A farewell to arms
lapels, the elevator, the carpets on the floors, and the white washbowls
with shining fixtures, the brass bed and the big comfortable bedroom all
seemed very great luxury after the Guttingens. The windows of the room
looked out on a wet garden with a wall topped by an iron fence. Across
the street, which sloped steeply, was another hotel with a similar wall
and garden. I looked out at the rain falling in the fountain of the
garden.
Catherine turned on all the lights and commenced unpacking. I ordered a
whiskey and soda and lay on the bed and read the papers I had bought at
the station. It was March, 1918, and the German offensive had started in
France. I drank the whiskey and soda and read while Catherine unpacked
and moved around the room.
“You know what I have to get, darling,” she said.
“What?”
“Baby clothes. There aren’t many people reach my time without baby
things.”
“You can buy them.”
“I know. That’s what I’ll do to-morrow. I’ll find out what is
necessary.”
“You ought to know. You were a nurse.”
“But so few of the soldiers had babies in the hospitals.”
“I did.”
She hit me with the pillow and spilled the whiskey and soda.
“I’ll order you another,” she said. “I’m sorry I spilled it.”
“There wasn’t much left. Come on over to the bed.”
“No. I have to try and make this room look like something.”
“Like what?”
“Like our home.”
“Hang out the Allied flags.”
“Oh shut up.”
“Say it again.”
“Shut up.”
“You say it so cautiously,” I said. “As though you didn’t want to offend
any one.”
“I don’t.”
“Then come over to the bed.”
“All right.” She came and sat on the bed. “I know I’m no fun for you,
darling. I’m like a big flour-barrel.”
“No you’re not. You’re beautiful and you’re sweet.”
“I’m just something very ungainly that you’ve married.”
“No you’re not. You’re more beautiful all the time.”
“But I will be thin again, darling.”
“You’re thin now.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Just whiskey and soda.”
“There’s another one coming,” she said. “And then should we order dinner
up here?”
“That will be good.”
“Then we won’t go out, will we? We’ll just stay in to-night.”
“And play,” I said.
“I’ll drink some wine,” Catherine said. “It won’t hurt me. Maybe we can
get some of our old white capri.”
“I know we can,” I said. “They’ll have Italian wines at a hotel this
size.”
The waiter knocked at the door. He brought the whiskey in a glass with
ice and beside the glass on a tray a small bottle of soda.
“Thank you,” I said. “Put it down there. Will you please have dinner for
two brought up here and two bottles of dry white capri in ice.”
“Do you wish to commence your dinner with soup?”
“Do you want soup, Cat?”
“Please.”
“Bring soup for one.”
“Thank you, sir.” He went out and shut the door. I went back to the
papers and the war in the papers and poured the soda slowly over the ice
into the whiskey. I would have to tell them not to put ice in the
whiskey. Let them bring the ice separately. That way you could tell how
much whiskey there was and it would not suddenly be too thin from the
soda. I would get a bottle of whiskey and have them bring ice and soda.
That was the sensible way. Good whiskey was very pleasant. It was one of
the pleasant parts of life.
“What are you thinking, darling?”
“About whiskey.”
“What about whiskey?”
“About how nice it is.”
Catherine made a face. “All right,” she said.
We stayed at that hotel three weeks. It was not bad; the dining-room was
usually empty and very often we ate in our room at night. We walked in
the town and took the cogwheel railway down to Ouchy and walked beside
the lake. The weather became quite warm and it was like Spring. We
wished we were back in the mountains but the Spring weather lasted only
a few days and then the cold rawness of the breaking-up of winter came
again.
Catherine bought the things she needed for the baby, up in the town. I
went to a gymnasium in the arcade to box for exercise. I usually went up
there in the morning while Catherine stayed late in bed. On the days of
false Spring it was very nice, after boxing and taking a shower, to walk
along the streets smelling the Spring in the air and stop at a café to
sit and watch the people and read the paper and drink a vermouth; then
go down to the hotel and have lunch with Catherine. The professor at the
boxing gymnasium wore mustaches and was very precise and jerky and went
all to pieces if you started after him. But it was pleasant in the gym.
There was good air and light and I worked quite hard, skipping rope,
shadow-boxing, doing abdominal exercises lying on the floor in a patch
of sunlight that came through the open window, and occasionally scaring
the professor when we boxed. I could not shadow-box in front of the
narrow long mirror at first because it looked so strange to see a man
with a beard boxing. But finally I just thought it was funny. I wanted
to take off the beard as soon as I started boxing but Catherine did not
want me to.
Sometimes Catherine and I went for rides out in the country in a
carriage. It was nice to ride when the days were pleasant and we found
two good places where we could ride out to eat. Catherine could not walk
very far now and I loved to ride out along the country roads with her.
When there was a good day we had a splendid time and we never had a bad
time. We knew the baby was very close now and it gave us both a feeling
as though something were hurrying us and we could not lose any time
together.
CHAPTER XLI
One morning I awoke about three o’clock hearing Catherine stirring in
the bed.
“Are you all right, Cat?”
“I’ve been having some pains, darling.”
“Regularly?”
“No, not very.”
“If you have them at all regularly we’ll go to the hospital.”
I was very sleepy and went back to sleep. A little while later I woke
again.
“Maybe you’d better call up the doctor,” Catherine said. “I think maybe
this is it.”
I went to the phone and called the doctor. “How often are the pains
coming?” he asked.
“How often are they coming, Cat?”
“I should think every quarter of an hour.”
“You should go to the hospital then,” the doctor said. “I will dress and
go there right away myself.”
I hung up and called the garage near the station to send up a taxi. No
one answered the phone for a long time. Then I finally got a man who
promised to send up a taxi at once. Catherine was dressing. Her bag was
all packed with the things she would need at the hospital and the baby
things. Outside in the hall I rang for the elevator. There was no
answer. I went downstairs. There was no one downstairs except the
night-watchman. I brought the elevator up myself, put Catherine’s bag in
it, she stepped in and we went down. The night-watchman opened the door
for us and we sat outside on the stone slabs beside the stairs down to
the driveway and waited for the taxi. The night was clear and the stars
were out. Catherine was very excited.
“I’m so glad it’s started,” she said. “Now in a little while it will be
all over.”
“You’re a good brave girl.”
“I’m not afraid. I wish the taxi would come, though.”
We heard it coming up the street and saw its headlights. It turned into
the driveway and I helped Catherine in and the driver put the bag up in
front.
“Drive to the hospital,” I said.
We went out of the driveway and started up the hill.
At the hospital we went in and I carried the bag. There was a woman at
the desk who wrote down Catherine’s name, age, address, relatives and
religion, in a book. She said she had no religion and the woman drew a
line in the space after that word. She gave her name as Catherine Henry.
“I will take you up to your room,” she said. We went up in an elevator.
The woman stopped it and we stepped out and followed her down a hall.
Catherine held tight to my arm.
“This is the room,” the woman said. “Will you please undress and get
into bed? Here is a nightgown for you to wear.”
“I have a nightgown,” Catherine said.
“It is better for you to wear this nightgown,” the woman said.
I went outside and sat on a chair in the hallway.
“You can come in now,” the woman said from the doorway. Catherine was
lying in the narrow bed wearing a plain, square-cut nightgown that
looked as though it were made of rough sheeting. She smiled at me.
“I’m having fine pains now,” she said. The woman was holding her wrist
and timing the pains with a watch.
“That was a big one,” Catherine said. I saw it on her face.
“Where’s the doctor?” I asked the woman.
“He’s lying down sleeping. He will be here when he is needed.”
“I must do something for Madame, now,” the nurse said. “Would you please
step out again?”
I went out into the hall. It was a bare hall with two windows and closed
doors all down the corridor. It smelled of hospital. I sat on the chair
and looked at the floor and prayed for Catherine.
“You can come in,” the nurse said. I went in.
“Hello, darling,” Catherine said.
“How is it?”
“They are coming quite often now.” Her face drew up. Then she smiled.
“That was a real one. Do you want to put your hand on my back again,
nurse?”
“If it helps you,” the nurse said.
“You go away, darling,” Catherine said. “Go out and get something to
eat. I may do this for a long time the nurse says.”
“The first labor is usually protracted,” the nurse said.
“Please go out and get something to eat,” Catherine said. “I’m fine,
really.”
“I’ll stay awhile,” I said.
The pains came quite regularly, then slackened off. Catherine was very
excited. When the pains were bad she called them good ones. When they
started to fall off she was disappointed and ashamed.
“You go out, darling,” she said. “I think you are just making me
self-conscious.” Her face tied up. “There. That was better. I so want to
be a good wife and have this child without any foolishness. Please go
and get some breakfast, darling, and then come back. I won’t miss you.
Nurse is splendid to me.”
“You have plenty of time for breakfast,” the nurse said.
“I’ll go then. Good-by, sweet.”
“Good-by,” Catherine said, “and have a fine breakfast for me too.”
“Where can I get breakfast?” I asked the nurse.
“There’s a café down the street at the square,” she said. “It should be
open now.”
Outside it was getting light. I walked down the empty street to the
café. There was a light in the window. I went in and stood at the zinc
bar and an old man served me a glass of white wine and a brioche. The
brioche was yesterday’s. I dipped it in the wine and then drank a glass
of coffee.
“What do you do at this hour?” the old man asked.
“My wife is in labor at the hospital.”
“So. I wish you good luck.”
“Give me another glass of wine.”
He poured it from the bottle slopping it over a little so some ran down
on the zinc. I drank this glass, paid and went out. Outside along the
street were the refuse cans from the houses waiting for the collector. A
dog was nosing at one of the cans.
“What do you want?” I asked and looked in the can to see if there was
anything I could pull out for him; there was nothing on top but
coffee-grounds, dust and some dead flowers.
“There isn’t anything, dog,” I said. The dog crossed the street. I went
up the stairs in the hospital to the floor Catherine was on and down the
hall to her room. I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I opened
the door; the room was empty, except for Catherine’s bag on a chair and
her dressing-gown hanging on a hook on the wall. I went out and down the
hall, looking for somebody. I found a nurse.
“Where is Madame Henry?”
“A lady has just gone to the delivery room.”
“Where is it?”
“I will show you.”