ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition. Ernest Hemingway

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ