The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories

by Ernest Hemingway

  “Put some water in it,” I said.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “I guess that’s better.”

  We had a couple of drinks without saying anything. Jack started to pour me another.

  “No,” I said, “that’s all I want.”

  “All right,” Jack said. He poured himself out another big shot and put water in it. He was lighting up a little.

  “That was a fine bunch out here this afternoon,” he said. “They don’t take any chances, those two.”

  Then a little later, “Well,” he says, “they’re right. What the hell’s the good in taking chances?”

  “Don’t you want another, Jerry?” he said. “Come on, drink along with me.”

  “I don’t need it, Jack,” I said. “I feel all right.”

  “Just have one more,” Jack said. It was softening him up.

  “All right,” I said.

  Jack poured one for me and another big one for himself.

  “You know,” he said, “I like liquor pretty well. If I hadn’t been boxing I would have drunk quite a lot.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You know,” he said, “I missed a lot, boxing.”

  “You made plenty of money.”

  “Sure, that’s what I’m after. You know I miss a lot, Jerry.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well,” he says, “like about the wife. And being away from home so much. It don’t do my girls any good. ‘Who’s your old man?’ some of those society kids’ll say to them. ‘My old man’s Jack Brennan.’ That don’t do them any good.”

  “Hell,” I said, “all that makes a difference is if they got dough.”

  “Well,” says Jack, “I got the dough for them all right.”

  He poured out another drink. The bottle was about empty.

  “Put some water in it,” I said. Jack poured in some water.

  “You know,” he says, “you ain’t got any idea how I miss the wife.”

  “Sure.”

  “You ain’t got any idea. You can’t have an idea what it’s like.”

  “It ought to be better out in the country than in town.”

  “With me now,” Jack said, “it don’t make any difference where I am. You can’t have an idea what it’s like.”

  “Have another drink.”

  “Am I getting soused? Do I talk funny?”

  “You’re coming on all right.”

  “You can’t have an idea what it’s like. They ain’t anybody can have an idea what it’s like.”

  “Except the wife,” I said.

  “She knows,” Jack said. “She knows all right. She knows. You bet she knows.”

  “Put some water in that,” I said.

  “Jerry,” says Jack, “you can’t have an idea what it gets to be like.”

  He was good and drunk. He was looking at me steady. His eyes were sort of too steady.

  “You’ll sleep all right,” I said.

  “Listen, Jerry,” Jack says. “You want to make some money? Get some money down on Walcott.”

  “Yes?”

  “Listen, Jerry,” Jack put down the glass. “I’m not drunk now, see? You know what I’m betting on him? Fifty grand.”

  “That’s a lot of dough.”

  “Fifty grand,” Jack says, “at two to one. I’ll get twenty-five thousand bucks. Get some money on him, Jerry.”

  “It sounds good,” I said.

  “How can I beat him?” Jack says. “It ain’t crooked. How can I beat him? Why not make money on it?”

  “Put some water in that,” I said.

  “I’m through after this fight,” Jack says. “I’m through with it. I got to take a beating. Why shouldn’t I make money on it?”

  “Sure.”

  “I ain’t slept for a week,” Jack says. “All night I lay awake and worry my can off. I can’t sleep, Jerry. You ain’t got an idea what it’s like when you can’t sleep.”

  “Sure.”

  “I can’t sleep. That’s all. I just can’t sleep. What’s the use of taking care of yourself all these years when you can’t sleep?”

  “It’s bad.”

  “You ain’t got an idea what it’s like, Jerry, when you can’t sleep.”

  “Put some water in that,” I said.

  Well, about eleven o’clock Jack passes out and I put him to bed. Finally he’s so he can’t keep from sleeping. I helped him get his clothes off and got him into bed.

  “You’ll sleep all right, Jack,” I said.

  “Sure,” Jack says, “I’ll sleep now.”

  “Good night, Jack,” I said.

  “Good night, Jerry,” Jack says. “You’re the only friend I got.”

  “Oh, hell,” I said.

  “You’re the only friend I got,” Jack says, “the only friend I got.”

  “Go to sleep,” I said.

  “I’ll sleep,” Jack says.

  Downstairs Hogan was sitting at the desk in the office reading the papers. He looked up. “Well, you get your boy friend to sleep?” he asks.

  “He’s off.”

  “It’s better for him than not sleeping,” Hogan said.

  “Sure.”

  “You’d have a hell of a time explaining that to these sport writers though,” Hogan said.

  “Well, I’m going to bed myself,” I said.

  “Good night,” said Hogan.

  In the morning I came downstairs about eight o’clock and got some breakfast. Hogan had his two customers out in the barn doing exercises. I went out and watched them.

  “One! Two! Three! Four!” Hogan was counting for them. “Hello, Jerry,” he said. “Is Jack up yet?”

  “No. He’s still sleeping.”

  I went back to my room and packed up to go in to town. About nine-thirty I heard Jack getting up in the next room. When I heard him go downstairs I went down after him. Jack was sitting at the breakfast table. Hogan had come in and was standing beside the table.

  “How do you feel, Jack?” I asked him.

  “Not so bad.”

  “Sleep well?” Hogan asked.

  “I slept all right,” Jack said. “I got a thick tongue but I ain’t got a head.”

  “Good,” said Hogan. “That was good liquor.”

  “Put it on the bill,” Jack says.

  “What time you want to go into town?” Hogan asked.

  “Before lunch,” Jack says. “The eleven o’clock train.”

  “Sit down, Jerry,” Jack said. Hogan went out.

  I sat down at the table. Jack was eating a grapefruit. When he’d find a seed he’d spit it out in the spoon and dump it on the plate.

  “I guess I was pretty stewed last night,” he started.

  “You drank some liquor.”

  “I guess I said a lot of fool things.”

  “You weren’t bad.”

  “Where’s Hogan?” he asked. He was through with the grapefruit.

  “He’s out in front in the office.”

  “What did I say about betting on the fight?” Jack asked. He was holding the spoon and sort of poking at the grapefruit with it.

  The girl came in with some ham and eggs and took away the grapefruit.

  “Bring me another glass of milk,” Jack said to her. She went out.

  “You said you had fifty grand on Walcott,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Jack said.

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “I don’t feel too good about it,” Jack said.

  “Something might happen.”

  “No,” Jack said. “He wants the title bad. They’ll be shooting with him all right.”

  “You can’t ever tell.”

  “No. He wants the title. It’s worth a lot of money to him.”

  “Fifty grand is a lot of money,” I said.

  “It’s business,” said Jack. “I can’t win. You know I can’t win anyway.”

  “As long as you’re in there you got a chance.”

  “No,” Jack says. “I�
��m all through. It’s just business.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Pretty good,” Jack said. “The sleep was what I needed.”

  “You might go good.”

  “I’ll give them a good show,” Jack said.

  After breakfast Jack called up his wife on the long-distance. He was inside the booth telephoning.

  “That’s the first time he’s called her up since he’s out here,” Hogan said.

  “He writes her every day.”

  “Sure,” Hogan says, “a letter only costs two cents.”

  Hogan said good-by to us and Bruce, the nigger rubber, drove us down to the train in the cart.

  “Good-by, Mr. Brennan,” Bruce said at the train, “I sure hope you knock his can off.”

  “So long,” Jack said. He gave Bruce two dollars. Bruce had worked on him a lot. He looked kind of disappointed. Jack saw me looking at Bruce holding the two dollars.

  “It’s all in the bill,” he said. “Hogan charged me for the rubbing.”

  On the train going into town Jack didn’t talk. He sat in the corner of the seat with his ticket in his hat-band and looked out of the window. Once he turned and spoke to me.

  “I told the wife I’d take a room at the Shelby tonight,” he said. “It’s just around the corner from the Garden. I can go up to the house tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. “Your wife ever see you fight, Jack?”

  “No,” Jack says. “She never seen me fight.”

  I thought he must be figuring on taking an awful beating if he doesn’t want to go home afterward. In town we took a taxi up to the Shelby. A boy came out and took our bags and we went in to the desk.

  “How much are the rooms?” Jack asked.

  “We only have double rooms,” the clerk says. “I can give you a nice double room for ten dollars.”

  “That’s too steep.”

  “I can give you a double room for seven dollars.”

  “With a bath?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You might as well bunk with me, Jerry,” Jack says.

  “Oh,” I said, “I’ll sleep down at my brother-in-law’s.”

  “I don’t mean for you to pay it,” Jack says. “I just want to get my money’s worth.”

  “Will you register, please?” the clerk says. He looked at the names. “Number 238, Mister Brennan.”

  We went up in the elevator. It was a nice big room with two beds and a door opening into a bath-room.

  “This is pretty good,” Jack says.

  The boy who brought us up pulled up the curtains and brought in our bags. Jack didn’t make any move, so I gave the boy a quarter. We washed up and Jack said we better go out and get something to eat.

  We ate a lunch at Jimmy Hanley’s place. Quite a lot of the boys were there. When we were about half through eating, John came in and sat down with us. Jack didn’t talk much.

  “How are you on the weight, Jack?” John asked him. Jack was putting away a pretty good lunch.

  “I could make it with my clothes on,” Jack said. He never had to worry about taking off weight. He was a natural welter-weight and he’d never gotten fat. He’d lost weight out at Hogan’s.

  “Well, that’s one thing you never had to worry about,” John said.

  “That’s one thing,” Jack says.

  We went around to the Garden to weigh in after lunch. The match was made at a hundred forty-seven pounds at three o’clock. Jack stepped on the scales with a towel around him. The bar didn’t move. Walcott had just weighed and was standing with a lot of people around him.

  “Let’s see what you weigh, Jack,” Freedman, Walcott’s manager said.

  “All right, weigh him then,” Jack jerked his head toward Walcott.

  “Drop the towel,” Freedman said.

  “What do you make it?” Jack asked the fellows who were weighing.

  “One hundred and forty-three pounds,” the fat man who was weighing said.

  “You’re down fine, Jack,” Freedman says.

  “Weigh him,” Jack says.

  Walcott came over. He was a blond with wide shoulders and arms like a heavyweight. He didn’t have much legs. Jack stood about half a head taller than he did.

  “Hello, Jack,” he said. His face was plenty marked up.

  “Hello,” said Jack. “How you feel?”

  “Good,” Walcott says. He dropped the towel from around his waist and stood on the scales. He had the widest shoulders and back you ever saw.

  “One hundred and forty-six pounds and twelve ounces.”

  Walcott stepped off and grinned at Jack.

  “Well,” John says to him, “Jack’s spotting you about four pounds.”

  “More than that when I come in, kid,” Walcott says. “I’m going to go and eat now.”

  We went back and Jack got dressed. “He’s a pretty tough-looking boy,” Jack says to me.

  “He looks as though he’d been hit plenty of times.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jack says. “He ain’t hard to hit.”

  “Where are you going?” John asked when Jack was dressed.

  “Back to the hotel,” Jack says. “You looked after everything?”

  “Yes,” John says. “It’s all looked after.”

  “I’m going to lie down a while,” Jack says.

  “I’ll come around for you about a quarter to seven and we’ll go and eat.”

  “All right.”

  Up at the hotel Jack took off his shoes and his coat and lay down for a while. I wrote a letter. I looked over a couple of times and Jack wasn’t sleeping. He was lying perfectly still but every once in a while his eyes would open. Finally he sits up.

  “Want to play some cribbage, Jerry?” he says.

  “Sure,” I said.

  He went over to his suitcase and got out the cards and the cribbage board. We played cribbage and he won three dollars off me. John knocked at the door and came in.

  “Want to play some cribbage, John?” Jack asked him.

  John put his hat down on the table. It was all wet. His coat was wet too.

  “Is it raining?” Jack asks.

  “It’s pouring,” John says. “The taxi I had got tied up in the traffic and I got out and walked.”

  “Come on, play some cribbage,” Jack says.

  “You ought to go and eat.”

  “No,” says Jack. “I don’t want to eat yet.”

  So they played cribbage for about half an hour and Jack won a dollar and a half off him.

  “Well, I suppose we got to go eat,” Jack says. He went to the window and looked out.

  “Is it still raining?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s eat in the hotel,” John says.

  “All right,” Jack says, “I’ll play you once more to see who pays for the meal.”

  After a little while Jack gets up and says, “You buy the meal, John,” and we went downstairs and ate in the big dining-room.

  After we ate we went upstairs and Jack played cribbage with John again and won two dollars and a half off him. Jack was feeling pretty good. John had a bag with him with all his stuff in it. Jack took off his shirt and collar and put on a jersey and a sweater, so he wouldn’t catch cold when he came out, and put his ring clothes and his bathrobe in a bag.

  “You all ready?” John asks him. “I’ll call up and have them get a taxi.”

  Pretty soon the telephone rang and they said the taxi was waiting.

  We rode down in the elevator and went out through the lobby, and got in a taxi and rode around to the Garden. It was raining hard but there was a lot of people outside on the streets. The Garden was sold out. As we came in on our way to the dressing-room I saw how full it was. It looked like half a mile down to the ring. It was all dark. Just the lights over the ring.