hemingway, ernest - men without women-第13节

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It　was　raining　hard　when　we　passed　through　the　suburbs　of　Genoa；　and；　even　going　very　slowly　behind　the　tramcars　and　the　motor　trucks；　liquid　mud　splashed　on　to　the　sidewalks；　so　that　people　stepped　into　the　doorways　as　they　saw　us　coming。　In　San　Pier　dˇArena；　the　industrial　suburb　outside　of　Genoa；　there　is　a　wide　street　with　two　car…tracks　and　we　drove　down　the　centre　to　avoid　sending　the　mud　on　to　the　men　going　home　from　work。　On　our　left　was　the　Mediterranean。　There　was　a　big　sea　running　and　waves　broke　and　the　wind　blew　the　spray　against　the　car。　A　riverbed　that；　when　we　had　passed；　going　into　Italy；　had　been　wide；　stony；　and　dry；　was　running　brown；　and　up　to　the　banks。　The　brown　water　discolored　the　sea　and　as　the　waves　thinned　and　cleared　in　breaking；　the　light　came　through　the　yellow　water　and　the　crests；　detached　by　the　wind；　blew　across　the　road。
　　　A　big　car　passed　us；　going　fast；　and　a　sheet　of　muddy　water　rose　up　and　over　our　windshield　and　radiator。　The　automatic　windshield　cleaner　moved　back　and　forth；　spreading　the　film　over　the　glass。　We　stopped　and　ate　lunch　at　Sestri。　There　was　no　heat　in　the　restaurant　and　we　kept　our　hats　and　coats　on。　We　could　see　the　car　outside；　through　the　window。　It　was　covered　with　mud　and　was　stopped　beside　some　boats　that　had　been　pulled　up　beyond　the　waves。　In　the　restaurant　you　could　see　your　breath。
　　　The　pasta　asciutta　was　good；　the　wine　tasted　of　alum；　and　we　poured　water　in　it。　Afterwards　the　waiter　brought　beef　steak　and　fried　potatoes。　A　man　and　a　woman　sat　at　the　far　end　of　the　restaurant。　He　was　middle…aged　and　she　was　young　and　wore　black。　All　during　the　meal　she　would　blow　out　her　breath　in　the　cold　damp　air。　The　man　would　look　at　it　and　shake　his　head。　They　ate　without　talking　and　the　man　held　her　hand　under　the　table。　She　was　good…looking　and　they　seemed　very　sad。　They　had　a　traveling…bag　with　them。
　　　We　had　the　papers　and　I　read　the　account　of　the　Shanghai　fighting　aloud　to　Guy。　After　the　meal；　he　left　with　the　waiter　in　search　for　a　place　which　did　not　exist　in　the　restaurant；　and　I　cleaned　off　the　windshield；　the　lights；　and　the　license　plates　with　a　rag。　Guy　came　back　and　we　backed　the　car　out　and　started。　The　waiter　had　taken　him　across　the　road　and　into　an　old　house。　The　people　in　the　house　were　suspicious　and　the　waiter　had　remained　with　Guy　to　see　nothing　was　stolen。
　　　¨Although　I　donˇt　know　how；　me　not　being　a　plumber；　they　expected　me　to　steal　anything；〃　Guy　said。
　　　As　we　came　up　on　a　headland　beyond　the　town；　the　wind　struck　the　car　and　nearly　tipped　it　over。
　　　¨Itˇs　good；　it　blows　us　away　from　the　sea；〃　Guy　said。
　　　¨Well；〃　I　said；　¨they　drowned　Shelley　somewhere　along　here。〃
　　　¨That　was　down　by　Viareggio；〃　Guy　said。　¨Do　you　remember　what　we　came　to　this　country　for？〃
　　　¨Yes；〃　I　said；　¨but　we　didnˇt　get　it。〃
　　　¨Weˇll　be　out　of　it　tonight。〃
　　　¨If　we　can　get　past　Ventimiglia。〃
　　　¨Weˇll　see。　I　donˇt　like　to　drive　this　coast　at　night。〃　It　was　early　afternoon　and　the　sun　was　out。　Below；　the　sea　was　blue　with　whitecaps　running　towards　Savona。　Back　beyond　the　cape　the　brown　and　blue　waters　joined。　Out　ahead　of　us；　a　tramp　steamer　was　going　up　the　coast。
　　　¨Can　you　still　see　Genoa？〃　Guy　asked。
　　　¨Oh；　yes。〃
　　　¨That　next　big　cape　ought　to　put　it　out　of　sight。〃
　　　¨Weˇll　see　it　a　long　time　yet。　I　can　still　see　Portofino　Cape　behind　it。〃
　　　Finally　we　could　not　see　Genoa。　I　looked　back　as　we　came　out　and　there　was　only　the　sea；　and　below　in　the　bay；　a　line　of　beach　and　fishing…boats　and　above；　on　the　side　of　the　hill；　a　town　and　then　capes　far　down　the　coast。
　　　¨Itˇs　gone　now；〃　I　said　to　Guy。
　　　¨Oh；　itˇs　been　gone　a　long　time　now。〃
　　　¨But　we　couldnˇt　be　sure　till　we　got　way　out。〃
　　　There　was　a　sign　with　a　picture　of　an　S…turn　and　Svolta　Pericolosa。　The　road　curved　around　the　headland　and　the　wind　blew　through　the　crack　in　the　windshield。　Below　the　cape　was　a　flat　stretch　beside　the　sea。　The　wind　had　dried　the　mud　and　the　wheels　were　beginning　to　lift　dust。　On　the　flat　road　we　passed　a　Fascist　riding　a　bicycle；　a　heavy　revolver　in　a　holster　on　his　back。　He　held　the　middle　of　the　road　on　his　bicycle　and　we　turned　out　for　him。　He　looked　up　at　us　as　we　passed。　Ahead　there　was　a　railway　crossing；　and　as　we　came　towards　it　the　gates　went　down。
　　　As　we　waited；　the　Fascist　came　up　on　his　bicycle。　The　train　went　by　and　Guy　started　the　engine。
　　　¨Wait；〃　the　bicycle　man　shouted　from　behind　the　car。　¨Your　numberˇs　dirty。〃
　　　I　got　out　with　a　rag。　The　number　had　been　cleaned　at　lunch。
　　　¨You　can　read　it；〃　I　said。
　　　¨You　think　so？〃
　　　¨Read　it。〃
　　　¨I　cannot　read　it。　It　is　dirty。〃
　　　I　wiped　it　off　with　the　rag。　¨Howˇs　that？〃
　　　¨Twenty…five　lire。〃
　　　¨What？〃　I　said。　¨You　could　have　read　it。　Itˇs　only　dirty　from　the　state　of　the　roads。〃
　　　¨You　donˇt　like　Italian　roads？〃
　　　¨They　are　dirty。〃
　　　¨Fifty　lire。〃　He　spat　in　the　road。　¨Your　car　is　dirty　and　you　are　dirty　too。〃
　　　¨Good。　And　give　me　a　receipt　with　your　name。〃
　　　He　took　out　a　receipt　book；　made　in　duplicate；　and　perforated；　so　one　side　could　be　given　to　the　customer；　and　the　other　side　filled　in　and　kept　as　a　stub。　There　was　no　carbon　to　record　what　the　customerˇs　ticket　said。
　　　¨Give　me　fifty　lire。〃
　　　He　wrote　in　indelible　pencil；　tore　out　the　slip；　and　handed　it　to　me。　I　read　it。
　　　¨This　is　for　twenty…five　lire。〃
　　　¨A　mistake；〃　he　said；　and　changed　the　twenty…five　to　fifty。
　　　¨And　now　the　other　side。　Make　it　fifty　in　the　part　you　keep。〃
　　　He　smiled　a　beautiful　Italian　smile　and　wrote　something　on　the　receipt　stub；　holding　it　so　I　could　not　see。
　　　¨Go　on；〃　he　said；　¨before　your　number　gets　dirty　again。〃
　　　We　drove　for　two　hours　after　it　was　dark　and　slept　in　Mentone　that　night。　It　seemed　very　cheerful　and　clean　and　sane　and　lovely。　We　had　driven　from　Ventimiglia　to　Pisa　and　Florence；　across　the　Romagna　to　Rimini；　back　through　Forl？；　Imola；　Bologna；　Parma；　Piacenza；　and　Genoa；　to　Ventimiglia　again。　The　whole　trip　had　only　taken　ten　days。　Naturally；　in　such　a　short　trip；　we　had　no　opportunity　to　see　how　things　were　with　the　country　or　the　people。

FIFTY　GRAND
¨How　are　you　going　yourself　Jack？〃　I　asked　him。
　　　¨You　seen　this　Walcott　？〃　he　says。
　　　¨Just　in　the　gym。〃
　　　¨Well；〃　Jack　says；　¨Iˇm　going　to　need　a　lot　of　luck　with　that　boy。〃
　　　¨He　canˇt　hit　you；　Jack；〃　Soldier　said。
　　　¨I　wish　to　hell　he　couldnˇt。〃
　　　¨He　couldnˇt　hit　you　with　a　handful　of　bird…shot。〃
　　　¨Bird…shotˇd　be　all　right；〃　Jack　says。　¨I　wouldnˇt　mind　bird…shot　any。〃
　　　¨He　looks　easy　to　hit；〃　I　said。
　　　¨Sure；〃　Jack　says；　¨he　ainˇt　going　to　last　long。　He　ainˇt　going　to　last　like　you　and　me；　Jerry。　But　right　now　heˇs　got　everything。〃
　　　¨Youˇll　left…hand　him　to　death。〃
　　　¨Maybe；〃　Jack　says。　¨Sure。　I　got　a　chance　to。〃
　　　¨Handle　him　like　you　handled　Richie　Lewis〃
　　　¨Richie　Lewis；〃　Jack　said。　¨That　kike！〃
　　　The　three　of　us；　Jack　Brennan；　Soldier　Bartlett；　and　I；　were　in　Handleyˇs。　There　were　a　couple　of　broads　sitting　at　the　next　table　to　us。　They　had　been　drinking。
　　　¨What　do　you　mean；　kike？〃　one　of　the　broads　says。　¨What　do　you　mean；　kike；　you　big　Irish　bum？〃
　　　¨Sure；〃　Jack　says。　¨Thatˇs　it。〃
　　　¨Kikes；〃　this　broad　goes　on。　¨Theyˇre　always　talking　about　kikes；　these　big　Irishmen。　What　do　you　mean；　kikes？〃
　　　¨Come　on。　Letˇs　get　out　of　here。〃
　　　¨Kikes；〃　this　broad　goes　on。　¨Whoever　saw　you　ever　buy　a　drink？　Your　wife　sews　your　pockets　up　every　morning。　These　Irishmen　and　their　kikes？　Ritchie　Lewis　could　lick　you　too。〃
　　　¨Sure；〃　Jack　says。　¨And　you　give　away　a　lot　of　things　free　too；　donˇt　you？〃
　　　We　went　out。　That　was　Jack。　He　could　say　what　he　wanted　to　when　he　wanted　to　say　it。
　　　Jack　started　training　out　at　Danny　Hoganˇs　health　farm　over　in　Jersey。　It　was　nice　out　there　but　Jack　didnˇt　like　it　much。　He　didnˇt　like　being　away　from　his　wife　and　the　kids；　and　he　was　sore　and　grouchy　most　of　the　time。　He　liked　me　and　we　got　along　fine　together；　and　he　liked　Hogan；　but　after　a　while　Soldier　Bartlett　commenced　to　get　on　his　nerves。　A　kidder　gets　to　be　an　awful　thing　around　a　camp　if　his　stuff　goes　sort　of　sour。　Soldier　was　always　kidding　Jack；　just　sort　of　kidding　him　all　the　time。　It　wasnˇt　very　funny　and　it　wasnˇt　very　good；　and　it　began　to　get　to　Jack。　It　was　sort　of　stuff　like　this。　Jack　would　finish　up　with　the　weights　and　the　bag　and　pull　on　the　gloves。
　　　¨You　want　to　work？〃　heˇd　say　to　Soldier。
　　　¨Sure。　How　you　want　me　to　work？〃　Soldier　would　ask。　¨Want　me　to　treat　you　rough　like　Walcott？　Want　me　to　knock　you　down　a　few　times？〃
　　　¨Thatˇs　it；〃　Jack　would　say。　He　didnˇt　like　it　any；　though。
　　　One　morning　we　were　all　out　on　the　road。　Weˇd　been　out　quite　a　way　and　now　we　were　coming　back。　Weˇd　go　along　fast　for　three　minutes　and　then　walk　a　minute；　and　then　go　fast　for　three　minutes　again。　Jack　wasnˇt　ever　what　you　would　call　a　sprinter。　Heˇd　move　around　fast　enough　in　the　ring　if　he　had　to；　but　he　wasnˇt　any　too　fast　on　the　road。　All　the　time　we　were　walking　Soldier　was　kidding　him。　We　came　up　the　hill　to　the　farmhouse。
　　　¨Well；〃　says　Jack；　¨you　better　go　b