We did not know any one in Montreux. We walked along beside the lake and saw the swans and the many gulls and terns that flew up when you came close and screamed while they looked down at the water. Out on the lake there were flocks of grebes, small and dark, and leaving trails in the water when they swam.
In the town we walked along the main street and looked in the windows of the shops. There were many big hotels that were closed but most of the shops were open and the people were very glad to see us. There was a fine coiffeur’s place where Catherine went to have her hair done. The woman who ran it was very cheerful and the only person we knew in Montreux. While Catherine was there I went up to a beer place and drank dark Munich beer and read the papers. I read the Corriere della Sera and the English and American papers from Paris. All the advertisements were blacked out, supposedly to prevent communication in that way with the enemy. The papers were bad reading. Everything was going very badly everywhere. I sat back in the corner with a heavy mug of dark beer and an opened glazed-paper package of pretzels and ate the pretzels for the salty flavor and the good way they made the beer taste and read about disaster. I thought Catherine would come by but she did not come, so I hung the papers back on the rack, paid for my beer and went up the street to look for her. The day was cold and dark and wintry and the stone of the houses looked cold. Catherine was still in the hairdresser’s shop. The woman was waving her hair. I sat in the little booth and watched. It was exciting to watch and Catherine smiled and talked to me and my voice was a little thick from being excited. The tongs made a pleasant clicking sound and I could see Catherine in three mirrors and it was pleasant and warm in the booth. Then the woman put up Catherine’s hair, and Catherine looked in the mirror and changed it a little, taking out and putting in pins; then stood up. “I’m sorry to have taken such a long time.”
“Monsieur was very interested. Were you not, monsieur?” the woman smiled.
“Yes,” I said.
We went out and up the street. It was cold and wintry and the wind was blowing. “Oh, darling, I love you so,” I said.
“Don’t we have a fine time?” Catherine said. “Look. Let’s go some place and have beer instead of tea. It’s very good for young Catherine. It keeps her small.”
“Young Catherine,” I said. “That loafer.”
“She’s been very good,” Catherine said. “She makes very little trouble. The doctor says beer will be good for me and keep her small.”
“If you keep her small enough and she’s a boy, maybe he will be a jockey.”
“I suppose if we really have this child we ought to get married,” Catherine said. We were in the beer place at the corner table. It was getting dark outside. It was still early but the day was dark and the dusk was coming early.
“Let’s get married now,” I said.
“No,” Catherine said. “It’s too embarrassing now. I show too plainly. I won’t go before any one and be married in this state.”
“I wish we’d gotten married.”
“I suppose it would have been better. But when could we, darling?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know one thing. I’m not going to be married in this splendid matronly state.”
“You’re not matronly.”
“Oh yes, I am, darling. The hairdresser asked me if this was our first. I lied and said no, we had two boys and two girls.”
“When will we be married?”
“Any time after I’m thin again. We want to have a splendid wedding with every one thinking what a handsome young couple.”
“And you’re not worried?”
“Darling, why should I be worried? The only time I ever felt badly was when I felt like a whore in Milan and that only lasted seven minutes and besides it was the room furnishings. Don’t I make you a good wife?”
“You’re a lovely wife.”
“Then don’t be too technical, darling. I’ll marry you as soon as I’m thin again.”
“All right.”
“Do you think I ought to drink another beer? The doctor said I was rather narrow in the hips and it’s all for the best if we keep young Catherine small.”
“What else did he say?” I was worried.
“Nothing. I have a wonderful blood-pressure, darling. He admired my blood-pressure greatly.”
“What did he say about you being too narrow in the hips?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. He said I shouldn’t ski.”
“Quite right.”
“He said it was too late to start if I’d never done it before. He said I could ski if I wouldn’t fall down.”
“He’s just a big-hearted joker.”
“Really he was very nice. We’ll have him when the baby comes.”
“Did you ask him if you ought to get married?”
“No. I told him we’d been married four years. You see, darling, if I marry you I’ll be an American and any time we’re married under American law the child is legitimate.”
“Where did you find that out?”
“In the New York World Almanac in the library.”
“You’re a grand girl.”
“I’ll be very glad to be an American and we’ll go to America won’t we, darling? I want to see Niagara Falls.”
“You’re a fine girl.”
“There’s something else I want to see but I can’t remember it.”
“The stockyards?”
“No. I can’t remember it.”
“The Woolworth building?”
“No.”
“The Grand Canyon?”
“No. But I’d like to see that.”
“What was it?”
“The Golden Gate! That’s what I want to see. Where is the Golden Gate?”
“San Francisco.”
“Then let’s go there. I want to see San Francisco anyway.”
“All right. We’ll go there.”
“Now let’s go up the mountain. Should we? Can we get the M.O.B.?”
“There’s a train a little after five.”
“Let’s get that.”
“All right. I’ll drink one more beer first.”
When we went out to go up the street and climb the stairs to the station it was very cold. A cold wind was coming down the Rhone Valley. There were lights in the shop windows and we climbed the steep stone stairway to the upper street, then up another stairs to the station. The electric train was there waiting, all the lights on. There was a dial that showed when it left. The clock hands pointed to ten minutes after five. I looked at the station clock. It was five minutes after. As we got on board I saw the motorman and conductor coming out of the station wine-shop. We sat down and opened the window. The train was electrically heated and stuffy but fresh cold air came in through the window.
“Are you tired, Cat?” I asked.
“No. I feel splendid.”
“It isn’t a long ride.”
“I like the ride,” she said. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I feel fine.”
Snow did not come until three days before Christmas. We woke one morning and it was snowing. We stayed in bed with the fire roaring in the stove and watched the snow fall. Mrs. Guttingen took away the breakfast trays and put more wood in the stove. It was a big snow storm. She said it had started about midnight. I went to the window and looked out but could not see across the road. It was blowing and snowing wildly. I went back to bed and we lay and talked.
“I wish I could ski,” Catherine said. “It’s rotten not to be able to ski.”
“We’ll get a bobsled and come down the road. That’s no worse for you than riding in a car.”
“Won’t it be rough?”
“We can see.”
“I hope it won’t be too rough.”
“After a while we’ll take a walk in the snow.”
“Before lunch,” Catherine said, “so we’ll have a good appetite.”
“I’m always hungry.”
“So am I.”
We went ou
t in the snow but it was drifted so that we could not walk far. I went ahead and made a trail down to the station but when we reached there we had gone far enough. The snow was blowing so we could hardly see and we went into the little inn by the station and swept each other off with a broom and sat on a bench and had vermouths.
“It is a big storm,” the barmaid said.
“Yes.”
“The snow is very late this year.”
“Yes.”
“Could I eat a chocolate bar?” Catherine asked. “Or is it too close to lunch? I’m always hungry.”
“Go on and eat one,” I said.
“I’ll take one with filberts,” Catherine said.
“They are very good,” the girl said, “I like them the best.”
“I’ll have another vermouth,” I said.
When we came out to start back up the road our track was filled in by the snow. There were only faint indentations where the holes had been. The snow blew in our faces so we could hardly see. We brushed off and went in to have lunch. Mr. Guttingen served the lunch.
“To-morrow there will be ski-ing,” he said. “Do you ski, Mr. Henry?”
“No. But I want to learn.”
“You will learn very easily. My boy will be here for Christmas and he will teach you.”
“That’s fine. When does he come?”
“To-morrow night.”
When we were sitting by the stove in the little room after lunch looking out the window at the snow coming down Catherine said, “Wouldn’t you like to go on a trip somewhere by yourself, darling, and be with men and ski?”
“No. Why should I?”
“I should think sometimes you would want to see other people besides me.”
“Do you want to see other people?”
“No.”
“Neither do I.”
“I know. But you’re different. I’m having a child and that makes me contented not to do anything. I know I’m awfully stupid now and I talk too much and I think you ought to get away so you won’t be tired of me.”
“Do you want me to go away?”
“No. I want you to stay.”
“That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Come over here,” she said. “I want to feel the bump on your head. It’s a big bump.” She ran her finger over it. “Darling, would you like to grow a beard?”
“Would you like me to?”
“It might be fun. I’d like to see you with a beard.”
“All right. I’ll grow one. I’ll start now this minute. It’s a good idea. It will give me something to do.”
“Are you worried because you haven’t anything to do?”
“No. I like it. I have a fine life. Don’t you?”
“I have a lovely life. But I was afraid because I’m big now that maybe I was a bore to you.”
“Oh, Cat. You don’t know how crazy I am about you.”
“This way?”
“Just the way you are. I have a fine time. Don’t we have a good life?”
“I do, but I thought maybe you were restless.”
“No. Sometimes I wonder about the front and about people I know but I don’t worry. I don’t think about anything much.”
“Who do you wonder about?”
“About Rinaldi and the priest and lots of people I know. But I don’t think about them much. I don’t want to think about the war. I’m through with it.”
“What are you thinking about now?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes you were. Tell me.”
“I was wondering whether Rinaldi had the syphilis.”
“Was that all?”
“Yes.”
“Has he the syphilis?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m glad you haven’t. Did you ever have anything like that?”
“I had gonorrhea.”
“I don’t want to hear about it. Was it very painful, darling?”
“Very.”
“I wish I’d had it.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do. I wish I’d had it to be like you. I wish I’d stayed with all your girls so I could make fun of them to you.”
“That’s a pretty picture.”
“It’s not a pretty picture you having gonorrhea.”
“I know it. Look at it snow now.”
“I’d rather look at you. Darling, why don’t you let your hair grow?”
“How grow?”
“Just grow a little longer.”
“It’s long enough now.”
“No, let it grow a little longer and I could cut mine and we’d be just alike only one of us blonde and one of us dark.”
“I wouldn’t let you cut yours.”
“It would be fun. I’m tired of it. It’s an awful nuisance in the bed at night.”
“I like it.”
“Wouldn’t you like it short?”
“I might. I like it the way it is.”
“It might be nice short. Then we’d both be alike. Oh, darling, I want you so much I want to be you too.”
“You are. We’re the same one.”
“I know it. At night we are.”
“The nights are grand.”
“I want us to be all mixed up. I don’t want you to go away. I just said that. You go if you want to. But hurry right back. Why, darling, I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”
“I won’t ever go away,” I said. “I’m no good when you’re not there. I haven’t any life at all any more.”
“I want you to have a life. I want you to have a fine life. But we’ll have it together, won’t we?”
“And now do you want me to stop growing my beard or let it go on?”
“Go on. Grow it. It will be exciting. Maybe it will be done for New Year’s.”
“Now do you want to play chess?”
“I’d rather play with you.”
“No. Let’s play chess.”
“And afterward we’ll play?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
I got out the chess-board and arranged the pieces. It was still snowing hard outside.
One time in the night I woke up and knew that Catherine was awake too. The moon was shining in the window and made shadows on the bed from the bars on the window-panes.
“Are you awake, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Can’t you sleep?”
“I just woke up thinking about how I was nearly crazy when I first met you. Do you remember?”
“You were just a little crazy.”
“I’m never that way any more. I’m grand now. You say grand so sweetly. Say grand.”
“Grand.”
“Oh, you’re sweet. And I’m not crazy now. I’m just very, very, very happy.”
“Go on to sleep,” I said.
“All right. Let’s go to sleep at exactly the same moment.”
“All right.”
But we did not. I was awake for quite a long time thinking about things and watching Catherine sleeping, the moonlight on her face. Then I went to sleep, too.
39
By the middle of January I had a beard and the winter had settled into bright cold days and hard cold nights. We could walk on the roads again. The snow was packed hard and smooth by the hay-sleds and wood-sledges and the logs that were hauled down the mountain. The snow lay over all the country, down almost to Montreux. The mountains on the other side of the lake were all white and the plain of the Rhone Valley was covered. We took long walks on the other side of the mountain to the Bains de l’Alliaz. Catherine wore hobnailed boots and a cape and carried a stick with a sharp steel point. She did not look big with the cape and we would not walk too fast but stopped and sat on logs by the roadside to rest when she was tired.
There was an inn in the trees at the Bains de l’Alliaz where the woodcutters stopped to drink, and we sat inside warmed by the stove and drank hot red wine with spices and lemon in it. They called it gluhwein and it was a good thing to warm y
ou and to celebrate with. The inn was dark and smoky inside and afterward when you went out the cold air came sharply into your lungs and numbed the edge of your nose as you inhaled. We looked back at the inn with light coming from the windows and the woodcutters’ horses stamping and jerking their heads outside to keep warm. There was frost on the hairs of their muzzles and their breathing made plumes of frost in the air. Going up the road toward home the road was smooth and slippery for a while and the ice orange from the horses until the wood-hauling track turned off. Then the road was clean-packed snow and led through the woods, and twice coming home in the evening, we saw foxes.
It was a fine country and every time that we went out it was fun.
“You have a splendid beard now,” Catherine said. “It looks just like the woodcutters’. Did you see the man with the tiny gold earrings?”
“He’s a chamois hunter,” I said. “They wear them because they say it makes them hear better.”
“Really? I don’t believe it. I think they wear them to show they are chamois hunters. Are there chamois near here?”
“Yes, beyond the Dent de Jaman.”
“It was fun seeing the fox.”
“When he sleeps he wraps that tail around him to keep warm.”
“It must be a lovely feeling.”
“I always wanted to have a tail like that. Wouldn’t it be fun if we had brushes like a fox?”
“It might be very difficult dressing.”
“We’d have clothes made, or live in a country where it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“We live in a country where nothing makes any difference. Isn’t it grand how we never see any one? You don’t want to see people do you, darling?”
“No.”
“Should we sit here just a minute? I’m a little bit tired.”
We sat close together on the logs. Ahead the road went down through the forest.
“She won’t come between us, will she? The little brat.”
“No. We won’t let her.”
“How are we for money?”
“We have plenty. They honored the last sight draft.”
“Won’t your family try and get hold of you now they know you’re in Switzerland?”
“Probably. I’ll write them something.”
“Haven’t you written them?”
“No. Only the sight draft.”
“Thank God I’m not your family.”
A farewell to arms Page 25