A farewell to arms
“Remember,” he said. “Come here. Do not let other people take you in.
Here you are all right.”
“I am sure.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
He was serious. “Then let me tell you one thing. Do not go about with
that coat.”
“Why?”
“On the sleeves it shows very plainly where the stars have been cut
away. The cloth is a different color.”
I did not say anything.
“If you have no papers I can give you papers.”
“What papers?”
“Leave-papers.”
“I have no need for papers. I have papers.”
“All right,” he said. “But if you need papers I can get what you wish.”
“How much are such papers?”
“It depends on what they are. The price is reasonable.”
“I don’t need any now.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m all right,” I said.
When I went out he said, “Don’t forget that I am your friend.”
“No.”
“I will see you again,” he said.
“Good,” I said.
Outside I kept away from the station, where there were military police,
and picked up a cab at the edge of the little park. I gave the driver
the address of the hospital. At the hospital I went to the porter’s
lodge. His wife embraced me. He shook my hand.
“You are back. You are safe.”
“Yes.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“How are you, Tenente? How are you?” the wife asked.
“Fine.”
“Won’t you have breakfast with us?”
“No, thank you. Tell me is Miss Barkley here at the hospital now?”
“Miss Barkley?”
“The English lady nurse.”
“His girl,” the wife said. She patted my arm and smiled.
“No,” the porter said. “She is away.”
My heart went down. “You are sure? I mean the tall blonde English young
lady.”
“I am sure. She is gone to Stresa.”
“When did she go?”
“She went two days ago with the other lady English.”
“Good,” I said. “I wish you to do something for me. Do not tell any one
you have seen me. It is very important.”
“I won’t tell any one,” the porter said. I gave him a ten-lira note. He
pushed it away.
“I promise you I will tell no one,” he said. “I don’t want any money.”
“What can we do for you, Signor Tenente?” his wife asked.
“Only that,” I said.
“We are dumb,” the porter said. “You will let me know anything I can
do?”
“Yes,” I said. “Good-by. I will see you again.”
They stood in the door, looking after me.
I got into the cab and gave the driver the address of Simmons, one of
the men I knew who was studying singing.
Simmons lived a long way out in the town toward the Porta Magenta. He
was still in bed and sleepy when I went to see him.
“You get up awfully early, Henry,” he said.
“I came in on the early train.”
“What’s all this retreat? Were you at the front? Will you have a
cigarette? They’re in that box on the table.” It was a big room with a
bed beside the wall, a piano over on the far side and a dresser and
table. I sat on a chair by the bed. Simmons sat propped up by the
pillows and smoked.
“I’m in a jam, Sim,” I said.
“So am I,” he said. “I’m always in a jam. Won’t you smoke?”
“No,” I said. “What’s the procedure in going to Switzerland?”
“For you? The Italians wouldn’t let you out of the country.”
“Yes. I know that. But the Swiss. What will they do?”
“They intern you.”
“I know. But what’s the mechanics of it?”
“Nothing. It’s very simple. You can go anywhere. I think you just have
to report or something. Why? Are you fleeing the police?”
“Nothing definite yet.”
“Don’t tell me if you don’t want. But it would be interesting to hear.
Nothing happens here. I was a great flop at Piacenza.”
“I’m awfully sorry.”
“Oh yes—I went very badly. I sung well too. I’m going to try it again
at the Lyrico here.”
“I’d like to be there.”
“You’re awfully polite. You aren’t in a bad mess, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t tell me if you don’t want. How do you happen to be away from the
bloody front?”
“I think I’m through with it.”
“Good boy. I always knew you had sense. Can I help you any way?”
“You’re awfully busy.”
“Not a bit of it, my dear Henry. Not a bit of it. I’d be happy to do
anything.”
“You’re about my size. Would you go out and buy me an outfit of civilian
clothes? I’ve clothes but they’re all at Rome.”
“You did live there, didn’t you? It’s a filthy place. How did you ever
live there?”
“I wanted to be an architect.”
“That’s no place for that. Don’t buy clothes. I’ll give you all the
clothes you want. I’ll fit you out so you’ll be a great success. Go in
that dressing room. There’s a closet. Take anything you want. My dear
fellow, you don’t want to buy clothes.”
“I’d rather buy them, Sim.”
“My dear fellow, it’s easier for me to let you have them than go out and
buy them. Have you got a passport? You won’t get far without a
passport.”
“Yes. I’ve still got my passport.”
“Then get dressed, my dear fellow, and off to old Helvetia.”
“It’s not that simple. I have to go up to Stresa first.”
“Ideal, my dear fellow. You just row a boat across. If I wasn’t trying
to sing, I’d go with you. I’ll go yet.”
“You could take up yodelling.”
“My dear fellow, I’ll take up yodelling yet. I really can sing though.
That’s the strange part.”
“I’ll bet you can sing.”
He lay back in bed smoking a cigarette.
“Don’t bet too much. But I can sing though. It’s damned funny, but I
can. I like to sing. Listen.” He roared into “Africana,” his neck
swelling, the veins standing out. “I can sing,” he said. “Whether they
like it or not.” I looked out of the window. “I’ll go down and let my
cab go.”
“Come back up, my dear fellow, and we’ll have breakfast.” He stepped out
of bed, stood straight, took a deep breath and commenced doing bending
exercises. I went downstairs and paid off the cab.
CHAPTER XXXIV
In civilian clothes I felt a masquerader. I had been in uniform a long
time and I missed the feeling of being held by your clothes. The
trousers felt very floppy. I had bought a ticket at Milan for Stresa. I
had also bought a new hat. I could not wear Sim’s hat but his clothes
were fine. They smelled of tobacco and as I sat in the compartment and
looked out the window the new hat felt very new and the clothes very
old. I myself felt as sad as the wet Lombard country that was outside
through the window. There were some aviators in the compartment who did
not think much of me. They avoided looking at me and were very scornful
of a civilian my age. I did not feel insulted. In the old days I would
have insulted them and picked a fight. They got off at Gallarate and I
was glad to be alone. I had the paper but I did not read it because I
did not want to read about the war. I was going to forget the war. I had
made a separate peace. I felt damned lonely and was glad when the train
got to Stresa.
At the station I had expected to see the porters from the hotels but
there was no one. The season had been over a long time and no one met
the train. I got down from the train with my bag, it was Sim’s bag, and
very light to carry, being empty except for two shirts, and stood under
the roof of the station in the rain while the train went on. I found a
man in the station and asked him if he knew what hotels were open. The
Grand-Hôtel & des Isles Borromées was open and several small hotels that
stayed open all the year. I started in the rain for the Isles Borromées
carrying my bag. I saw a carriage coming down the street and signalled
to the driver. It was better to arrive in a carriage. We drove up to the
carriage entrance of the big hotel and the concierge came out with an
umbrella and was very polite.
I took a good room. It was very big and light and looked out on the
lake. The clouds were down over the lake but it would be beautiful with
the sunlight. I was expecting my wife, I said. There was a big double
bed, a _letto matrimoniale_ with a satin coverlet. The hotel was very
luxurious. I went down the long halls, down the wide stairs, through the
rooms to the bar. I knew the barman and sat on a high stool and ate
salted almonds and potato chips. The martini felt cool and clean.
“What are you doing here in _borghese_?” the barman asked after he had
mixed a second martini.
“I am on leave. Convalescing-leave.”
“There is no one here. I don’t know why they keep the hotel open.”
“Have you been fishing?”
“I’ve caught some beautiful pieces. Trolling this time of year you catch
some beautiful pieces.”
“Did you ever get the tobacco I sent?”
“Yes. Didn’t you get my card?”
I laughed. I had not been able to get the tobacco. It was American
pipe-tobacco that he wanted, but my relatives had stopped sending it or
it was being held up. Anyway it never came.
“I’ll get some somewhere,” I said. “Tell me have you seen two English
girls in the town? They came here day before yesterday.”
“They are not at the hotel.”
“They are nurses.”
“I have seen two nurses. Wait a minute, I will find out where they are.”
“One of them is my wife,” I said. “I have come here to meet her.”
“The other is my wife.”
“I am not joking.”
“Pardon my stupid joke,” he said. “I did not understand.” He went away
and was gone quite a little while. I ate olives, salted almonds and
potato chips and looked at myself in civilian clothes in the mirror
behind the bar. The bartender came back. “They are at the little hotel
near the station,” he said.
“How about some sandwiches?”
“I’ll ring for some. You understand there is nothing here, now there are
no people.”
“Isn’t there really any one at all?”
“Yes. There are a few people.”
The sandwiches came and I ate three and drank a couple more martinis. I
had never tasted anything so cool and clean. They made me feel
civilized. I had had too much red wine, bread, cheese, bad coffee and
grappa. I sat on the high stool before the pleasant mahogany, the brass
and the mirrors and did not think at all. The barman asked me some
question.
“Don’t talk about the war,” I said. The war was a long way away. Maybe
there wasn’t any war. There was no war here. Then I realized it was over
for me. But I did not have the feeling that it was really over. I had
the feeling of a boy who thinks of what is happening at a certain hour
at the schoolhouse from which he has played truant.
Catherine and Helen Ferguson were at supper when I came to their hotel.
Standing in the hallway I saw them at table. Catherine’s face was away
from me and I saw the line of her hair and her cheek and her lovely neck
and shoulders. Ferguson was talking. She stopped when I came in.
“My God,” she said.
“Hello,” I said.
“Why it’s you!” Catherine said. Her face lighted up. She looked too
happy to believe it. I kissed her. Catherine blushed and I sat down at
the table.
“You’re a fine mess,” Ferguson said. “What are you doing here? Have you
eaten?”
“No.” The girl who was serving the meal came in and I told her to bring
a plate for me. Catherine looked at me all the time, her eyes happy.
“What are you doing in mufti?” Ferguson asked.
“I’m in the Cabinet.”
“You’re in some mess.”
“Cheer up, Fergy. Cheer up just a little.”
“I’m not cheered by seeing you. I know the mess you’ve gotten this girl
into. You’re no cheerful sight to me.”
Catherine smiled at me and touched me with her foot under the table.
“No one got me in a mess, Fergy. I get in my own messes.”
“I can’t stand him,” Ferguson said. “He’s done nothing but ruin you with
his sneaking Italian tricks. Americans are worse than Italians.”
“The Scotch are such a moral people,” Catherine said.
“I don’t mean that. I mean his Italian sneakiness.”
“Am I sneaky, Fergy?”
“You are. You’re worse than sneaky. You’re like a snake. A snake with an
Italian uniform: with a cape around your neck.”
“I haven’t got an Italian uniform now.”
“That’s just another example of your sneakiness. You had a love affair