ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition. Ernest Hemingway
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Название: ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition
Автор: Ernest Hemingway
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066499457
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“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.”
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