ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition. Ernest HemingwayЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Have you a father?”
“Yes,” said Catherine. “He has gout. You won’t ever have to meet him. Haven’t you a father?”
“No,” I said. “A step-father.”
“Will I like him?”
“You won’t have to meet him.”
“We have such a fine time,” Catherine said. “I don’t take any interest in anything else any more. I’m so very happy married to you.”
The waiter came and took away the things. After a while we were very still and we could hear the rain. Down below on the street a motor car honked.
“ ‘But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near,’ ”
I said.
“I know that poem,” Catherine said. “It’s by Marvell. But it’s about a girl who wouldn’t live with a man.”
My head felt very clear and cold and I wanted to talk facts.
“Where will you have the baby?”
“I don’t know. The best place I can find.”
“How will you arrange it?”
“The best way I can. Don’t worry, darling. We may have several babies before the war is over.”
“It’s nearly time to go.”
“I know. You can make it time if you want.”
“No.”
“Then don’t worry, darling. You were fine until now and now you’re worrying.”
“I won’t. How often will you write?”
“Every day. Do they read your letters?”
“They can’t read English enough to hurt any.”
“I’ll make them very confusing,” Catherine said.
“But not too confusing.”
“I’ll just make them a little confusing.”
“I’m afraid we have to start to go.”
“All right, darling.”
“I hate to leave our fine house.”
“So do I.”
“But we have to go.”
“All right. But we’re never settled in our home very long.”
“We will be.”
“I’ll have a fine home for you when you come back.”
“Maybe I’ll be back right away.”
“Perhaps you’ll be hurt just a little in the foot.”
“Or the lobe of the ear.”
“No I want your ears the way they are.”
“And not my feet?”
“Your feet have been hit already.”
“We have to go, darling. Really.”
“All right. You go first.”
CHAPTER 24
We walked down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. The carpet on the stairs was worn. I had paid for the dinner when it came up and the waiter, who had brought it, was sitting on a chair near the door. He jumped up and bowed and I went with him into the side room and paid the bill for the room. The manager had remembered me as a friend and refused payment in advance but when he retired he had remembered to have the waiter stationed at the door so that I should not get out without paying. I suppose that had happened; even with his friends. One had so many friends in a war.
I asked the waiter to get us a carriage and he took Catherine’s package that I was carrying and went out with an umbrella. Outside through the window we saw him crossing the street in the rain. We stood in the side room and looked out the window.
“How do you feel, Cat?”
“Sleepy.”
“I feel hollow and hungry.”
“Have you anything to eat?”
“Yes, in my musette.”
I saw the carriage coming. It stopped, the horse’s head hanging in the rain, and the waiter stepped out, opened his umbrella, and came toward the hotel. We met him at the door and walked out under the umbrella down the wet walk to the carriage at the curb. Water was running in the gutter.
“There is your package on the seat,” the waiter said. He stood with the umbrella until we were in and I had tipped him.
“Many thanks. Pleasant journey,” he said. The coachman lifted the reins and the horse started. The waiter turned away under the umbrella and went toward the hotel. We drove down the street and turned to the left, then came around to the right in front of the station. There were two carabinieri standing under the light just out of the rain. The light shone on their hats. The rain was clear and transparent against the light from the station. A porter came out from under the shelter of the station, his shoulders up against the rain.
“No,” I said. “Thanks. I don’t need thee.”
He went back under the shelter of the archway. I turned to Catherine. Her face was in the shadow from the hood of the carriage.
“We might as well say good-by.”
“I can’t go in?”
“No.”
“Good-by, Cat.”
“Will you tell him the hospital?”
“Yes.”
I told the driver the address to drive to. He nodded.
“Good-by,” I said. “Take good care of yourself and young Catherine.”
“Good-by, darling.”
“Good-by,” I said. I stepped out into the rain and the carriage started. Catherine leaned out and I saw her face in the light. She smiled and waved. The carriage went up the street, Catherine pointed in toward the archway. I looked, there were only the two carabinieri and the archway. I realized she meant for me to get in out of the rain. I went in and stood and watched the carriage turn the corner. Then I started through the station and down the runway to the train.
The porter was on the platform looking for me. I followed him into the train, crowding past people and along the aisle and in through a door to where the machine-gunner sat in the corner of a full compartment. My rucksack and musettes were above his head on the luggage rack. There were many men standing in the corridor and the men in the compartment all looked at us when we came in. There were not enough places in the train and every one was hostile. The machine-gunner stood up for me to sit down. Some one tapped me on the shoulder. I looked around. It was a very tall gaunt captain of artillery with a red scar along his jaw. He had looked through the glass on the corridor and then come in.
“What do you say?” I asked. I had turned and faced him. He was taller than I and his face was very thin under the shadow of his cap-visor and the scar was new and shiny. Every one in the compartment was looking at me.
“You can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t have a soldier save you a place.”
“I have done it.”
He swallowed and I saw his Adam’s apple go up and then down. The machine-gunner stood in front of the place. Other men looked in through the glass. No one