A farewell to arms
I reached for her hand. “Don’t take hold of me,” she said. “I’m not
crying. Maybe you’ll be all right you two. But watch out you don’t get
her in trouble. You get her in trouble and I’ll kill you.”
“I won’t get her in trouble.”
“Well watch out then. I hope you’ll be all right. You have a good time.”
“We have a fine time.”
“Don’t fight then and don’t get her into trouble.”
“I won’t.”
“Mind you watch out. I don’t want her with any of these war babies.”
“You’re a fine girl, Fergy.”
“I’m not. Don’t try to flatter me. How does your leg feel?”
“Fine.”
“How is your head?” She touched the top of it with her fingers. It was
sensitive like a foot that had gone to sleep. “It’s never bothered me.”
“A bump like that could make you crazy. It never bothers you?”
“No.”
“You’re a lucky young man. Have you the letter done? I’m going down.”
“It’s here,” I said.
“You ought to ask her not to do night duty for a while. She’s getting
very tired.”
“All right. I will.”
“I want to do it but she won’t let me. The others are glad to let her
have it. You might give her just a little rest.”
“All right.”
“Miss Van Campen spoke about you sleeping all the forenoons.”
“She would.”
“It would be better if you let her stay off nights a little while.”
“I want her to.”
“You do not. But if you would make her I’d respect you for it.”
“I’ll make her.”
“I don’t believe it.” She took the note and went out. I rang the bell
and in a little while Miss Gage came in.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just wanted to talk to you. Don’t you think Miss Barkley ought to go
off night duty for a while? She looks awfully tired. Why does she stay
on so long?”
Miss Gage looked at me.
“I’m a friend of yours,” she said. “You don’t have to talk to me like
that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be silly. Was that all you wanted?”
“Do you want a vermouth?”
“All right. Then I have to go.” She got out the bottle from the armoire
and brought a glass.
“You take the glass,” I said. “I’ll drink out of the bottle.”
“Here’s to you,” said Miss Gage.
“What did Van Campen say about me sleeping late in the mornings?”
“She just jawed about it. She calls you our privileged patient.”
“To hell with her.”
“She isn’t mean,” Miss Gage said. “She’s just old and cranky. She never
liked you.”
“No.”
“Well, I do. And I’m your friend. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re awfully damned nice.”
“No. I know who you think is nice. But I’m your friend. How does your
leg feel?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll bring some cold mineral water to pour over it. It must itch under
the cast. It’s hot outside.”
“You’re awful nice.”
“Does it itch much?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“I’ll fix those sandbags better.” She leaned over. “I’m your friend.”
“I know you are.”
“No you don’t. But you will some day.”
Catherine Barkley took three nights off night duty and then she came
back on again. It was as though we met again after each of us had been
away on a long journey.
CHAPTER XVIII
We had a lovely time that summer. When I could go out we rode in a
carriage in the park. I remember the carriage, the horse going slowly,
and up ahead the back of the driver with his varnished high hat, and
Catherine Barkley sitting beside me. If we let our hands touch, just the
side of my hand touching hers, we were excited. Afterward when I could
get around on crutches we went to dinner at Biffi’s or the Gran Italia
and sat at the tables outside on the floor of the galleria. The waiters
came in and out and there were people going by and candles with shades
on the tablecloths and after we decided that we liked the Gran Italia
best, George, the head-waiter, saved us a table. He was a fine waiter
and we let him order the meal while we looked at the people, and the
great galleria in the dusk, and each other. We drank dry white capri
iced in a bucket; although we tried many of the other wines, fresa,
barbera and the sweet white wines. They had no wine waiter because of
the war and George would smile ashamedly when I asked about wines like
fresa.
“If you imagine a country that makes a wine because it tastes like
strawberries,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t it?” Catherine asked. “It sounds splendid.”
“You try it, lady,” said George, “if you want to. But let me bring a
little bottle of margaux for the Tenente.”
“I’ll try it too, George.”
“Sir, I can’t recommend you to. It doesn’t even taste like
strawberries.”
“It might,” said Catherine. “It would be wonderful if it did.”
“I’ll bring it,” said George, “and when the Lady is satisfied I’ll take
it away.”
It was not much of a wine. As he said, it did not even taste like
strawberries. We went back to capri. One evening I was short of money
and George loaned me a hundred lire. “That’s all right, Tenente,” he
said. “I know how it is. I know how a man gets short. If you or the lady
need money I’ve always got money.”
After dinner we walked through the galleria, past the other restaurants
and the shops with their steel shutters down, and stopped at the little
place where they sold sandwiches; ham and lettuce sandwiches and anchovy
sandwiches made of very tiny brown glazed rolls and only about as long
as your finger. They were to eat in the night when we were hungry. Then
we got into an open carriage outside the galleria in front of the
cathedral and rode to the hospital. At the door of the hospital the
porter came out to help with the crutches. I paid the driver, and then
we rode upstairs in the elevator. Catherine got off at the lower floor
where the nurses lived and I went on up and went down the hall on
crutches to my room; sometimes I undressed and got into bed and
sometimes I sat out on the balcony with my leg up on another chair and
watched the swallows over the roofs and waited for Catherine. When she
came upstairs it was as though she had been away on a long trip and I
went along the hall with her on the crutches and carried the basins and
waited outside the doors, or went in with her; it depending on whether
they were friends of ours or not, and when she had done all there was to
be done we sat out on the balcony outside my room. Afterward I went to
bed and when they were all asleep and she was sure they would not call
she came in. I loved to take her hair down and she sat on the bed and
kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down to kiss me while I
was doing it, and I would take out the pins and lay them on the sheet
and it would be loose and I would watch her while she kept very still
and then take out the last two pins and it would all come down and she
would drop her head and we would both be inside of it, and it was the
feeling of inside a tent or behind a falls.
She had wonderfully beautiful hair and I would lie sometimes and watch
her twisting it up in the light that came in the open door and it shone
even in the night as water shines sometimes just before it is really
daylight. She had a lovely face and body and lovely smooth skin too. We
would be lying together and I would touch her cheeks and her forehead
and under her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my fingers
and say, “Smooth as piano keys,” and she would stroke my chin with her
finger and say, “Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano keys.”
“Is it rough?”
“No, darling. I was just making fun of you.”
It was lovely in the nights and if we could only touch each other we
were happy. Besides all the big times we had many small ways of making
love and we tried putting thoughts in the other one’s head while we were
in different rooms. It seemed to work sometimes but that was probably
because we were thinking the same thing anyway.
We said to each other that we were married the first day she had come to
the hospital and we counted months from our wedding day. I wanted to be
really married but Catherine said that if we were they would send her
away and if we merely started on the formalities they would watch her
and would break us up. We would have to be married under Italian law and
the formalities were terrific. I wanted us to be married really because
I worried about having a child if I thought about it, but we pretended
to ourselves we were married and did not worry much and I suppose I
enjoyed not being married, really. I know one night we talked about it
and Catherine said, “But, darling, they’d send me away.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t.”
“They would. They’d send me home and then we would be apart until after
the war.”
“I’d come on leave.”
“You couldn’t get to Scotland and back on a leave. Besides, I won’t
leave you. What good would it do to marry now? We’re really married. I
couldn’t be any more married.”
“I only wanted to for you.”
“There isn’t any me. I’m you. Don’t make up a separate me.”
“I thought girls always wanted to be married.”
“They do. But, darling, I am married. I’m married to you. Don’t I make
you a good wife?”
“You’re a lovely wife.”
“You see, darling, I had one experience of waiting to be married.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“You know I don’t love any one but you. You shouldn’t mind because some
one else loved me.”
“I do.”
“You shouldn’t be jealous of some one who’s dead when you have
everything.”
“No, but I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Poor darling. And I know you’ve been with all kinds of girls and it
doesn’t matter to me.”
“Couldn’t we be married privately some way? Then if anything happened to
me or if you had a child.”
“There’s no way to be married except by church or state. We are married
privately. You see, darling, it would mean everything to me if I had any
religion. But I haven’t any religion.”
“You gave me the Saint Anthony.”
“That was for luck. Some one gave it to me.”
“Then nothing worries you?”
“Only being sent away from you. You’re my religion. You’re all I’ve
got.”
“All right. But I’ll marry you the day you say.”
“Don’t talk as though you had to make an honest woman of me, darling.
I’m a very honest woman. You can’t be ashamed of something if you’re
only happy and proud of it. Aren’t you happy?”
“But you won’t ever leave me for some one else.”
“No, darling. I won’t ever leave you for some one else. I suppose all
sorts of dreadful things will happen to us. But you don’t have to worry
about that.”
“I don’t. But I love you so much and you did love some one else before.”
“And what happened to him?”
“He died.”
“Yes and if he hadn’t I wouldn’t have met you. I’m not unfaithful,
darling. I’ve plenty of faults but I’m very faithful. You’ll be sick of
me I’ll be so faithful.”
“I’ll have to go back to the front pretty soon.”
“We won’t think about that until you go. You see I’m happy, darling, and
we have a lovely time. I haven’t been happy for a long time and when I
met you perhaps I was nearly crazy. Perhaps I was crazy. But now we’re
happy and we love each other. Do let’s please just be happy. You are
happy, aren’t you? Is there anything I do you don’t like? Can I do
anything to please you? Would you like me to take down my hair? Do you
want to play?”
“Yes and come to bed.”
“All right. I’ll go and see the patients first.”
CHAPTER XIX
The summer went that way. I do not remember much about the days, except
that they were hot and that there were many victories in the papers. I
was very healthy and my legs healed quickly so that it was not very long
after I was first on crutches before I was through with them and walking
with a cane. Then I started treatments at the Ospedale Maggiore for
bending the knees, mechanical treatments, baking in a box of mirrors
with violet rays, massage, and baths. I went over there afternoons and
afterward stopped at the café and had a drink and read the papers. I did