A farewell to arms
bore me, and bore me.”
“He bores me.”
“You’re sweet to say so, darling. But you don’t need to. You can picture
him at the front and you know he’s useful but he’s so much the type of
boy I don’t care for.”
“I know.”
“You’re awfully sweet to know, and I try and like him but he’s a
dreadful, dreadful boy really.”
“He said this afternoon he was going to be a captain.”
“I’m glad,” said Catherine. “That should please him.”
“Wouldn’t you like me to have some more exalted rank?”
“No, darling. I only want you to have enough rank so that we’re admitted
to the better restaurants.”
“That’s just the rank I have.”
“You have a splendid rank. I don’t want you to have any more rank. It
might go to your head. Oh, darling, I’m awfully glad you’re not
conceited. I’d have married you even if you were conceited but it’s very
restful to have a husband who’s not conceited.”
We were talking softly out on the balcony. The moon was supposed to rise
but there was a mist over the town and it did not come up and in a
little while it started to drizzle and we came in. Outside the mist
turned to rain and in a little while it was raining hard and we heard it
drumming on the roof. I got up and stood at the door to see if it was
raining in but it wasn’t, so I left the door open.
“Who else did you see?” Catherine asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Meyers.”
“They’re a strange lot.”
“He’s supposed to have been in the penitentiary at home. They let him
out to die.”
“And he lived happily in Milan forever after.”
“I don’t know how happily.”
“Happily enough after jail I should think.”
“She’s bringing some things here.”
“She brings splendid things. Were you her dear boy?”
“One of them.”
“You are all her dear boys,” Catherine said. “She prefers the dear boys.
Listen to it rain.”
“It’s raining hard.”
“And you’ll always love me, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And the rain won’t make any difference?”
“No.”
“That’s good. Because I’m afraid of the rain.”
“Why?” I was sleepy. Outside the rain was falling steadily.
“I don’t know, darling. I’ve always been afraid of the rain.”
“I like it.”
“I like to walk in it. But it’s very hard on loving.”
“I’ll love you always.”
“I’ll love you in the rain and in the snow and in the hail and—what
else is there?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m sleepy.”
“Go to sleep, darling, and I’ll love you no matter how it is.”
“You’re not really afraid of the rain are you?”
“Not when I’m with you.”
“Why are you afraid of it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t make me.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“All right. I’m afraid of the rain because sometimes I see me dead in
it.”
“No.”
“And sometimes I see you dead in it.”
“That’s more likely.”
“No it’s not, darling. Because I can keep you safe. I know I can. But
nobody can help themselves.”
“Please stop it. I don’t want you to get Scotch and crazy to-night. We
won’t be together much longer.”
“No, but I am Scotch and crazy. But I’ll stop it. It’s all nonsense.”
“Yes it’s all nonsense.”
“It’s all nonsense. It’s only nonsense. I’m not afraid of the rain. I’m
not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn’t.” She was crying. I
comforted her and she stopped crying. But outside it kept on raining.
CHAPTER XX
One day in the afternoon we went to the races. Ferguson went too and
Crowell Rodgers, the boy who had been wounded in the eyes by the
explosion of the shell nose-cap. The girls dressed to go after lunch
while Crowell and I sat on the bed in his room and read the past
performances of the horses and the predictions in the racing paper.
Crowell’s head was bandaged and he did not care much about these races
but read the racing paper constantly and kept track of all the horses
for something to do. He said the horses were a terrible lot but they
were all the horses we had. Old Meyers liked him and gave him tips.
Meyers won on nearly every race but disliked to give tips because it
brought down the prices. The racing was very crooked. Men who had been
ruled off the turf everywhere else were racing in Italy. Meyers’
information was good but I hated to ask him because sometimes he did not
answer, and always you could see it hurt him to tell you, but he felt
obligated to tell us for some reason and he hated less to tell Crowell.
Crowell’s eyes had been hurt, one was hurt badly, and Meyers had trouble
with his eyes and so he liked Crowell. Meyers never told his wife what
horses he was playing and she won or lost, mostly lost, and talked all
the time.
We four drove out to San Siro in an open carriage. It was a lovely day
and we drove out through the park and out along the tramway and out of
town where the road was dusty. There were villas with iron fences and
big overgrown gardens and ditches with water flowing and green vegetable
gardens with dust on the leaves. We could look across the plain and see
farmhouses and the rich green farms with their irrigation ditches and
the mountains to the north. There were many carriages going into the
race track and the men at the gate let us in without cards because we
were in uniform. We left the carriage, bought programmes, and walked
across the infield and then across the smooth thick turf of the course
to the paddock. The grand stands were old and made of wood and the
betting booths were under the stands and in a row out near the stables.
There was a crowd of soldiers along the fence in the infield. The
paddock was fairly well filled with people and they were walking the
horses around in a ring under the trees behind the grand-stand. We saw
people we knew and got chairs for Ferguson and Catherine and watched the
horses.
They went around, one after the other, their heads down, the grooms
leading them. One horse, a purplish black, Crowell swore was dyed that
color. We watched him and it seemed possible. He had only come out just
before the bell rang to saddle. We looked him up in the programme from
the number on the groom’s arm and it was listed a black gelding named
Japalac. The race was for horses that had never won a race worth one
thousand lire or more. Catherine was sure his color had been changed.
Ferguson said she could not tell. I thought he looked suspicious. We all
agreed we ought to back him and pooled one hundred lire. The odds sheets
showed he would pay thirty-five to one. Crowell went over and bought the
tickets while we watched the jockeys ride around once more and then go
out under the trees to the track and gallop slowly up to the turn where
the start was to be.
We went up in the grand-stand to watch the race. They had no elastic
barrier at San Siro then and the starter lined up all the horses, they
looked very small way up the track, and then sent them off with a crack
of his long whip. They came past us with the black horse well in front
and on the turn he was running away from the others. I watched them on
the far side with the glasses and saw the jockey fighting to hold him in
but he could not hold him and when they came around the turn and into
the stretch the black horse was fifteen lengths ahead of the others. He
went way on up and around the turn after the finish.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” Catherine said. “We’ll have over three thousand
lire. He must be a splendid horse.”
“I hope his color doesn’t run,” Crowell said, “before they pay off.”
“He was really a lovely horse,” Catherine said. “I wonder if Mr. Meyers
backed him.”
“Did you have the winner?” I called to Meyers. He nodded.
“I didn’t,” Mrs. Meyers said. “Who did you children bet on?”
“Japalac.”
“Really? He’s thirty-five to one!”
“We liked his color.”
“I didn’t. I thought he looked seedy. They told me not to back him.”
“He won’t pay much,” Meyers said.
“He’s marked thirty-five to one in the quotes,” I said.
“He won’t pay much. At the last minute,” Meyers said, “they put a lot of
money on him.”
“Who?”
“Kempton and the boys. You’ll see. He won’t pay two to one.”
“Then we won’t get three thousand lire,” Catherine said. “I don’t like
this crooked racing!”
“We’ll get two hundred lire.”
“That’s nothing. That doesn’t do us any good. I thought we were going to
get three thousand.”
“It’s crooked and disgusting,” Ferguson said.
“Of course,” said Catherine, “if it hadn’t been crooked we’d never have
backed him at all. But I would have liked the three thousand lire.”
“Let’s go down and get a drink and see what they pay,” Crowell said. We
went out to where they posted the numbers and the bell rang to pay off
and they put up 18.50 after Japalac to win. That meant he paid less than
even money on a ten-lira bet.
We went to the bar under the grand stand and had a whiskey and soda
apiece. We ran into a couple of Italians we knew and McAdams, the
vice-consul, and they came up with us when we joined the girls. The
Italians were full of manners and McAdams talked to Catherine while we
went down to bet again. Mr. Meyers was standing near the pari-mutual.
“Ask him what he played,” I said to Crowell.
“What are you on, Mr. Meyers?” Crowell asked. Meyers took out his
programme and pointed to the number five with his pencil.
“Do you mind if we play him too?” Crowell asked.
“Go ahead. Go ahead. But don’t tell my wife I gave it to you.”
“Will you have a drink?” I asked.
“No thanks. I never drink.”
We put a hundred lire on number five to win and a hundred to place and
then had another whiskey and soda apiece. I was feeling very good and we
picked up a couple more Italians, who each had a drink with us, and went
back to the girls. These Italians were also very mannered and matched
manners with the two we had collected before. In a little while no one
could sit down. I gave the tickets to Catherine.
“What horse is it?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Meyers’ choice.”
“Don’t you even know the name?”
“No. You can find it on the programme. Number five I think.”
“You have touching faith,” she said. The number five won but did not pay
anything. Mr. Meyers was angry.
“You have to put up two hundred lire to make twenty,” he said. “Twelve
lire for ten. It’s not worth it. My wife lost twenty lire.”
“I’ll go down with you,” Catherine said to me. The Italians all stood
up. We went downstairs and out to the paddock.
“Do you like this?” Catherine asked.
“Yes. I guess I do.”
“It’s all right, I suppose,” she said. “But, darling, I can’t stand to
see so many people.”
“We don’t see many.”
“No. But those Meyers and the man from the bank with his wife and
daughters——”
“He cashes my sight drafts,” I said.
“Yes but some one else would if he didn’t. Those last four boys were
awful.”
“We can stay out here and watch the race from the fence.”
“That will be lovely. And, darling, let’s back a horse we’ve never heard
of and that Mr. Meyers won’t be backing.”
“All right.”
We backed a horse named Light For Me that finished fourth in a field of
five. We leaned on the fence and watched the horses go by, their hoofs
thudding as they went past, and saw the mountains off in the distance
and Milan beyond the trees and the fields.
“I feel so much cleaner,” Catherine said. The horses were coming back,
through the gate, wet and sweating, the jockeys quieting them and riding
up to dismount under the trees.
“Wouldn’t you like a drink? We could have one out here and see the
horses.”
“I’ll get them,” I said.
“The boy will bring them,” Catherine said. She put her hand up and the
boy came out from the Pagoda bar beside the stables. We sat down at a
round iron table.
“Don’t you like it better when we’re alone?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I felt very lonely when they were all there.”
“It’s grand here,” I said.
“Yes. It’s really a pretty course.”
“It’s nice.”