"I just talk around it. You know I feel rather damned good, Jake."
''You should."
''You know it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch."
''Yes.''
"It's sort of what we have instead of God."
"Some people have God," I said. "Quite a lot."
"He never worked very well with me."
"Should we have another Martini?"
The barman shook up two more Martinis and poured them out into fresh glasses.
"Where will we have lunch?" I asked Brett. The bar was cool.
You could feel the heat outside through the window.
"Here?" asked Brett.
"It's rotten here in the hotel. Do you know a place called Botin's?" I asked the barman.
''Yes, sir. Would you like to have me write out the address?"
"Thank you."
We lunched upstairs at Botin's. It is one of the best restaurants in the world. We had roast young suckling pig and drank rioja alta. Brett did not eat much. She never ate much. I ate a very big meal and drank three bottles of rioja alta.
"How do you feel, Jake?" Brett asked. "My God! what a meal you've eaten."
"I feel fine. Do you want a dessert?"
"Lord, no."
Brett was smoking.
"You like to eat, don't you?" she said.
"Yes." I said. "I like to do a lot of things."
"What do you like to do?"
"Oh," I said, "I like to do a lot of things. Don't you want a dessert?"
"You asked me that once," Brett said.
"Yes," I said. "So I did. Let's have another bottle of rioja alta."
"It's very good."
"You haven't drunk much of it," I said.
"I have. You haven't seen."
"Let's get two bottles," I said. The bottles came. I poured a little in my glass, then a glass for Brett, then filled my glass. We touched glasses.
"Bung-o!" Brett said. I drank my glass and poured out another. Brett put her hand on my arm.
"Don't get drunk, Jake," she said. "You don't have to."
"How do you know?"
"Don't," she said. "You'll be all right."
"I'm not getting drunk," I said. "I'm just drinking a little wine. I like to drink wine."
"Don't get drunk," she said. "Jake, don't get drunk."
"Want to go for a ride?" I said. "Want to ride through the town?"
"Right," Brett said. "I haven't seen Madrid. I should see Madrid."
"I'll finish this," I said.
Downstairs we came out through the first floor dining room to the street. A waiter went for a taxi. It was hot and bright. Up the street was a little square with trees and grass where there were taxis parked. A taxi came up the street, the waiter h:mging out at the side. I tipped him and told the driver where to drive, and got in beside Brett. The driver started up the street. I settled back. Brett moved close to me. We sat close against each other. I put my arm around her and she rested against me comfortably. It was very hot and bright, and the houses looked sharply white. We turned out onto the Gran Via.
"Oh, Jake," Brett said, "we could have had such a damned good time together."
Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.
"Yes." I said. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"
THE END
About the Author
Ernest Hemingway was one of America's foremost journalists and authors. A winner of both the Pulitzer Prize (1953) and the Nobel Prize for Literature (1954), Hemingway is widely credited with driving a fundamental shift in prose writing in the early twentieth century. As an American expatriate in Paris in the 1920s, Ernest Hemingway achieved international fame with such literary works as The Sun Also Rises, The Old Man and the Sea, and For Whom the Bell Tolls, which depicts his experience as a correspondent during the Spanish Civil War. Hemingway died in 1961, leaving behind a rich literary legacy.
Copyright
HarperPerennialClassics
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EPub Edition January 2012 ISBN: 9781443414548
This title is in Canada's public domain and is not subject to any licence or copyright.
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The Sun Also Rises Page 21