The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway [61]
Outside the paseo was going in under the arcade. There were some English and Americans from Biarritz in sport clothes scattered at the tables. Some of the women stared at the people going by with lorgnons. We had acquired, at some time, a friend of Bill's from Biarritz. She was staying with another girl at the Grand Hotel. The other girl had a headache and had gone to bed.
"Here's the pub," Mike said. It was the Bar Milano, a small, tough bar where you could get food and where they danced in the back room. We all sat down at a table and ordered a bottle of Fundador. The bar was not full. There was nothing going on.
"This is a hell of a place," Bill said.
"It's too early."
"Let's take the bottle and come back later," Bill said. "I don't want to sit here on a night like this."
"Let's go and look at the English," Mike said. "I love to look at the English."
"They're awful," Bill said. "Where did they all come from?"
"They come from Biarritz," Mike said. "They come to see the last day of the quaint little Spanish fiesta."
"I'll festa them," Bill said.
"You're an extraordinarily beautiful girl." Mike turned to Bill's friend. "When did you come here?"
"Come off it, Michael."
"I say, she is a lovely girl. Where have I been? Where have I been looking all this while? You're a lovely thing. Have we met? Come along with me and Bill. We're going to festa the English."
"I'll festa them," Bill said. "What the hell are they doing at this fiesta?"
"Come on," Mike said. "Just us three. We're going to festa the bloody English. I hope you're not English? I'm Scotch. I hate the English. I'm going to festa them. Come on, Bill."
Through the window we saw them, all three arm in arm, going toward the café. Rockets were going up in the square.
"I'm going to sit here," Brett said.
"I'll stay with you," Cohn said.
"Oh, don't!" Brett said. "For God's sake, go off somewhere. Can't you see Jake and I want to talk?"
"I didn't," Cohn said. "I thought I'd sit here because I felt a little tight."
"What a hell of a reason for sitting with any one. If you're tight, go to bed. Go on to bed."
"Was I rude enough to him?" Brett asked. Cohn was gone. "My God! I'm so sick of him!"
"He doesn't add much to the gayety."
"He depresses me so."
"He's behaved very badly."
"Damned badly. He had a chance to behave so well."
"He's probably waiting just outside the door now."
"Yes. He would. You know I do know how he feels. He can't believe it didn't mean anything."
"I know."
"Nobody else would behave as badly. Oh, I'm so sick of the whole thing. And Michael. Michael's been lovely, too."
"It's been damned hard on Mike."
"Yes. But he didn't need to be a swine."
"Everybody behaves badly," I said. "Give them the proper chance."
"You wouldn't behave badly." Brett looked at me.
"I'd be as big an ass as Cohn," I said.
"Darling, don't let's talk a lot of rot."
"All right. Talk about anything you like."
"Don't be difficult. You're the only person I've got, and I feel rather awful to-night."
"You've got Mike."
"Yes, Mike. Hasn't he been pretty?"
"Well," I said, "it's been damned hard on Mike, having Cohn around and seeing him with you."
"Don't I know it, darling? Please don't make me feel any worse than I do."
Brett was nervous as I had never seen her before. She kept looking away from me and looking ahead at the wall.
"Want to go for a walk?"
"Yes. Come on."
I corked up the Fundador bottle and gave it to the bartender.
"Let's have one more drink of that," Brett said. "My nerves are rotten."
We each drank a glass of the smooth amontillado brandy.
"Come on," said Brett.
As we came out the door I saw Cohn walk out from under the arcade.
"He was there," Brett said.
"He can't be away from you."
"Poor devil!"
"I'm not sorry for him. I hate him, myself."
"I hate him, too," she shivered. "I hate his damned suffering."
We walked arm in arm down the side Street away from the crowd and the lights of the square. The street was dark and wet, and we walked along it to the fortifications at the edge of town. We passed wine-shops with light coming out from their doors onto the black, wet street, and sudden bursts of music.