back room. We all -sat down at a table and ordered a bottle of Fundador. The bar was not -full. There was nothing going on. - -“This is a hell of a place,” Bill said. - -“It’s too early.” - -“Let’s take the bottle and come back later,” Bill said. “I don’t want to -sit here on a night like this.” - -“Let’s go and look at the English,” Mike said. “I love to look at the -English.” - -“They’re awful,” Bill said. “Where did they all come from?” - -“They come from Biarritz,” Mike said, “They come to see the last day of -the quaint little Spanish fiesta.” - -“I’ll festa them,” Bill said. - -“You’re an extraordinarily beautiful girl.” Mike turned to Bill’s -friend. “When did you come here?” - -“Come off it, Michael.” - -“I say, she _is_ a lovely girl. Where have I been? Where have I been -looking all this while? You’re a lovely thing. _Have_ we met? Come along -with me and Bill. We’re going to festa the English.” - -“I’ll festa them,” Bill said, “What the hell are they doing at this -fiesta?” - -“Come on,” Mike said. “Just us three. We’re going to festa the bloody -English. I hope you’re not English? I’m Scotch. I hate the English. I’m -going to festa them. Come on, Bill.” - -Through the window we saw them, all three arm in arm, going toward the -café. Rockets were going up in the square. - -“I’m going to sit here,” Brett said. - -“I’ll stay with you,” Cohn said. - -“Oh, don’t!” Brett said. “For God’s sake, go off somewhere. Can’t you -see Jake and I want to talk?” - -“I didn’t,” Cohn said. “I thought I’d sit here because I felt a little -tight.” - -“What a hell of a reason for sitting with any one. If you’re tight, go -to bed. Go on to bed.” - -“Was I rude enough to him?” Brett asked. Cohn was gone. “My God! I’m so -sick of him!” - -“He doesn’t add much to the gayety.” - -“He depresses me so.” - -“He’s behaved very badly.” - -“Damned badly. He had a chance to behave so well.” - -“He’s probably waiting just outside the door now.” - -“Yes. He would. You know I do know how he feels. He can’t believe it -didn’t mean anything.” - -“I know.” - -“Nobody else would behave as badly. Oh, I’m so sick of the whole thing. -And Michael. Michael’s been lovely, too.” - -“It’s been damned hard on Mike.” - -“Yes. But he didn’t need to be a swine.” - -“Everybody behaves badly,” I said. “Give them the proper chance.” - -“You wouldn’t behave badly.” Brett looked at me. - -“I’d be as big an ass as Cohn,” I said. - -“Darling, don’t let’s talk a lot of rot.” - -“All right. Talk about anything you like.” - -“Don’t be difficult. You’re the only person I’ve got, and I feel rather -awful to-night.” - -“You’ve got Mike.” - -“Yes, Mike. Hasn’t he been pretty?” - -“Well,” I said, “it’s been damned hard on Mike, having Cohn around and -seeing him with you.” - -“Don’t I know it, darling? Please don’t make me feel any worse than I -do.” - -Brett was nervous as I had never seen her before. She kept looking away -from me and looking ahead at the wall. - -“Want to go for a walk?” - -“Yes. Come on.” - -I corked up the Fundador bottle and gave it to the bartender. - -“Let’s have one more drink of that,” Brett said. “My nerves are rotten.” - -We each drank a glass of the smooth amontillado brandy. - -“Come on,” said Brett. - -As we came out the door I saw Cohn walk out from under the arcade. - -“He _was_ there,” Brett said. - -“He can’t be away from you.” - -“Poor devil!” - -“I’m not sorry for him. I hate him, myself.” - -“I hate him, too,” she shivered. “I hate his damned suffering.” - -We walked arm in arm down the side street away from the crowd and the -lights of the square. The street was dark and wet, and we walked along -it to the fortifications at the edge of town. We passed wine-shops with -light coming out from their doors onto the black, wet street, and sudden -bursts of music. - -“Want to go in?” - -“No.” - -We walked out across the wet grass and onto the stone wall of the -fortifications. I spread a newspaper on the stone and Brett sat down. -Across the plain it was dark, and we could see the mountains. The wind -was high up and took the clouds across the moon. Below us were the dark -pits of the fortifications. Behind were the trees and the shadow of the -cathedral, and the town silhouetted against the moon. - -“Don’t feel bad,” I said. - -“I feel like hell,” Brett said. “Don’t let’s talk.” - -We looked out at the plain. The long lines of trees were dark in the -moonlight. There were the lights of a car on the road climbing the -mountain. Up on the top of the mountain we saw the lights of the fort. -Below to the left was the river. It was high from the rain, and black -and smooth. Trees were dark along the banks. We sat and looked out. -Brett stared straight ahead. Suddenly she shivered. - -“It’s cold.” - -“Want to walk back?” - -“Through the park.” - -We climbed down. It was clouding over again. In the park it was dark -under the trees. - -“Do you still love me, Jake?” - -“Yes,” I said. - -“Because I’m a goner,” Brett said. - -“How?” - -“I’m a goner. I’m mad about the Romero boy. I’m in love with him, I -think.” - -“I wouldn’t be if I were you.” - -“I can’t help it. I’m a goner. It’s tearing me all up inside.” - -“Don’t do it.” - -“I can’t help it. I’ve never been able to help anything.” - -“You ought to stop it.” - -“How can I stop it? I can’t stop things. Feel that?” - -Her hand was trembling. - -“I’m like that all through.” - -“You oughtn’t to do it.” - -“I can’t help it. I’m a goner now, anyway. Don’t you see the -difference?” - -“No.” - -“I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to do something I really want to do. -I’ve lost my self-respect.” - -“You don’t have to do that.” - -“Oh, darling, don’t be difficult. What do you think it’s meant to have -that damned Jew about, and Mike the way he’s acted?” - -“Sure.” - -“I can’t just stay tight all the time.” - -“No.” - -“Oh, darling, please stay by me. Please stay by me and see me through -this.” - -“Sure.” - -“I don’t say it’s right. It is right though for me. God knows, I’ve -never felt such a bitch.” - -“What do you want me to do?” - -“Come on,” Brett said. “Let’s go and find him.” - -Together we walked down the gravel path in the park in the dark, under -the trees and then out from under the trees and past the gate into the -street that led into town. - -Pedro Romero was in the café. He was at a table with other bull-fighters -and bull-fight critics. They were smoking cigars. When we came in they -looked up. Romero smiled and bowed. We sat down at a table half-way down -the room. - -“Ask him to come over and have a drink.” - -“Not yet. He’ll come over.” - -“I can’t look at him.” - -“He’s nice to look at,” I said. - -“I’ve always done just what I wanted.” - -“I know.” - -“I do feel such a bitch.” - -“Well,” I said. - -“My God!” said Brett, “the things a woman goes through.” - -“Yes?” - -“Oh, I do feel such a bitch.” - -I looked across at the table. Pedro Romero smiled. He said something to -the other people at his table, and stood up. He came over to our table. -I stood up and we shook hands. - -“Won’t you have a drink?” - -“You must have a drink with me,” he said. He seated himself, asking -Brett’s permission without saying anything. He had very nice manners. -But he kept on smoking his cigar. It went well with his face. - -“You like cigars?” I asked. - -“Oh, yes. I always smoke cigars.” - -It was part of his system of authority. It made him seem older. I -noticed his skin. It was clear and smooth and very brown. There was a -triangular scar on his cheek-bone. I saw he was watching Brett. He felt -there was something between them. He must have felt it when Brett gave -him her hand. He was being very careful. I think he was sure, but he did -not want to make any mistake. - -“You fight to-morrow?” I said. - -“Yes,” he said. “Algabeno was hurt to-day in Madrid. Did you hear?” - -“No,” I said. “Badly?” - -He shook his head. - -“Nothing. Here,” he showed his hand. Brett reached out and spread the -fingers apart. - -“Oh!” he said in English, “you tell fortunes?” - -“Sometimes. Do you mind?” - -“No. I like it.” He spread his hand flat on the table. “Tell me I live -for always, and be a millionaire.” - -He was still very polite, but he was surer of himself. “Look,” he said, -“do you see any bulls in my hand?” - -He laughed. His hand was very fine and the wrist was small. - -“There are thousands of bulls,” Brett said. She was not at all nervous -now. She looked lovely. - -“Good,” Romero laughed. “At a thousand duros apiece,” he said to me in -Spanish. “Tell me some more.” - -“It’s a good hand,” Brett said. “I think he’ll live a long time.” - -“Say it to me. Not to your friend.” - -“I said you’d live a long time.” - -“I know it,” Romero said. “I’m never going to die.” - -I tapped with my finger-tips on the table. Romero saw it. He shook his -head. - -“No. Don’t do that. The bulls are my best friends.” - -I translated to Brett. - -“You kill your friends?” she asked. - -“Always,” he said in English, and laughed. “So they don’t kill me.” He -looked at her across the table. - -“You know English well.” - -“Yes,” he said. “Pretty well, sometimes. But I must not let anybody -know. It would be very bad, a torero who speaks English.” - -“Why?” asked Brett. - -“It would be bad. The people would not like it. Not yet.” - -“Why not?” - -“They would not like it. Bull-fighters are not like that.” - -“What are bull-fighters like?” - -He laughed and tipped his hat down over his eyes and changed the angle -of his cigar and the expression of his face. - -“Like at the table,” he said. I glanced over. He had mimicked exactly -the expression of Nacional. He smiled, his face natural again. “No. I -must forget English.” - -“Don’t forget it, yet,” Brett said. - -“No?” - -“No.” - -“All right.” - -He laughed again. - -“I would like a hat like that,” Brett said. - -“Good. I’ll get you one.” - -“Right. See that you do.” - -“I will. I’ll get you one to-night.” - -I stood up. Romero rose, too. - -“Sit down,” I said. “I must go and find our friends and bring them -here.” - -He looked at me. It was a final look to ask if it were understood. It -was understood all right. - -“Sit down,” Brett said to him. “You must teach me Spanish.” - -He sat down and looked at her across the table. I went out. The -hard-eyed people at the bull-fighter table watched me go. It was not -pleasant. When I came back and looked in the café, twenty minutes later, -Brett and Pedro Romero were gone. The coffee-glasses and our three empty -cognac-glasses were on the table. A waiter came with a cloth and picked -up the glasses and mopped off the table. - - - - - CHAPTER - 17 - - -Outside the Bar Milano I found Bill and Mike and Edna. Edna was the -girl’s name. - -“We’ve been thrown out,” Edna said. - -“By the police,” said Mike. “There’s some people in there that don’t -like me.” - -“I’ve kept them out of four fights,” Edna said. “You’ve got to help me.” - -Bill’s face was red. - -“Come back in, Edna,” he said. “Go on in there and dance with Mike.” - -“It’s silly,” Edna said. “There’ll just be another row.” - -“Damned Biarritz swine,” Bill said. - -“Come on,” Mike said. “After all, it’s a pub. They can’t occupy a whole -pub.” - -“Good old Mike,” Bill said. “Damned English swine come here and insult -Mike and try and spoil the fiesta.” - -“They’re so bloody,” Mike said. “I hate the English.” - -“They can’t insult Mike,” Bill said. “Mike is a swell fellow. They can’t -insult Mike. I won’t stand it. Who cares if he is a damn bankrupt?” His -voice broke. - -“Who cares?” Mike said. “I don’t care. Jake doesn’t care. Do _you_ -care?” - -“No,” Edna said. “Are you a bankrupt?” - -“Of course I am. You don’t care, do you, Bill?” - -Bill put his arm around Mike’s shoulder. - -“I wish to hell I was a bankrupt. I’d show those bastards.” - -“They’re just English,” Mike said. “It never makes any difference what -the English say.” - -“The dirty swine,” Bill said. “I’m going to clean them out.” - -“Bill,” Edna looked at me. “Please don’t go in again, Bill. They’re so -stupid.” - -“That’s it,” said Mike. “They’re stupid. I knew that was what it was.” - -“They can’t say things like that about Mike,” Bill said. - -“Do you know them?” I asked Mike. - -“No. I never saw them. They say they know me.” - -“I won’t stand it,” Bill said. - -“Come on. Let’s go over to the Suizo,” I said. - -“They’re a bunch of Edna’s friends from Biarritz,” Bill said. - -“They’re simply stupid,” Edna said. - -“One of them’s Charley Blackman, from Chicago,” Bill said. - -“I was never in Chicago,” Mike said. - -Edna started to laugh and could not stop. - -“Take me away from here,” she said, “you bankrupts.” - -“What kind of a row was it?” I asked Edna. We were walking across the -square to the Suizo. Bill was gone. - -“I don’t know what happened, but some one had the police called to keep -Mike out of the back room. There were some people that had known Mike at -Cannes. What’s the matter with Mike?” - -“Probably he owes them money” I said. “That’s what people usually get -bitter about.” - -In front of the ticket-booths out in the square there were two lines of -people waiting. They were sitting on chairs or crouched on the ground -with blankets and newspapers around them. They were waiting for the -wickets to open in the morning to buy tickets for the bull-fight. The -night was clearing and the moon was out. Some of the people in the line -were sleeping. - -At the Café Suizo we had just sat down and ordered Fundador when Robert -Cohn came up. - -“Where’s Brett?” he asked. - -“I don’t know.” - -“She was with you.” - -“She must have gone to bed.” - -“She’s not.” - -“I don’t know where she is.” - -His face was sallow under the light. He was standing up. - -“Tell me where she is.” - -“Sit down,” I said. “I don’t know where she is.” - -“The hell you don’t!” - -“You can shut your face.” - -“Tell me where Brett is.” - -“I’ll not tell you a damn thing.” - -“You know where she is.” - -“If I did I wouldn’t tell you.” - -“Oh, go to hell, Cohn,” Mike called from the table. “Brett’s gone off -with the bull-fighter chap. They’re on their honeymoon.” - -“You shut up.” - -“Oh, go to hell!” Mike said languidly. - -“Is that where she is?” Cohn turned to me. - -“Go to hell!” - -“She was with you. Is that where she is?” - -“Go to hell!” - -“I’ll make you tell me”—he stepped forward—“you damned pimp.” - -I swung at him and he ducked. I saw his face duck sideways in the light. -He hit me and I sat down on the pavement. As I started to get on my feet -he hit me twice. I went down backward under a table. I tried to get up -and felt I did not have any legs. I felt I must get on my feet and try -and hit him. Mike helped me up. Some one poured a carafe of water on my -head. Mike had an arm around me, and I found I was sitting on a chair. -Mike was pulling at my ears. - -“I say, you were cold,” Mike said. - -“Where the hell were you?” - -“Oh, I was around.” - -“You didn’t want to mix in it?” - -“He knocked Mike down, too,” Edna said. - -“He didn’t knock me out,” Mike said. “I just lay there.” - -“Does this happen every night at your fiestas?” Edna asked. “Wasn’t that -Mr. Cohn?” - -“I’m all right,” I said. “My head’s a little wobbly.” - -There were several waiters and a crowd of people standing around. - -“Vaya!” said Mike. “Get away. Go on.” - -The waiters moved the people away. - -“It was quite a thing to watch,” Edna said. “He must be a boxer.” - -“He is.” - -“I wish Bill had been here,” Edna said. “I’d like to have seen Bill -knocked down, too. I’ve always wanted to see Bill knocked down. He’s so -big.” - -“I was hoping he would knock down a waiter,” Mike said, “and get -arrested. I’d like to see Mr. Robert Cohn in jail.” - -“No,” I said. - -“Oh, no,” said Edna. “You don’t mean that.” - -“I do, though,” Mike said. “I’m not one of these chaps likes being -knocked about. I never play games, even.” - -Mike took a drink. - -“I never liked to hunt, you know. There was always the danger of having -a horse fall on you. How do you feel, Jake?” - -“All right.” - -“You’re nice,” Edna said to Mike. “Are you really a bankrupt?” - -“I’m a tremendous bankrupt,” Mike said. “I owe money to everybody. Don’t -you owe any money?” - -“Tons.” - -“I owe everybody money,” Mike said. “I borrowed a hundred pesetas from -Montoya to-night.” - -“The hell you did,” I said. - -“I’ll pay it back,” Mike said. “I always pay everything back.” - -“That’s why you’re a bankrupt, isn’t it?” Edna said. - -I stood up. I had heard them talking from a long way away. It all seemed -like some bad play. - -“I’m going over to the hotel,” I said. Then I heard them talking about -me. - -“Is he all right?” Edna asked. - -“We’d better walk with him.” - -“I’m all right,” I said. “Don’t come. I’ll see you all later.” - -I walked away from the café. They were sitting at the table. I looked -back at them and at the empty tables. There was a waiter sitting at one -of the tables with his head in his hands. - -Walking across the square to the hotel everything looked new and -changed. I had never seen the trees before. I had never seen the -flagpoles before, nor the front of the theatre. It was all different. I -felt as I felt once coming home from an out-of-town football game. I was -carrying a suitcase with my football things in it, and I walked up the -street from the station in the town I had lived in all my life and it -was all new. They were raking the lawns and burning leaves in the road, -and I stopped for a long time and watched. It was all strange. Then I -went on, and my feet seemed to be a long way off, and everything seemed -to come from a long way off, and I could hear my feet walking a great -distance away. I had been kicked in the head early in the game. It was -like that crossing the square. It was like that going up the stairs in -the hotel. Going up the stairs took a long time, and I had the feeling -that I was carrying my suitcase. There was a light in the room. Bill -came out and met me in the hall. - -“Say,” he said, “go up and see Cohn. He’s been in a jam, and he’s asking -for you.” - -“The hell with him.” - -“Go on. Go on up and see him.” - -I did not want to climb another flight of stairs. - -“What are you looking at me that way for?” - -“I’m not looking at you. Go on up and see Cohn. He’s in bad shape.” - -“You were drunk a little while ago,” I said. - -“I’m drunk now,” Bill said. “But you go up and see Cohn. He wants to see -you.” - -“All right,” I said. It was just a matter of climbing more stairs. I -went on up the stairs carrying my phantom suitcase. I walked down the -hall to Cohn’s room. The door was shut and I knocked. - -“Who is it?” - -“Barnes.” - -“Come in, Jake.” - -I opened the door and went in, and set down my suitcase. There was no -light in the room. Cohn was lying, face down, on the bed in the dark. - -“Hello, Jake.” - -“Don’t call me Jake.” - -I stood by the door. It was just like this that I had come home. Now it -was a hot bath that I needed. A deep, hot bath, to lie back in. - -“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked. - -Cohn was crying. There he was, face down on the bed, crying. He had on a -white polo shirt, the kind he’d worn at Princeton. - -“I’m sorry, Jake. Please forgive me.” - -“Forgive you, hell.” - -“Please forgive me, Jake.” - -I did not say anything. I stood there by the door. - -“I was crazy. You must see how it was.” - -“Oh, that’s all right.” - -“I couldn’t stand it about Brett.” - -“You called me a pimp.” - -I did not care. I wanted a hot bath. I wanted a hot bath in deep water. - -“I know. Please don’t remember it. I was crazy.” - -“That’s all right.” - -He was crying. His voice was funny. He lay there in his white shirt on -the bed in the dark. His polo shirt. - -“I’m going away in the morning.” - -He was crying without making any noise. - -“I just couldn’t stand it about Brett. I’ve been through hell, Jake. -It’s been simply hell. When I met her down here Brett treated me as -though I were a perfect stranger. I just couldn’t stand it. We lived -together at San Sebastian. I suppose you know it. I can’t stand it any -more.” - -He lay there on the bed. - -“Well,” I said, “I’m going to take a bath.” - -“You were the only friend I had, and I loved Brett so.” - -“Well,” I said, “so long.” - -“I guess it isn’t any use,” he said. “I guess it isn’t any damn use.” - -“What?” - -“Everything. Please say you forgive me, Jake.” - -“Sure,” I said. “It’s all right.” - -“I felt so terribly. I’ve been through such hell, Jake. Now everything’s -gone. Everything.” - -“Well,” I said, “so long. I’ve got to go.” - -He rolled over, sat on the edge of the bed, and then stood up. - -“So long, Jake,” he said. “You’ll shake hands, won’t you?” - -“Sure. Why not?” - -We shook hands. In the dark I could not see his face very well. - -“Well,” I said, “see you in the morning.” - -“I’m going away in the morning.” - -“Oh, yes,” I said. - -I went out. Cohn was standing in the door of the room. - -“Are you all right, Jake?” he asked. - -“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m all right.” - -I could not find the bathroom. After a while I found it. There was a -deep stone tub. I turned on the taps and the water would not run. I sat -down on the edge of the bath-tub. When I got up to go I found I had -taken off my shoes. I hunted for them and found them and carried them -down-stairs. I found my room and went inside and undressed and got into -bed. - - * * * * * - -I woke with a headache and the noise of the bands going by in the -street. I remembered I had promised to take Bill’s friend Edna to see -the bulls go through the street and into the ring. I dressed and went -down-stairs and out into the cold early morning. People were crossing -the square, hurrying toward the bull-ring. Across the square were the -two lines of men in front of the ticket-booths. They were still waiting -for the tickets to go on sale at seven o’clock. I hurried across the -street to the café. The waiter told me that my friends had been there -and gone. - -“How many were they?” - -“Two gentlemen and a lady.” - -That was all right. Bill and Mike were with Edna. She had been afraid -last night they would pass out. That was why I was to be sure to take -her. I drank the coffee and hurried with the other people toward the -bull-ring. I was not groggy now. There was only a bad headache. -Everything looked sharp and clear, and the town smelt of the early -morning. - -The stretch of ground from the edge of the town to the bull-ring was -muddy. There was a crowd all along the fence that led to the ring, and -the outside balconies and the top of the bull-ring were solid with -people. I heard the rocket and I knew I could not get into the ring in -time to see the bulls come in, so I shoved through the crowd to the -fence. I was pushed close against the planks of the fence. Between the -two fences of the runway the police were clearing the crowd along. They -walked or trotted on into the bull-ring. Then people commenced to come -running. A drunk slipped and fell. Two policemen grabbed him and rushed -him over to the fence. The crowd were running fast now. There was a -great shout from the crowd, and putting my head through between the -boards I saw the bulls just coming out of the street into the long -running pen. They were going fast and gaining on the crowd. Just then -another drunk started out from the fence with a blouse in his hands. He -wanted to do capework with the bulls. The two policemen tore out, -collared him, one hit him with a club, and they dragged him against the -fence and stood flattened out against the fence as the last of the crowd -and the bulls went by. There were so many people running ahead of the -bulls that the mass thickened and slowed up going through the gate into -the ring, and as the bulls passed, galloping together, heavy, -muddy-sided, horns swinging, one shot ahead, caught a man in the running -crowd in the back and lifted him in the air. Both the man’s arms were by -his sides, his head went back as the horn went in, and the bull lifted -him and then dropped him. The bull picked another man running in front, -but the man disappeared into the crowd, and the crowd was through the -gate and into the ring with the bulls behind them. The red door of the -ring went shut, the crowd on the outside balconies of the bull-ring were -pressing through to the inside, there was a shout, then another shout. - -The man who had been gored lay face down in the trampled mud. People -climbed over the fence, and I could not see the man because the crowd -was so thick around him. From inside the ring came the shouts. Each -shout meant a charge by some bull into the crowd. You could tell by the -degree of intensity in the shout how bad a thing it was that was -happening. Then the rocket went up that meant the steers had gotten the -bulls out of the ring and into the corrals. I left the fence and started -back toward the town. - -Back in the town I went to the café to have a second coffee and some -buttered toast. The waiters were sweeping out the café and mopping off -the tables. One came over and took my order. - -“Anything happen at the encierro?” - -“I didn’t see it all. One man was badly cogido.” - -“Where?” - -“Here.” I put one hand on the small of my back and the other on my -chest, where it looked as though the horn must have come through. The -waiter nodded his head and swept the crumbs from the table with his -cloth. - -“Badly cogido,” he said. “All for sport. All for pleasure.” - -He went away and came back with the long-handled coffee and milk pots. -He poured the milk and coffee. It came out of the long spouts in two -streams into the big cup. The waiter nodded his head. - -“Badly cogido through the back,” he said. He put the pots down on the -table and sat down in the chair at the table. “A big horn wound. All for -fun. Just for fun. What do you think of that?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“That’s it. All for fun. Fun, you understand.” - -“You’re not an aficionado?” - -“Me? What are bulls? Animals. Brute animals.” He stood up and put his -hand on the small of his back. “Right through the back. A cornada right -through the back. For fun—you understand.” - -He shook his head and walked away, carrying the coffee-pots. Two men -were going by in the street. The waiter shouted to them. They were -grave-looking. One shook his head. “Muerto!” he called. - -The waiter nodded his head. The two men went on. They were on some -errand. The waiter came over to my table. - -“You hear? Muerto. Dead. He’s dead. With a horn through him. All for -morning fun. Es muy flamenco.” - -“It’s bad.” - -“Not for me,” the waiter said. “No fun in that for me.” - -Later in the day we learned that the man who was killed was named -Vicente Girones, and came from near Tafalla. The next day in the paper -we read that he was twenty-eight years old, and had a farm, a wife, and -two children. He had continued to come to the fiesta each year after he -was married. The next day his wife came in from Tafalla to be with the -body, and the day after there was a service in the chapel of San Fermin, -and the coffin was carried to the railway-station by members of the -dancing and drinking society of Tafalla. The drums marched ahead, and -there was music on the fifes, and behind the men who carried the coffin -walked the wife and two children. . . . Behind them marched all the -members of the dancing and drinking societies of Pamplona, Estella, -Tafalla, and Sanguesa who could stay over for the funeral. The coffin -was loaded into the baggage-car of the train, and the widow and the two -children rode, sitting, all three together, in an open third-class -railway-carriage. The train started with a jerk, and then ran smoothly, -going down grade around the edge of the plateau and out into the fields -of grain that blew in the wind on the plain on the way to Tafalla. - -The bull who killed Vicente Girones was named Bocanegra, was Number 118 -of the bull-breeding establishment of Sanchez Tabemo, and was killed by -Pedro Romero as the third bull of that same afternoon. His ear was cut -by popular acclamation and given to Pedro Romero, who, in turn, gave it -to Brett, who wrapped it in a handkerchief belonging to myself, and left -both ear and handkerchief, along with a number of Muratti -cigarette-stubs, shoved far back in the drawer of the bed-table that -stood beside her bed in the Hotel Montoya, in Pamplona. - - * * * * * - -Back in the hotel, the night watchman was sitting on a bench inside the -door. He had been there all night and was very sleepy. He stood up as I -came in. Three of the waitresses came in at the same time. They had been -to the morning show at the bull-ring. They went up-stairs laughing. I -followed them up-stairs and went into my room. I took off my shoes and -lay down on the bed. The window was open onto the balcony and the -sunlight was bright in the room. I did not feel sleepy. It must have -been half past three o’clock when I had gone to bed and the bands had -waked me at six. My jaw was sore on both sides. I felt it with my thumb -and fingers. That damn Cohn. He should have hit somebody the first time -he was insulted, and then gone away. He was so sure that Brett loved -him. He was going to stay, and true love would conquer all. Some one -knocked on the door. - -“Come in.” - -It was Bill and Mike. They sat down on the bed. - -“Some encierro,” Bill said. “Some encierro.” - -“I say, weren’t you there?” Mike asked. “Ring for some beer, Bill.” - -“What a morning!” Bill said. He mopped off his face. “My God! what a -morning! And here’s old Jake. Old Jake, the human punching-bag.” - -“What happened inside?” - -“Good God!” Bill said, “what happened, Mike?” - -“There were these bulls coming in,” Mike said. “Just ahead of them was -the crowd, and some chap tripped and brought the whole lot of them -down.” - -“And the bulls all came in right over them,” Bill said. - -“I heard them yell.” - -“That was Edna,” Bill said. - -“Chaps kept coming out and waving their shirts.” - -“One bull went along the barrera and hooked everybody over.” - -“They took about twenty chaps to the infirmary,” Mike said. - -“What a morning!” Bill said. “The damn police kept arresting chaps that -wanted to go and commit suicide with the bulls.” - -“The steers took them in, in the end,” Mike said. - -“It took about an hour.” - -“It was really about a quarter of an hour,” Mike objected. - -“Oh, go to hell,” Bill said. “You’ve been in the war. It was two hours -and a half for me.” - -“Where’s that beer?” Mike asked. - -“What did you do with the lovely Edna?” - -“We took her home just now. She’s gone to bed.” - -“How did she like it?” - -“Fine. We told her it was just like that every morning.” - -“She was impressed,” Mike said. - -“She wanted us to go down in the ring, too,” Bill said. “She likes -action.” - -“I said it wouldn’t be fair to my creditors,” Mike said. - -“What a morning,” Bill said. “And what a night!” - -“How’s your jaw, Jake?” Mike asked. - -“Sore,” I said. - -Bill laughed. - -“Why didn’t you hit him with a chair?” - -“You can talk,” Mike said. “He’d have knocked you out, too. I never saw -him hit me. I rather think I saw him just before, and then quite -suddenly I was sitting down in the street, and Jake was lying under a -table.” - -“Where did he go afterward?” I asked. - -“Here she is,” Mike said. “Here’s the beautiful lady with the beer.” - -The chambermaid put the tray with the beer-bottles and glasses down on -the table. - -“Now bring up three more bottles,” Mike said. - -“Where did Cohn go after he hit me?” I asked Bill. - -“Don’t you know about that?” Mike was opening a beer-bottle. He poured -the beer into one of the glasses, holding the glass close to the bottle. - -“Really?” Bill asked. - -“Why he went in and found Brett and the bull-fighter chap in the -bull-fighter’s room, and then he massacred the poor, bloody -bull-fighter.” - -“No.” - -“Yes.” - -“What a night!” Bill said. - -“He nearly killed the poor, bloody bull-fighter. Then Cohn wanted to -take Brett away. Wanted to make an honest woman of her, I imagine. -Damned touching scene.” - -He took a long drink of the beer. - -“He is an ass.” - -“What happened?” - -“Brett gave him what for. She told him off. I think she was rather -good.” - -“I’ll bet she was,” Bill said. - -“Then Cohn broke down and cried, and wanted to shake hands with the -bull-fighter fellow. He wanted to shake hands with Brett, too.” - -“I know. He shook hands with me.” - -“Did he? Well, they weren’t having any of it. The bull-fighter fellow -was rather good. He didn’t say much, but he kept getting up and getting -knocked down again. Cohn couldn’t knock him out. It must have been -damned funny.” - -“Where did you hear all this?” - -“Brett. I saw her this morning.” - -“What happened finally?” - -“It seems the bull-fighter fellow was sitting on the bed. He’d been -knocked down about fifteen times, and he wanted to fight some more. -Brett held him and wouldn’t let him get up. He was weak, but Brett -couldn’t hold him, and he got up. Then Cohn said he wouldn’t hit him -again. Said he couldn’t do it. Said it would be wicked. So the -bull-fighter chap sort of rather staggered over to him. Cohn went back -against the wall. - -“‘So you won’t hit me?’ - -“‘No,’ said Cohn. ‘I’d be ashamed to.’ - -“So the bull-fighter fellow hit him just as hard as he could in the -face, and then sat down on the floor. He couldn’t get up, Brett said. -Cohn wanted to pick him up and carry him to the bed. He said if Cohn -helped him he’d kill him, and he’d kill him anyway this morning if Cohn -wasn’t out of town. Cohn was crying, and Brett had told him off, and he -wanted to shake hands. I’ve told you that before.” - -“Tell the rest,” Bill said. - -“It seems the bull-fighter chap was sitting on the floor. He was waiting -to get strength enough to get up and hit Cohn again. Brett wasn’t having -any shaking hands, and Cohn was crying and telling her how much he loved -her, and she was telling him not to be a ruddy ass. Then Cohn leaned -down to shake hands with the bull-fighter fellow. No hard feelings, you -know. All for forgiveness. And the bull-fighter chap hit him in the face -again.” - -“That’s quite a kid,” Bill said. - -“He ruined Cohn,” Mike said. “You know I don’t think Cohn will ever want -to knock people about again.” - -“When did you see Brett?” - -“This morning. She came in to get some things. She’s looking after this -Romero lad.” - -He poured out another bottle of beer. - -“Brett’s rather cut up. But she loves looking after people. That’s how -we came to go off together. She was looking after me.” - -“I know,” I said. - -“I’m rather drunk,” Mike said. “I think I’ll _stay_ rather drunk. This -is all awfully amusing, but it’s not too pleasant. It’s not too pleasant -for me.” - -He drank off the beer. - -“I gave Brett what for, you know. I said if she would go about with Jews -and bull-fighters and such people, she must expect trouble.” He leaned -forward. “I say, Jake, do you mind if I drink that bottle of yours? -She’ll bring you another one.” - -“Please,” I said. “I wasn’t drinking it, anyway.” - -Mike started to open the bottle. “Would you mind opening it?” I pressed -up the wire fastener and poured it for him. - -“You know,” Mike went on, “Brett was rather good. She’s always rather -good. I gave her a fearful hiding about Jews and bull-fighters, and all -those sort of people, and do you know what she said: ‘Yes. I’ve had such -a hell of a happy life with the British aristocracy!’” - -He took a drink. - -“That was rather good. Ashley, chap she got the title from, was a -sailor, you know. Ninth baronet. When he came home he wouldn’t sleep in -a bed. Always made Brett sleep on the floor. Finally, when he got really -bad, he used to tell her he’d kill her. Always slept with a loaded -service revolver. Brett used to take the shells out when he’d gone to -sleep. She hasn’t had an absolutely happy life. Brett. Damned shame, -too. She enjoys things so.” - -He stood up. His hand was shaky. - -“I’m going in the room. Try and get a little sleep.” - -He smiled. - -“We go too long without sleep in these fiestas. I’m going to start now -and get plenty of sleep. Damn bad thing not to get sleep. Makes you -frightfully nervy.” - -“We’ll see you at noon at the Iruña,” Bill said. - -Mike went out the door. We heard him in the next room. - -He rang the bell and the chambermaid came and knocked at the door. - -“Bring up half a dozen bottles of beer and a bottle of Fundador,” Mike -told her. - -“Si, Señorito.” - -“I’m going to bed,” Bill said. “Poor old Mike. I had a hell of a row -about him last night.” - -“Where? At that Milano place?” - -“Yes. There was a fellow there that had helped pay Brett and Mike out of -Cannes, once. He was damned nasty.” - -“I know the story.” - -“I didn’t. Nobody ought to have a right to say things about Mike.” - -“That’s what makes it bad.” - -“They oughtn’t to have any right. I wish to hell they didn’t have any -right. I’m going to bed.” - -“Was anybody killed in the ring?” - -“I don’t think so. Just badly hurt.” - -“A man was killed outside in the runway.” - -“Was there?” said Bill. - - - - - CHAPTER - 18 - - -At noon we were all at the café. It was crowded. We were eating shrimps -and drinking beer. The town was crowded. Every street was full. Big -motor-cars from Biarritz and San Sebastian kept driving up and parking -around the square. They brought people for the bull-fight. Sight-seeing -cars came up, too. There was one with twenty-five Englishwomen in it. -They sat in the big, white car and looked through their glasses at the -fiesta. The dancers were all quite drunk. It was the last day of the -fiesta. - -The fiesta was solid and unbroken, but the motor-cars and tourist-cars -made little islands of onlookers. When the cars emptied, the onlookers -were absorbed into the crowd. You did not see them again except as sport -clothes, odd-looking at a table among the closely packed peasants in -black smocks. The fiesta absorbed even the Biarritz English so that you -did not see them unless you passed close to a table. All the time there -was music in the street. The drums kept on pounding and the pipes were -going. Inside the cafés men with their hands gripping the table, or on -each other’s shoulders, were singing the hard-voiced singing. - -“Here comes Brett,” Bill said. - -I looked and saw her coming through the crowd in the square, walking, -her head up, as though the fiesta were being staged in her honor, and -she found it pleasant and amusing. - -“Hello, you chaps!” she said. “I say, I _have_ a thirst.” - -“Get another big beer,” Bill said to the waiter. - -“Shrimps?” - -“Is Cohn gone?” Brett asked. - -“Yes,” Bill said. “He hired a car.” - -The beer came. Brett started to lift the glass mug and her hand shook. -She saw it and smiled, and leaned forward and took a long sip. - -“Good beer.” - -“Very good,” I said. I was nervous about Mike. I did not think he had -slept. He must have been drinking all the time, but he seemed to be -under control. - -“I heard Cohn had hurt you, Jake,” Brett said. - -“No. Knocked me out. That was all.” - -“I say, he did hurt Pedro Romero,” Brett said. “He hurt him most badly.” - -“How is he?” - -“He’ll be all right. He won’t go out of the room.” - -“Does he look badly?” - -“Very. He was really hurt. I told him I wanted to pop out and see you -chaps for a minute.” - -“Is he going to fight?” - -“Rather. I’m going with you, if you don’t mind.” - -“How’s your boy friend?” Mike asked. He had not listened to anything -that Brett had said. - -“Brett’s got a bull-fighter,” he said. “She had a Jew named Cohn, but he -turned out badly.” - -Brett stood up. - -“I am not going to listen to that sort of rot from you, Michael.” - -“How’s your boy friend?” - -“Damned well,” Brett said. “Watch him this afternoon.” - -“Brett’s got a bull-fighter,” Mike said. “A beautiful, bloody -bull-fighter.” - -“Would you mind walking over with me? I want to talk to you, Jake.” - -“Tell him all about your bull-fighter,” Mike said. “Oh, to hell with -your bull-fighter!” He tipped the table so that all the beers and the -dish of shrimps went over in a crash. - -“Come on,” Brett said. “Let’s get out of this.” - -In the crowd crossing the square I said: “How is it?” - -“I’m not going to see him after lunch until the fight. His people come -in and dress him. They’re very angry about me, he says.” - -Brett was radiant. She was happy. The sun was out and the day was -bright. - -“I feel altogether changed,” Brett said. “You’ve no idea, Jake.” - -“Anything you want me to do?” - -“No, just go to the fight with me.” - -“We’ll see you at lunch?” - -“No. I’m eating with him.” - -We were standing under the arcade at the door of the hotel. They were -carrying tables out and setting them up under the arcade. - -“Want to take a turn out to the park?” Brett asked. “I don’t want to go -up yet. I fancy he’s sleeping.” - -We walked along past the theatre and out of the square and along through -the barracks of the fair, moving with the crowd between the lines of -booths. We came out on a cross-street that led to the Paseo de Sarasate. -We could see the crowd walking there, all the fashionably dressed -people. They were making the turn at the upper end of the park. - -“Don’t let’s go there,” Brett said. “I don’t want staring at just now.” - -We stood in the sunlight. It was hot and good after the rain and the -clouds from the sea. - -“I hope the wind goes down,” Brett said. “It’s very bad for him.” - -“So do I.” - -“He says the bulls are all right.” - -“They’re good.” - -“Is that San Fermin’s?” - -Brett looked at the yellow wall of the chapel. - -“Yes. Where the show started on Sunday.” - -“Let’s go in. Do you mind? I’d rather like to pray a little for him or -something.” - -We went in through the heavy leather door that moved very lightly. It -was dark inside. Many people were praying. You saw them as your eyes -adjusted themselves to the half-light. We knelt at one of the long -wooden benches. After a little I felt Brett stiffen beside me, and saw -she was looking straight ahead. - -“Come on,” she whispered throatily. “Let’s get out of here. Makes me -damned nervous.” - -Outside in the hot brightness of the street Brett looked up at the -tree-tops in the wind. The praying had not been much of a success. - -“Don’t know why I get so nervy in church,” Brett said. “Never does me -any good.” - -We walked along. - -“I’m damned bad for a religious atmosphere,” Brett said. “I’ve the wrong -type of face. - -“You know,” Brett said, “I’m not worried about him at all. I just feel -happy about him.” - -“Good.” - -“I wish the wind would drop, though.” - -“It’s liable to go down by five o’clock.” - -“Let’s hope.” - -“You might pray,” I laughed. - -“Never does me any good. I’ve never gotten anything I prayed for. Have -you?” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“Oh, rot,” said Brett. “Maybe it works for some people, though. You -don’t look very religious, Jake.” - -“I’m pretty religious.” - -“Oh, rot,” said Brett. “Don’t start proselyting to-day. To-day’s going -to be bad enough as it is.” - -It was the first time I had seen her in the old happy, careless way -since before she went off with Cohn. We were back again in front of the -hotel. All the tables were set now, and already several were filled with -people eating. - -“Do look after Mike,” Brett said. “Don’t let him get too bad.” - -“Your frients haff gone up-stairs,” the German maître d’hôtel said in -English. He was a continual eavesdropper. Brett turned to him: - -“Thank you, so much. Have you anything else to say?” - -“No, _ma’am_.” - -“Good,” said Brett. - -“Save us a table for three,” I said to the German. He smiled his dirty -little pink-and-white smile. - -“Iss madam eating here?” - -“No,” Brett said. - -“Den I think a tabul for two will be enuff.” - -“Don’t talk to him,” Brett said. “Mike must have been in bad shape,” she -said on the stairs. We passed Montoya on the stairs. He bowed and did -not smile. - -“I’ll see you at the café,” Brett said. “Thank you, so much, Jake.” - -We had stopped at the floor our rooms were on. She went straight down -the hall and into Romero’s room. She did not knock. She simply opened -the door, went in, and closed it behind her. - -I stood in front of the door of Mike’s room and knocked. There was no -answer. I tried the knob and it opened. Inside the room was in great -disorder. All the bags were opened and clothing was strewn around. There -were empty bottles beside the bed. Mike lay on the bed looking like a -death mask of himself. He opened his eyes and looked at me. - -“Hello, Jake,” he said very slowly. “I’m getting a lit tle sleep. I’ve -want ed a lit tle sleep for a long time.” - -“Let me cover you over.” - -“No. I’m quite warm.” - -“Don’t go. I have n’t got ten to sleep yet.” - -“You’ll sleep, Mike. Don’t worry, boy.” - -“Brett’s got a bull-fighter,” Mike said. “But her Jew has gone away.” - -He turned his head and looked at me. - -“Damned good thing, what?” - -“Yes. Now go to sleep, Mike. You ought to get some sleep.” - -“I’m just start ing. I’m go ing to get a lit tle sleep.” - -He shut his eyes. I went out of the room and turned the door to quietly. -Bill was in my room reading the paper. - -“See Mike?” - -“Yes.” - -“Let’s go and eat.” - -“I won’t eat down-stairs with that German head waiter. He was damned -snotty when I was getting Mike up-stairs.” - -“He was snotty to us, too.” - -“Let’s go out and eat in the town.” - -We went down the stairs. On the stairs we passed a girl coming up with a -covered tray. - -“There goes Brett’s lunch,” Bill said. - -“And the kid’s,” I said. - -Outside on the terrace under the arcade the German head waiter came up. -His red cheeks were shiny. He was being polite. - -“I haff a tabul for two for you gentlemen,” he said. - -“Go sit at it,” Bill said. We went on out across the street. - -We ate at a restaurant in a side street off the square. They were all -men eating in the restaurant. It was full of smoke and drinking and -singing. The food was good and so was the wine. We did not talk much. -Afterward we went to the café and watched the fiesta come to the -boiling-point. Brett came over soon after lunch. She said she had looked -in the room and that Mike was asleep. - -When the fiesta boiled over and toward the bull-ring we went with the -crowd. Brett sat at the ringside between Bill and me. Directly below us -was the callejon, the passageway between the stands and the red fence of -the barrera. Behind us the concrete stands filled solidly. Out in front, -beyond the red fence, the sand of the ring was smooth-rolled and yellow. -It looked a little heavy from the rain, but it was dry in the sun and -firm and smooth. The sword-handlers and bull-ring servants came down the -callejon carrying on their shoulders the wicker baskets of fighting -capes and muletas. They were bloodstained and compactly folded and -packed in the baskets. The sword-handlers opened the heavy leather -sword-cases so the red wrapped hilts of the sheaf of swords showed as -the leather case leaned against the fence. They unfolded the -dark-stained red flannel of the muletas and fixed batons in them to -spread the stuff and give the matador something to hold. Brett watched -it all. She was absorbed in the professional details. - -“He’s his name stencilled on all the capes and muletas,” she said. “Why -do they call them muletas?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“I wonder if they ever launder them.” - -“I don’t think so. It might spoil the color.” - -“The blood must stiffen them,” Bill said. - -“Funny,” Brett said. “How one doesn’t mind the blood.” - -Below in the narrow passage of the callejon the sword-handlers arranged -everything. All the seats were full. Above, all the boxes were full. -There was not an empty seat except in the President’s box. When he came -in the fight would start. Across the smooth sand, in the high doorway -that led into the corrals, the bull-fighters were standing, their arms -furled in their capes, talking, waiting for the signal to march in -across the arena. Brett was watching them with the glasses. - -“Here, would you like to look?” - -I looked through the glasses and saw the three matadors. Romero was in -the centre, Belmonte on his left, Marcial on his right. Back of them -were their people, and behind the banderilleros, back in the passageway -and in the open space of the corral, I saw the picadors. Romero was -wearing a black suit. His tricornered hat was low down over his eyes. I -could not see his face clearly under the hat, but it looked badly -marked. He was looking straight ahead. Marcial was smoking a cigarette -guardedly, holding it in his hand. Belmonte looked ahead, his face wan -and yellow, his long wolf jaw out. He was looking at nothing. Neither he -nor Romero seemed to have anything in common with the others. They were -all alone. The President came in; there was handclapping above us in the -grand stand, and I handed the glasses to Brett. There was applause. The -music started. Brett looked through the glasses. - -“Here, take them,” she said. - -Through the glasses I saw Belmonte speak to Romero. Marcial straightened -up and dropped his cigarette, and, looking straight ahead, their heads -back, their free arms swinging, the three matadors walked out. Behind -them came all the procession, opening out, all striding in step, all the -capes furled, everybody with free arms swinging, and behind rode the -picadors, their pics rising like lances. Behind all came the two trains -of mules and the bull-ring servants. The matadors bowed, holding their -hats on, before the President’s box, and then came over to the barrera -below us. Pedro Romero took off his heavy gold-brocaded cape and handed -it over the fence to his sword-handler. He said something to the -sword-handler. Close below us we saw Romero’s lips were puffed, both -eyes were discolored. His face was discolored and swollen. The -sword-handler took the cape, looked up at Brett, and came over to us and -handed up the cape. - -“Spread it out in front of you,” I said. - -Brett leaned forward. The cape was heavy and smoothly stiff with gold. -The sword-handler looked back, shook his head, and said something. A man -beside me leaned over toward Brett. - -“He doesn’t want you to spread it,” he said. “You should fold it and -keep it in your lap.” - -Brett folded the heavy cape. - -Romero did not look up at us. He was speaking to Belmonte. Belmonte had -sent his formal cape over to some friends. He looked across at them and -smiled, his wolf smile that was only with the mouth. Romero leaned over -the barrera and asked for the water-jug. The sword-handler brought it -and Romero poured water over the percale of his fighting-cape, and then -scuffed the lower folds in the sand with his slippered foot. - -“What’s that for?” Brett asked. - -“To give it weight in the wind.” - -“His face looks bad,” Bill said. - -“He feels very badly,” Brett said. “He should be in bed.” - -The first bull was Belmonte’s. Belmonte was very good. But because he -got thirty thousand pesetas and people had stayed in line all night to -buy tickets to see him, the crowd demanded that he should be more than -very good. Belmonte’s great attraction is working close to the bull. In -bull-fighting they speak of the terrain of the bull and the terrain of -the bull-fighter. As long as a bull-fighter stays in his own terrain he -is comparatively safe. Each time he enters into the terrain of the bull -he is in great danger. Belmonte, in his best days, worked always in the -terrain of the bull. This way he gave the sensation of coming tragedy. -People went to the corrida to see Belmonte, to be given tragic -sensations, and perhaps to see the death of Belmonte. Fifteen years ago -they said if you wanted to see Belmonte you should go quickly, while he -was still alive. Since then he has killed more than a thousand bulls. -When he retired the legend grew up about how his bull-fighting had been, -and when he came out of retirement the public were disappointed because -no real man could work as close to the bulls as Belmonte was supposed to -have done, not, of course, even Belmonte. - -Also Belmonte imposed conditions and insisted that his bulls should not -be too large, nor too dangerously armed with horns, and so the element -that was necessary to give the sensation of tragedy was not there, and -the public, who wanted three times as much from Belmonte, who was sick -with a fistula, as Belmonte had ever been able to give, felt defrauded -and cheated, and Belmonte’s jaw came further out in contempt, and his -face turned yellower, and he moved with greater difficulty as his pain -increased, and finally the crowd were actively against him, and he was -utterly contemptuous and indifferent. He had meant to have a great -afternoon, and instead it was an afternoon of sneers, shouted insults, -and finally a volley of cushions and pieces of bread and vegetables, -thrown down at him in the plaza where he had had his greatest triumphs. -His jaw only went further out. Sometimes he turned to smile that -toothed, long-jawed, lipless smile when he was called something -particularly insulting, and always the pain that any movement produced -grew stronger and stronger, until finally his yellow face was parchment -color, and after his second bull was dead and the throwing of bread and -cushions was over, after he had saluted the President with the same -wolf-jawed smile and contemptuous eyes, and handed his sword over the -barrera to be wiped, and put back in its case, he passed through into -the callejon and leaned on the barrera below us, his head on his arms, -not seeing, not hearing anything, only going through his pain. When he -looked up, finally, he asked for a drink of water. He swallowed a -little, rinsed his mouth, spat the water, took his cape, and went back -into the ring. - -Because they were against Belmonte the public were for Romero. From the -moment he left the barrera and went toward the bull they applauded him. -Belmonte watched Romero, too, watched him always without seeming to. He -paid no attention to Marcial. Marcial was the sort of thing he knew all -about. He had come out of retirement to compete with Marcial, knowing it -was a competition gained in advance. He had expected to compete with -Marcial and the other stars of the decadence of bull-fighting, and he -knew that the sincerity of his own bull-fighting would be so set off by -the false æsthetics of the bull-fighters of the decadent period that he -would only have to be in the ring. His return from retirement had been -spoiled by Romero. Romero did always, smoothly, calmly, and beautifully, -what he, Belmonte, could only bring himself to do now sometimes. The -crowd felt it, even the people from Biarritz, even the American -ambassador saw it, finally. It was a competition that Belmonte would not -enter because it would lead only to a bad horn wound or death. Belmonte -was no longer well enough. He no longer had his greatest moments in the -bull-ring. He was not sure that there were any great moments. Things -were not the same and now life only came in flashes. He had flashes of -the old greatness with his bulls, but they were not of value because he -had discounted them in advance when he had picked the bulls out for -their safety, getting out of a motor and leaning on a fence, looking -over at the herd on the ranch of his friend the bull-breeder. So he had -two small, manageable bulls without much horns, and when he felt the -greatness again coming, just a little of it through the pain that was -always with him, it had been discounted and sold in advance, and it did -not give him a good feeling. It was the greatness, but it did not make -bull-fighting wonderful to him any more. - -Pedro Romero had the greatness. He loved bull-fighting, and I think he -loved the bulls, and I think he loved Brett. Everything of which he -could control the locality he did in front of her all that afternoon. -Never once did he look up. He made it stronger that way, and did it for -himself, too, as well as for her. Because he did not look up to ask if -it pleased he did it all for himself inside, and it strengthened him, -and yet he did it for her, too. But he did not do it for her at any loss -to himself. He gained by it all through the afternoon. - -His first “quite” was directly below us. The three matadors take the -bull in turn after each charge he makes at a picador. Belmonte was the -first. Marcial was the second. Then came Romero. The three of them were -standing at the left of the horse. The picador, his hat down over his -eyes, the shaft of his pic angling sharply toward the bull, kicked in -the spurs and held them and with the reins in his left hand walked the -horse forward toward the bull. The bull was watching. Seemingly he -watched the white horse, but really he watched the triangular steel -point of the pic. Romero, watching, saw the bull start to turn his head. -He did not want to charge. Romero flicked his cape so the color caught -the bull’s eye. The bull charged with the reflex, charged, and found not -the flash of color but a white horse, and a man leaned far over the -horse, shot the steel point of the long hickory shaft into the hump of -muscle on the bull’s shoulder, and pulled his horse sideways as he -pivoted on the pic, making a wound, enforcing the iron into the bull’s -shoulder, making him bleed for Belmonte. - -The bull did not insist under the iron. He did not really want to get at -the horse. He turned and the group broke apart and Romero was taking him -out with his cape. He took him out softly and smoothly, and then stopped -and, standing squarely in front of the bull, offered him the cape. The -bull’s tail went up and he charged, and Romero moved his arms ahead of -the bull, wheeling, his feet firmed. The dampened, mud-weighted cape -swung open and full as a sail fills, and Romero pivoted with it just -ahead of the bull. At the end of the pass they were facing each other -again. Romero smiled. The bull wanted it again, and Romero’s cape filled -again, this time on the other side. Each time he let the bull pass so -close that the man and the bull and the cape that filled and pivoted -ahead of the bull were all one sharply etched mass. It was all so slow -and so controlled. It was as though he were rocking the bull to sleep. -He made four veronicas like that, and finished with a half-veronica that -turned his back on the bull and came away toward the applause, his hand -on his hip, his cape on his arm, and the bull watching his back going -away. - -In his own bulls he was perfect. His first bull did not see well. After -the first two passes with the cape Romero knew exactly how bad the -vision was impaired. He worked accordingly. It was not brilliant -bull-fighting. It was only perfect bull-fighting. The crowd wanted the -bull changed. They made a great row. Nothing very fine could happen with -a bull that could not see the lures, but the President would not order -him replaced. - -“Why don’t they change him?” Brett asked. - -“They’ve paid for him. They don’t want to lose their money.” - -“It’s hardly fair to Romero.” - -“Watch how he handles a bull that can’t see the color.” - -“It’s the sort of thing I don’t like to see.” - -It was not nice to watch if you cared anything about the person who was -doing it. With the bull who could not see the colors of the capes, or -the scarlet flannel of the muleta, Romero had to make the bull consent -with his body. He had to get so close that the bull saw his body, and -would start for it, and then shift the bull’s charge to the flannel and -finish out the pass in the classic manner. The Biarritz crowd did not -like it They thought Romero was afraid, and that was why he gave that -little sidestep each time as he transferred the bull’s charge from his -own body to the flannel. They preferred Belmonte’s imitation of himself -or Marcial’s imitation of Belmonte. There were three of them in the row -behind us. - -“What’s he afraid of the bull for? The bull’s so dumb he only goes after -the cloth.” - -“He’s just a young bull-fighter. He hasn’t learned it yet.” - -“But I thought he was fine with the cape before.” - -“Probably he’s nervous now.” - -Out in the centre of the ring, all alone, Romero was going on with the -same thing, getting so close that the bull could see him plainly, -offering the body, offering it again a little closer, the bull watching -dully, then so close that the bull thought he had him, offering again -and finally drawing the charge and then, just before the horns came, -giving the bull the red cloth to follow with at little, almost -imperceptible, jerk that so offended the critical judgment of the -Biarritz bull-fight experts. - -“He’s going to kill now,” I said to Brett. “The bull’s still strong. He -wouldn’t wear himself out.” - -Out in the centre of the ring Romero profiled in front of the bull, drew -the sword out from the folds of the muleta, rose on his toes, and -sighted along the blade. The bull charged as Romero charged. Romero’s -left hand dropped the muleta over the bull’s muzzle to blind him, his -left shoulder went forward between the horns as the sword went in, and -for just an instant he and the bull were one, Romero way out over the -bull, the right arm extended high up to where the hilt of the sword had -gone in between the bull’s shoulders. Then the figure was broken. There -was a little jolt as Romero came clear, and then he was standing, one -hand up, facing the bull, his shirt ripped out from under his sleeve, -the white blowing in the wind, and the bull, the red sword hilt tight -between his shoulders, his head going down and his legs settling. - -“There he goes,” Bill said. - -Romero was close enough so the bull could see him. His hand still up, he -spoke to the bull. The bull gathered himself, then his head went forward -and he went over slowly, then all over, suddenly, four feet in the air. - -They handed the sword to Romero, and carrying it blade down, the muleta -in his other hand, he walked over to in front of the President’s box, -bowed, straightened, and came over to the barrera and handed over the -sword and muleta. - -“Bad one,” said the sword-handler. - -“He made me sweat,” said Romero. He wiped off his face. The -sword-handler handed him the water-jug. Romero wiped his lips. It hurt -him to drink out of the jug. He did not look up at us. - -Marcial had a big day. They were still applauding him when Romero’s last -bull came in. It was the bull that had sprinted out and killed the man -in the morning running. - -During Romero’s first bull his hurt face had been very noticeable. -Everything he did showed it. All the concentration of the awkwardly -delicate working with the bull that could not see well brought it out. -The fight with Cohn had not touched his spirit but his face had been -smashed and his body hurt. He was wiping all that out now. Each thing -that he did with this bull wiped that out a little cleaner. It was a -good bull, a big bull, and with horns, and it turned and recharged -easily and surely. He was what Romero wanted in bulls. - -When he had finished his work with the muleta and was ready to kill, the -crowd made him go on. They did not want the bull killed yet, they did -not want it to be over. Romero went on. It was like a course in -bull-fighting. All the passes he linked up, all completed, all slow, -templed and smooth. There were no tricks and no mystifications. There -was no brusqueness. And each pass as it reached the summit gave you a -sudden ache inside. The crowd did not want it ever to be finished. - -The bull was squared on all four feet to be killed, and Romero killed -directly below us. He killed not as he had been forced to by the last -bull, but as he wanted to. He profiled directly in front of the bull, -drew the sword out of the folds of the muleta and sighted along the -blade. The bull watched him. Romero spoke to the bull and tapped one of -his feet. The bull charged and Romero waited for the charge, the muleta -held low, sighting along the blade, his feet firm. Then without taking a -step forward, he became one with the bull, the sword was in high between -the shoulders, the bull had followed the low-swung flannel, that -disappeared as Romero lurched clear to the left, and it was over. The -bull tried to go forward, his legs commenced to settle, he swung from -side to side, hesitated, then went down on his knees, and Romero’s older -brother leaned forward behind him and drove a short knife into the -bull’s neck at the base of the horns. The first time he missed. He drove -the knife in again, and the bull went over, twitching and rigid. -Romero’s brother, holding the bull’s horn in one hand, the knife in the -other, looked up at the President’s box. Handkerchiefs were waving all -over the bull-ring. The President looked down from the box and waved his -handkerchief. The brother cut the notched black ear from the dead bull -and trotted over with it to Romero. The bull lay heavy and black on the -sand, his tongue out. Boys were running toward him from all parts of the -arena, making a little circle around him. They were starting to dance -around the bull. - -Romero took the ear from his brother and held it up toward the -President. The President bowed and Romero, running to get ahead of the -crowd, came toward us. He leaned up against the barrera and gave the ear -to Brett. He nodded his head and smiled. The crowd were all about him. -Brett held down the cape. - -“You liked it?” Romero called. - -Brett did not say anything. They looked at each other and smiled. Brett -had the ear in her hand. - -“Don’t get bloody,” Romero said, and grinned. The crowd wanted him. -Several boys shouted at Brett. The crowd was the boys, the dancers, and -the drunks. Romero turned and tried to get through the crowd. They were -all around him trying to lift him and put him on their shoulders. He -fought and twisted away, and started running, in the midst of them, -toward the exit. He did not want to be carried on people’s shoulders. -But they held him and lifted him. It was uncomfortable and his legs were -spraddled and his body was very sore. They were lifting him and all -running toward the gate. He had his hand on somebody’s shoulder. He -looked around at us apologetically. The crowd, running, went out the -gate with him. - -We all three went back to the hotel. Brett went up-stairs. Bill and I -sat in the down-stairs dining-room and ate some hard-boiled eggs and -drank several bottles of beer. Belmonte came down in his street clothes -with his manager and two other men. They sat at the next table and ate. -Belmonte ate very little. They were leaving on the seven o’clock train -for Barcelona. Belmonte wore a blue-striped shirt and a dark suit, and -ate soft-boiled eggs. The others ate a big meal. Belmonte did not talk. -He only answered questions. - -Bill was tired after the bull-fight. So was I. We both took a bull-fight -very hard. We sat and ate the eggs and I watched Belmonte and the people -at his table. The men with him were tough-looking and businesslike. - -“Come on over to the café,” Bill said. “I want an absinthe.” - -It was the last day of the fiesta. Outside it was beginning to be cloudy -again. The square was full of people and the fireworks experts were -making up their set pieces for the night and covering them over with -beech branches. Boys were watching. We passed stands of rockets with -long bamboo stems. Outside the café there was a great crowd. The music -and the dancing were going on. The giants and the dwarfs were passing. - -“Where’s Edna?” I asked Bill. - -“I don’t know.” - -We watched the beginning of the evening of the last night of the fiesta. -The absinthe made everything seem better. I drank it without sugar in -the dripping glass, and it was pleasantly bitter. - -“I feel sorry about Cohn,” Bill said. “He had an awful time.” - -“Oh, to hell with Cohn,” I said. - -“Where do you suppose he went?” - -“Up to Paris.” - -“What do you suppose he’ll do?” - -“Oh, to hell with him.” - -“What do you suppose he’ll do?” - -“Pick up with his old girl, probably.” - -“Who was his old girl?” - -“Somebody named Frances.” - -We had another absinthe. - -“When do you go back?” I asked. - -“To-morrow.” - -After a little while Bill said: “Well, it was a swell fiesta.” - -“Yes,” I said; “something doing all the time.” - -“You wouldn’t believe it. It’s like a wonderful nightmare.” - -“Sure,” I said. “I’d believe anything. Including nightmares.” - -“What’s the matter? Feel low?” - -“Low as hell.” - -“Have another absinthe. Here, waiter! Another absinthe for this señor.” - -“I feel like hell,” I said. - -“Drink that,” said Bill. “Drink it slow.” - -It was beginning to get dark. The fiesta was going on. I began to feel -drunk but I did not feel any better. - -“How do you feel?” - -“I feel like hell.” - -“Have another?” - -“It won’t do any good.” - -“Try it. You can’t tell; maybe this is the one that gets it. Hey, -waiter! Another absinthe for this señor!” - -I poured the water directly into it and stirred it instead of letting it -drip. Bill put in a lump of ice. I stirred the ice around with a spoon -in the brownish, cloudy mixture. - -“How is it?” - -“Fine.” - -“Don’t drink it fast that way. It will make you sick.” - -I set down the glass. I had not meant to drink it fast. - -“I feel tight.” - -“You ought to.” - -“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” - -“Sure. Get tight. Get over your damn depression.” - -“Well, I’m tight. Is that what you want?” - -“Sit down.” - -“I won’t sit down,” I said. “I’m going over to the hotel.” - -I was very drunk. I was drunker than I ever remembered having been. At -the hotel I went up-stairs. Brett’s door was open. I put my head in the -room. Mike was sitting on the bed. He waved a bottle. - -“Jake,” he said. “Come in, Jake.” - -I went in and sat down. The room was unstable unless I looked at some -fixed point. - -“Brett, you know. She’s gone off with the bull-fighter chap.” - -“No.” - -“Yes. She looked for you to say good-bye. They went on the seven o’clock -train.” - -“Did they?” - -“Bad thing to do,” Mike said. “She shouldn’t have done it.” - -“No.” - -“Have a drink? Wait while I ring for some beer.” - -“I’m drunk,” I said. “I’m going in and lie down.” - -“Are you blind? I was blind myself.” - -“Yes,” I said, “I’m blind.” - -“Well, bung-o,” Mike said. “Get some sleep, old Jake.” - -I went out the door and into my own room and lay on the bed. The bed -went sailing off and I sat up in bed and looked at the wall to make it -stop. Outside in the square the fiesta was going on. It did not mean -anything. Later Bill and Mike came in to get me to go down and eat with -them. I pretended to be asleep. - -“He’s asleep. Better let him alone.” - -“He’s blind as a tick,” Mike said. They went out. - -I got up and went to the balcony and looked out at the dancing in the -square. The world was not wheeling any more. It was just very clear and -bright, and inclined to blur at the edges. I washed, brushed my hair. I -looked strange to myself in the glass, and went down-stairs to the -dining-room. - -“Here he is!” said Bill. “Good old Jake! I knew you wouldn’t pass out.” - -“Hello, you old drunk,” Mike said. - -“I got hungry and woke up.” - -“Eat some soup,” Bill said. - -The three of us sat at the table, and it seemed as though about six -people were missing. - - - - - BOOK III - - - - - CHAPTER - 19 - - -In the morning it was all over. The fiesta was finished. I woke about -nine o’clock, had a bath, dressed, and went down-stairs. The square was -empty and there were no people on the streets. A few children were -picking up rocket-sticks in the square. The cafés were just opening and -the waiters were carrying out the comfortable white wicker chairs and -arranging them around the marble-topped tables in the shade of the -arcade. They were sweeping the streets and sprinkling them with a hose. - -I sat in one of the wicker chairs and leaned back comfortably. The -waiter was in no hurry to come. The white-paper announcements of the -unloading of the bulls and the big schedules of special trains were -still up on the pillars of the arcade. A waiter wearing a blue apron -came out with a bucket of water and a cloth, and commenced to tear down -the notices, pulling the paper off in strips and washing and rubbing -away the paper that stuck to the stone. The fiesta was over. - -I drank a coffee and after a while Bill came over. I watched him come -walking across the square. He sat down at the table and ordered a -coffee. - -“Well,” he said, “it’s all over.” - -“Yes,” I said. “When do you go?” - -“I don’t know. We better get a car, I think. Aren’t you going back to -Paris?” - -“No. I can stay away another week. I think I’ll go to San Sebastian.” - -“I want to get back.” - -“What’s Mike going to do?” - -“He’s going to Saint Jean de Luz.” - -“Let’s get a car and all go as far as Bayonne. You can get the train up -from there to-night.” - -“Good. Let’s go after lunch.” - -“All right. I’ll get the car.” - -We had lunch and paid the bill. Montoya did not come near us. One of the -maids brought the bill. The car was outside. The chauffeur piled and -strapped the bags on top of the car and put them in beside him in the -front seat and we got in. The car went out of the square, along through -the side streets, out under the trees and down the hill and away from -Pamplona. It did not seem like a very long ride. Mike had a bottle of -Fundador. I only took a couple of drinks. We came over the mountains and -out of Spain and down the white roads and through the overfoliaged, wet, -green, Basque country, and finally into Bayonne. We left Bill’s baggage -at the station, and he bought a ticket to Paris. His train left at -seven-ten. We came out of the station. The car was standing out in -front. - -“What shall we do about the car?” Bill asked. - -“Oh, bother the car,” Mike said. “Let’s just keep the car with us.” - -“All right,” Bill said. “Where shall we go?” - -“Let’s go to Biarritz and have a drink.” - -“Old Mike the spender,” Bill said. - -We drove in to Biarritz and left the car outside a very Ritz place. We -went into the bar and sat on high stools and drank a whiskey and soda. - -“That drink’s mine,” Mike said. - -“Let’s roll for it.” - -So we rolled poker dice out of a deep leather dice-cup. Bill was out -first roll. Mike lost to me and handed the bartender a hundred-franc -note. The whiskeys were twelve francs apiece. We had another round and -Mike lost again. Each time he gave the bartender a good tip. In a room -off the bar there was a good jazz band playing. It was a pleasant bar. -We had another round. I went out on the first roll with four kings. Bill -and Mike rolled. Mike won the first roll with four jacks. Bill won the -second. On the final roll Mike had three kings and let them stay. He -handed the dice-cup to Bill. Bill rattled them and rolled, and there -were three kings, an ace, and a queen. - -“It’s yours, Mike,” Bill said. “Old Mike, the gambler.” - -“I’m so sorry,” Mike said. “I can’t get it.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“I’ve no money,” Mike said. “I’m stony. I’ve just twenty francs. Here, -take twenty francs.” - -Bill’s face sort of changed. - -“I just had enough to pay Montoya. Damned lucky to have it, too.” - -“I’ll cash you a check,” Bill said. - -“That’s damned nice of you, but you see I can’t write checks.” - -“What are you going to do for money?” - -“Oh, some will come through. I’ve two weeks allowance should be here. I -can live on tick at this pub in Saint Jean.” - -“What do you want to do about the car?” Bill asked me. “Do you want to -keep it on?” - -“It doesn’t make any difference. Seems sort of idiotic.” - -“Come on, let’s have another drink,” Mike said. - -“Fine. This one is on me,” Bill said. “Has Brett any money?” He turned -to Mike. - -“I shouldn’t think so. She put up most of what I gave to old Montoya.” - -“She hasn’t any money with her?” I asked. - -“I shouldn’t think so. She never has any money. She gets five hundred -quid a year and pays three hundred and fifty of it in interest to Jews.” - -“I suppose they get it at the source,” said Bill. - -“Quite. They’re not really Jews. We just call them Jews. They’re -Scotsmen, I believe.” - -“Hasn’t she any at all with her?” I asked. - -“I hardly think so. She gave it all to me when she left.” - -“Well,” Bill said, “we might as well have another drink.” - -“Damned good idea,” Mike said. “One never gets anywhere by discussing -finances.” - -“No,” said Bill. Bill and I rolled for the next two rounds. Bill lost -and paid. We went out to the car. - -“Anywhere you’d like to go, Mike?” Bill asked. - -“Let’s take a drive. It might do my credit good. Let’s drive about a -little.” - -“Fine. I’d like to see the coast. Let’s drive down toward Hendaye.” - -“I haven’t any credit along the coast.” - -“You can’t ever tell,” said Bill. - -We drove out along the coast road. There was the green of the headlands, -the white, red-roofed villas, patches of forest, and the ocean very blue -with the tide out and the water curling far out along the beach. We -drove through Saint Jean de Luz and passed through villages farther down -the coast. Back of the rolling country we were going through we saw the -mountains we had come over from Pamplona. The road went on ahead. Bill -looked at his watch. It was time for us to go back. He knocked on the -glass and told the driver to turn around. The driver backed the car out -into the grass to turn it. In back of us were the woods, below a stretch -of meadow, then the sea. - -At the hotel where Mike was going to stay in Saint Jean we stopped the -car and he got out. The chauffeur carried in his bags. Mike stood by the -side of the car. - -“Good-bye, you chaps,” Mike said. “It was a damned fine fiesta.” - -“So long, Mike,” Bill said. - -“I’ll see you around,” I said. - -“Don’t worry about money,” Mike said. “You can pay for the car, Jake, -and I’ll send you my share.” - -“So long, Mike.” - -“So long, you chaps. You’ve been damned nice.” - -We all shook hands. We waved from the car to Mike. He stood in the road -watching. We got to Bayonne just before the train left. A porter carried -Bill’s bags in from the consigne. I went as far as the inner gate to the -tracks. - -“So long, fella,” Bill said. - -“So long, kid!” - -“It was swell. I’ve had a swell time.” - -“Will you be in Paris?” - -“No, I have to sail on the 17th. So long, fella!” - -“So long, old kid!” - -He went in through the gate to the train. The porter went ahead with the -bags. I watched the train pull out. Bill was at one of the windows. The -window passed, the rest of the train passed, and the tracks were empty. -I went outside to the car. - -“How much do we owe you?” I asked the driver. The price to Bayonne had -been fixed at a hundred and fifty pesetas. - -“Two hundred pesetas.” - -“How much more will it be if you drive me to San Sebastian on your way -back?” - -“Fifty pesetas.” - -“Don’t kid me.” - -“Thirty-five pesetas.” - -“It’s not worth it,” I said. “Drive me to the Hotel Panier Fleuri.” - -At the hotel I paid the driver and gave him a tip. The car was powdered -with dust. I rubbed the rod-case through the dust. It seemed the last -thing that connected me with Spain and the fiesta. The driver put the -car in gear and went down the street. I watched it turn off to take the -road to Spain. I went into the hotel and they gave me a room. It was the -same room I had slept in when Bill and Cohn and I were in Bayonne. That -seemed a very long time ago. I washed, changed my shirt, and went out in -the town. - -At a newspaper kiosque I bought a copy of the New York _Herald_ and sat -in a café to read it. It felt strange to be in France again. There was a -safe, suburban feeling. I wished I had gone up to Paris with Bill, -except that Paris would have meant more fiesta-ing. I was through with -fiestas for a while. It would be quiet in San Sebastian. The season does -not open there until August. I could get a good hotel room and read and -swim. There was a fine beach there. There were wonderful trees along the -promenade above the beach, and there were many children sent down with -their nurses before the season opened. In the evening there would be -band concerts under the trees across from the Café Marinas. I could sit -in the Marinas and listen. - -“How does one eat inside?” I asked the waiter. Inside the café was a -restaurant. - -“Well. Very well. One eats very well.” - -“Good.” - -I went in and ate dinner. It was a big meal for France but it seemed -very carefully apportioned after Spain. I drank a bottle of wine for -company. It was a Château Margaux. It was pleasant to be drinking slowly -and to be tasting the wine and to be drinking alone. A bottle of wine -was good company. Afterward I had coffee. The waiter recommended a -Basque liqueur called Izzarra. He brought in the bottle and poured a -liqueur-glass full. He said Izzarra was made of the flowers of the -Pyrenees. The veritable flowers of the Pyrenees. It looked like hair-oil -and smelled like Italian _strega_. I told him to take the flowers of the -Pyrenees away and bring me a _vieux marc_. The _marc_ was good. I had a -second _marc_ after the coffee. - -The waiter seemed a little offended about the flowers of the Pyrenees, -so I overtipped him. That made him happy. It felt comfortable to be in a -country where it is so simple to make people happy. You can never tell -whether a Spanish waiter will thank you. Everything is on such a clear -financial basis in France. It is the simplest country to live in. No one -makes things complicated by becoming your friend for any obscure reason. -If you want people to like you you have only to spend a little money. I -spent a little money and the waiter liked me. He appreciated my valuable -qualities. He would be glad to see me back. I would dine there again -some time and he would be glad to see me, and would want me at his -table. It would be a sincere liking because it would have a sound basis. -I was back in France. - -Next morning I tipped every one a little too much at the hotel to make -more friends, and left on the morning train for San Sebastian. At the -station I did not tip the porter more than I should because I did not -think I would ever see him again. I only wanted a few good French -friends in Bayonne to make me welcome in case I should come back there -again. I knew that if they remembered me their friendship would be -loyal. - -At Irun we had to change trains and show passports. I hated to leave -France. Life was so simple in France. I felt I was a fool to be going -back into Spain. In Spain you could not tell about anything. I felt like -a fool to be going back into it, but I stood in line with my passport, -opened my bags for the customs, bought a ticket, went through a gate, -climbed onto the train, and after forty minutes and eight tunnels I was -at San Sebastian. - -Even on a hot day San Sebastian has a certain early-morning quality. The -trees seem as though their leaves were never quite dry. The streets feel -as though they had just been sprinkled. It is always cool and shady on -certain streets on the hottest day. I went to a hotel in the town where -I had stopped before, and they gave me a room with a balcony that opened -out above the roofs of the town. There was a green mountainside beyond -the roofs. - -I unpacked my bags and stacked my books on the table beside the head of -the bed, put out my shaving things, hung up some clothes in the big -armoire, and made up a bundle for the laundry. Then I took a shower in -the bathroom and went down to lunch. Spain had not changed to -summer-time, so I was early. I set my watch again. I had recovered an -hour by coming to San Sebastian. - -As I went into the dining-room the concierge brought me a police -bulletin to fill out. I signed it and asked him for two telegraph forms, -and wrote a message to the Hotel Montoya, telling them to forward all -mail and telegrams for me to this address. I calculated how many days I -would be in San Sebastian and then wrote out a wire to the office asking -them to hold mail, but forward all wires for me to San Sebastian for six -days. Then I went in and had lunch. - -After lunch I went up to my room, read a while, and went to sleep. When -I woke it was half past four. I found my swimming-suit, wrapped it with -a comb in a towel, and went down-stairs and walked up the street to the -Concha. The tide was about half-way out. The beach was smooth and firm, -and the sand yellow. I went into a bathing-cabin, undressed, put on my -suit, and walked across the smooth sand to the sea. The sand was warm -under bare feet. There were quite a few people in the water and on the -beach. Out beyond where the headlands of the Concha almost met to form -the harbor there was a white line of breakers and the open sea. Although -the tide was going out, there were a few slow rollers. They came in like -undulations in the water, gathered weight of water, and then broke -smoothly on the warm sand. I waded out. The water was cold. As a roller -came I dove, swam out under water, and came to the surface with all the -chill gone. I swam out to the raft, pulled myself up, and lay on the hot -planks. A boy and girl were at the other end. The girl had undone the -top strap of her bathing-suit and was browning her back. The boy lay -face downward on the raft and talked to her. She laughed at things he -said, and turned her brown back in the sun. I lay on the raft in the sun -until I was dry. Then I tried several dives. I dove deep once, swimming -down to the bottom. I swam with my eyes open and it was green and dark. -The raft made a dark shadow. I came out of water beside the raft, pulled -up, dove once more, holding it for length, and then swam ashore. I lay -on the beach until I was dry, then went into the bathing-cabin, took off -my suit, sloshed myself with fresh water, and rubbed dry. - -I walked around the harbor under the trees to the casino, and then up -one of the cool streets to the Café Marinas. There was an orchestra -playing inside the café and I sat out on the terrace and enjoyed the -fresh coolness in the hot day, and had a glass of lemon-juice and shaved -ice and then a long whiskey and soda. I sat in front of the Marinas for -a long time and read and watched the people, and listened to the music. - -Later when it began to get dark, I walked around the harbor and out -along the promenade, and finally back to the hotel for supper. There was -a bicycle-race on, the Tour du Pays Basque, and the riders were stopping -that night in San Sebastian. In the dining-room, at one side, there was -a long table of bicycle-riders, eating with their trainers and managers. -They were all French and Belgians, and paid close attention to their -meal, but they were having a good time. At the head of the table were -two good-looking French girls, with much Rue du Faubourg Montmartre -chic. I could not make out whom they belonged to. They all spoke in -slang at the long table and there were many private jokes and some jokes -at the far end that were not repeated when the girls asked to hear them. -The next morning at five o’clock the race resumed with the last lap, San -Sebastian-Bilbao. The bicycle-riders drank much wine, and were burned -and browned by the sun. They did not take the race seriously except -among themselves. They had raced among themselves so often that it did -not make much difference who won. Especially in a foreign country. The -money could be arranged. - -The man who had a matter of two minutes lead in the race had an attack -of boils, which were very painful. He sat on the small of his back. His -neck was very red and the blond hairs were sunburned. The other riders -joked him about his boils. He tapped on the table with his fork. - -“Listen,” he said, “to-morrow my nose is so tight on the handle-bars -that the only thing touches those boils is a lovely breeze.” - -One of the girls looked at him down the table, and he grinned and turned -red. The Spaniards, they said, did not know how to pedal. - -I had coffee out on the terrasse with the team manager of one of the big -bicycle manufacturers. He said it had been a very pleasant race, and -would have been worth watching if Bottechia had not abandoned it at -Pamplona. The dust had been bad, but in Spain the roads were better than -in France. Bicycle road-racing was the only sport in the world, he said. -Had I ever followed the Tour de France? Only in the papers. The Tour de -France was the greatest sporting event in the world. Following and -organizing the road races had made him know France. Few people know -France. All spring and all summer and all fall he spent on the road with -bicycle road-racers. Look at the number of motor-cars now that followed -the riders from town to town in a road race. It was a rich country and -more _sportif_ every year. It would be the most _sportif_ country in the -world. It was bicycle road-racing did it. That and football. He knew -France. _La France Sportive._ He knew road-racing. We had a cognac. -After all, though, it wasn’t bad to get back to Paris. There is only one -Paname. In all the world, that is. Paris is the town the most _sportif_ -in the world. Did I know the _Chope de Negre_? Did I not. I would see -him there some time. I certainly would. We would drink another _fine_ -together. We certainly would. They started at six o’clock less a quarter -in the morning. Would I be up for the depart? I would certainly try to. -Would I like him to call me? It was very interesting. I would leave a -call at the desk. He would not mind calling me. I could not let him take -the trouble. I would leave a call at the desk. We said good-bye until -the next morning. - -In the morning when I awoke the bicycle-riders and their following cars -had been on the road for three hours. I had coffee and the papers in bed -and then dressed and took my bathing-suit down to the beach. Everything -was fresh and cool and damp in the early morning. Nurses in uniform and -in peasant costume walked under the trees with children. The Spanish -children were beautiful. Some bootblacks sat together under a tree -talking to a soldier. The soldier had only one arm. The tide was in and -there was a good breeze and a surf on the beach. - -I undressed in one of the bath-cabins, crossed the narrow line of beach -and went into the water. I swam out, trying to swim through the rollers, -but having to dive sometimes. Then in the quiet water I turned and -floated. Floating I saw only the sky, and felt the drop and lift of the -swells. I swam back to the surf and coasted in, face down, on a big -roller, then turned and swam, trying to keep in the trough and not have -a wave break over me. It made me tired, swimming in the trough, and I -turned and swam out to the raft. The water was buoyant and cold. It felt -as though you could never sink. I swam slowly, it seemed like a long -swim with the high tide, and then pulled up on the raft and sat, -dripping, on the boards that were becoming hot in the sun. I looked -around at the bay, the old town, the casino, the line of trees along the -promenade, and the big hotels with their white porches and gold-lettered -names. Off on the right, almost closing the harbor, was a green hill -with a castle. The raft rocked with the motion of the water. On the -other side of the narrow gap that led into the open sea was another high -headland. I thought I would like to swim across the bay but I was afraid -of cramp. - -I sat in the sun and watched the bathers on the beach. They looked very -small. After a while I stood up, gripped with my toes on the edge of the -raft as it tipped with my weight, and dove cleanly and deeply, to come -up through the lightening water, blew the salt water out of my head, and -swam slowly and steadily in to shore. - -After I was dressed and had paid for the bath-cabin, I walked back to -the hotel. The bicycle-racers had left several copies of _L’Auto_ -around, and I gathered them up in the reading-room and took them out and -sat in an easy chair in the sun to read about and catch up on French -sporting life. While I was sitting there the concierge came out with a -blue envelope in his hand. - -“A telegram for you, sir.” - -I poked my finger along under the fold that was fastened down, spread it -open, and read it. It had been forwarded from Paris: - - COULD YOU COME HOTEL MONTANA MADRID - AM RATHER IN TROUBLE BRETT. - -I tipped the concierge and read the message again. A postman was coming -along the sidewalk. He turned in the hotel. He had a big moustache and -looked very military. He came out of the hotel again. The concierge was -just behind him. - -“Here’s another telegram for you, sir.” - -“Thank you,” I said. - -I opened it. It was forwarded from Pamplona. - - COULD YOU COME HOTEL MONTANA MADRID - AM RATHER IN TROUBLE BRETT. - -The concierge stood there waiting for another tip, probably. - -“What time is there a train for Madrid?” - -“It left at nine this morning. There is a slow train at eleven, and the -Sud Express at ten to-night.” - -“Get me a berth on the Sud Express. Do you want the money now?” - -“Just as you wish,” he said. “I will have it put on the bill.” - -“Do that.” - -Well, that meant San Sebastian all shot to hell. I suppose, vaguely, I -had expected something of the sort. I saw the concierge standing in the -doorway. - -“Bring me a telegram form, please.” - -He brought it and I took out my fountain-pen and printed: - - LADY ASHLEY HOTEL MONTANA MADRID - ARRIVING SUD EXPRESS TOMORROW LOVE - JAKE. - -That seemed to handle it. That was it. Send a girl off with one man. -Introduce her to another to go off with him. Now go and bring her back. -And sign the wire with love. That was it all right. I went in to lunch. - -I did not sleep much that night on the Sud Express. In the morning I had -breakfast in the dining-car and watched the rock and pine country -between Avila and Escorial. I saw the Escorial out of the window, gray -and long and cold in the sun, and did not give a damn about it. I saw -Madrid come up over the plain, a compact white sky-line on the top of a -little cliff away off across the sun-hardened country. - -The Norte station in Madrid is the end of the line. All trains finish -there. They don’t go on anywhere. Outside were cabs and taxis and a line -of hotel runners. It was like a country town. I took a taxi and we -climbed up through the gardens, by the empty palace and the unfinished -church on the edge of the cliff, and on up until we were in the high, -hot, modern town. The taxi coasted down a smooth street to the Puerta -del Sol, and then through the traffic and out into the Carrera San -Jeronimo. All the shops had their awnings down against the heat. The -windows on the sunny side of the street were shuttered. The taxi stopped -at the curb. I saw the sign HOTEL MONTANA on the second floor. The -taxi-driver carried the bags in and left them by the elevator. I could -not make the elevator work, so I walked up. On the second floor up was a -cut brass sign: HOTEL MONTANA. I rang and no one came to the door. I -rang again and a maid with a sullen face opened the door. - -“Is Lady Ashley here?” I asked. - -She looked at me dully. - -“Is an Englishwoman here?” - -She turned and called some one inside. A very fat woman came to the -door. Her hair was gray and stiffly oiled in scallops around her face. -She was short and commanding. - -“Muy buenos,” I said. “Is there an Englishwoman here? I would like to -see this English lady.” - -“Muy buenos. Yes, there is a female English. Certainly you can see her -if she wishes to see you.” - -“She wishes to see me.” - -“The chica will ask her.” - -“It is very hot.” - -“It is very hot in the summer in Madrid.” - -“And how cold in winter.” - -“Yes, it is very cold in winter.” - -Did I want to stay myself in person in the Hotel Montana? - -Of that as yet I was undecided, but it would give me pleasure if my bags -were brought up from the ground floor in order that they might not be -stolen. Nothing was ever stolen in the Hotel Montana. In other fondas, -yes. Not here. No. The personages of this establishment were rigidly -selectioned. I was happy to hear it. Nevertheless I would welcome the -upbringal of my bags. - -The maid came in and said that the female English wanted to see the male -English now, at once. - -“Good,” I said. “You see. It is as I said.” - -“Clearly.” - -I followed the maid’s back down a long, dark corridor. At the end she -knocked on a door. - -“Hello,” said Brett. “Is it you, Jake?” - -“It’s me.” - -“Come in. Come in.” - -I opened the door. The maid closed it after me. Brett was in bed. She -had just been brushing her hair and held the brush in her hand. The room -was in that disorder produced only by those who have always had -servants. - -“Darling!” Brett said. - -I went over to the bed and put my arms around her. She kissed me, and -while she kissed me I could feel she was thinking of something else. She -was trembling in my arms. She felt very small. - -“Darling! I’ve had such a hell of a time.” - -“Tell me about it.” - -“Nothing to tell. He only left yesterday. I made him go.” - -“Why didn’t you keep him?” - -“I don’t know. It isn’t the sort of thing one does. I don’t think I hurt -him any.” - -“You were probably damn good for him.” - -“He shouldn’t be living with any one. I realized that right away.” - -“No.” - -“Oh, hell!” she said, “let’s not talk about it. Let’s never talk about -it.” - -“All right.” - -“It was rather a knock his being ashamed of me. He was ashamed of me for -a while, you know.” - -“No.” - -“Oh, yes. They ragged him about me at the café, I guess. He wanted me to -grow my hair out. Me, with long hair. I’d look so like hell.” - -“It’s funny.” - -“He said it would make me more womanly. I’d look a fright.” - -“What happened?” - -“Oh, he got over that. He wasn’t ashamed of me long.” - -“What was it about being in trouble?” - -“I didn’t know whether I could make him go, and I didn’t have a sou to -go away and leave him. He tried to give me a lot of money, you know. I -told him I had scads of it. He knew that was a lie. I couldn’t take his -money, you know.” - -“No.” - -“Oh, let’s not talk about it. There were some funny things, though. Do -give me a cigarette.” - -I lit the cigarette. - -“He learned his English as a waiter in Gib.” - -“Yes.” - -“He wanted to marry me, finally.” - -“Really?” - -“Of course. I can’t even marry Mike.” - -“Maybe he thought that would make him Lord Ashley.” - -“No. It wasn’t that. He really wanted to marry me. So I couldn’t go away -from him, he said. He wanted to make it sure I could never go away from -him. After I’d gotten more womanly, of course.” - -“You ought to feel set up.” - -“I do. I’m all right again. He’s wiped out that damned Cohn.” - -“Good.” - -“You know I’d have lived with him if I hadn’t seen it was bad for him. -We got along damned well.” - -“Outside of your personal appearance.” - -“Oh, he’d have gotten used to that.” - -She put out the cigarette. - -“I’m thirty-four, you know. I’m not going to be one of these bitches -that ruins children.” - -“No.” - -“I’m not going to be that way. I feel rather good, you know. I feel -rather set up.” - -“Good.” - -She looked away. I thought she was looking for another cigarette. Then I -saw she was crying. I could feel her crying. Shaking and crying. She -wouldn’t look up. I put my arms around her. - -“Don’t let’s ever talk about it. Please don’t let’s ever talk about it.” - -“Dear Brett.” - -“I’m going back to Mike.” I could feel her crying as I held her close. -“He’s so damned nice and he’s so awful. He’s my sort of thing.” - -She would not look up. I stroked her hair. I could feel her shaking. - -“I won’t be one of those bitches,” she said. “But, oh, Jake, please -let’s never talk about it.” - -We left the Hotel Montana. The woman who ran the hotel would not let me -pay the bill. The bill had been paid. - -“Oh, well. Let it go,” Brett said. “It doesn’t matter now.” - -We rode in a taxi down to the Palace Hotel, left the bags, arranged for -berths on the Sud Express for the night, and went into the bar of the -hotel for a cocktail. We sat on high stools at the bar while the barman -shook the Martinis in a large nickelled shaker. - -“It’s funny what a wonderful gentility you get in the bar of a big -hotel,” I said. - -“Barmen and jockeys are the only people who are polite any more.” - -“No matter how vulgar a hotel is, the bar is always nice.” - -“It’s odd.” - -“Bartenders have always been fine.” - -“You know,” Brett said, “it’s quite true. He is only nineteen. Isn’t it -amazing?” - -We touched the two glasses as they stood side by side on the bar. They -were coldly beaded. Outside the curtained window was the summer heat of -Madrid. - -“I like an olive in a Martini,” I said to the barman. - -“Right you are, sir. There you are.” - -“Thanks.” - -“I should have asked, you know.” - -The barman went far enough up the bar so that he would not hear our -conversation. Brett had sipped from the Martini as it stood, on the -wood. Then she picked it up. Her hand was steady enough to lift it after -that first sip. - -“It’s good. Isn’t it a nice bar?” - -“They’re all nice bars.” - -“You know I didn’t believe it at first. He was born in 1905. I was in -school in Paris, then. Think of that.” - -“Anything you want me to think about it?” - -“Don’t be an ass. _Would_ you buy a lady a drink?” - -“We’ll have two more Martinis.” - -“As they were before, sir?” - -“They were very good.” Brett smiled at him. - -“Thank you, ma’am.” - -“Well, bung-o,” Brett said. - -“Bung-o!” - -“You know,” Brett said, “he’d only been with two women before. He never -cared about anything but bull-fighting.” - -“He’s got plenty of time.” - -“I don’t know. He thinks it was me. Not the show in general.” - -“Well, it was you.” - -“Yes. It was me.” - -“I thought you weren’t going to ever talk about it.” - -“How can I help it?” - -“You’ll lose it if you talk about it.” - -“I just talk around it. You know I feel rather damned good, Jake.” - -“You should.” - -“You know it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.” - -“Yes.” - -“It’s sort of what we have instead of God.” - -“Some people have God,” I said. “Quite a lot.” - -“He never worked very well with me.” - -“Should we have another Martini?” - -The barman shook up two more Martinis and poured them out into fresh -glasses. - -“Where will we have lunch?” I asked Brett. The bar was cool. You could -feel the heat outside through the window. - -“Here?” asked Brett. - -“It’s rotten here in the hotel. Do you know a place called Botin’s?” I -asked the barman. - -“Yes, sir. Would you like to have me write out the address?” - -“Thank you.” - -We lunched up-stairs at Botin’s. It is one of the best restaurants in -the world. We had roast young suckling pig and drank _rioja_ _alta_. -Brett did not eat much. She never ate much. I ate a very big meal and -drank three bottles of _rioja alta_. - -“How do you feel, Jake?” Brett asked. “My God! what a meal you’ve -eaten.” - -“I feel fine. Do you want a dessert?” - -“Lord, no.” - -Brett was smoking. - -“You like to eat, don’t you?” she said. - -“Yes.” I said. “I like to do a lot of things.” - -“What do you like to do?” - -“Oh,” I said, “I like to do a lot of things. Don’t you want a dessert?” - -“You asked me that once,” Brett said. - -“Yes,” I said. “So I did. Let’s have another bottle of _rioja alta_.” - -“It’s very good.” - -“You haven’t drunk much of it,” I said. - -“I have. You haven’t seen.” - -“Let’s get two bottles,” I said. The bottles came. I poured a little in -my glass, then a glass for Brett, then filled my glass. We touched -glasses. - -“Bung-o!” Brett said. I drank my glass and poured out another. Brett put -her hand on my arm. - -“Don’t get drunk, Jake,” she said. “You don’t have to.” - -“How do you know?” - -“Don’t,” she said. “You’ll be all right.” - -“I’m not getting drunk,” I said. “I’m just drinking a little wine. I -like to drink wine.” - -“Don’t get drunk,” she said. “Jake, don’t get drunk.” - -“Want to go for a ride?” I said. “Want to ride through the town?” - -“Right,” Brett said. “I haven’t seen Madrid. I should see Madrid.” - -“I’ll finish this,” I said. - -Down-stairs we came out through the first-floor dining-room to the -street. A waiter went for a taxi. It was hot and bright. Up the street -was a little square with trees and grass where there were taxis parked. -A taxi came up the street, the waiter hanging out at the side. I tipped -him and told the driver where to drive, and got in beside Brett. The -driver started up the street. I settled back. Brett moved close to me. -We sat close against each other. I put my arm around her and she rested -against me comfortably. It was very hot and bright, and the houses -looked sharply white. We turned out onto the Gran Via. - -“Oh, Jake,” Brett said, “we could have had such a damned good time -together.” - -Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his -baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me. - -“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” - - THE END - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - -Obvious printing errors have been silently corrected. - -Inconsistencies in hyphenation, spelling and punctuation have been -preserved. - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUN ALSO RISES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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