ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition. Ernest Hemingway

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СКАЧАТЬ 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. СКАЧАТЬ