Across the River and Into the Trees

by Ernest Hemingway

�A costly procedure,� the Colonel said. �Get me a reading on who�s there so we don�t waste time. I want to know exactly who is there.�

  Arnaldo spoke guardedly into the mouthpiece of the telephone.

  He covered the mouth of the phone with his hand and said, �I am talking to Ettore. He says the Barone Alvarito is not there. The Count Andrea is there and he is rather drunk, Ettore says, but not too drunk for you to have fun together. The group of ladies that comes in each afternoon are there and there is a Greek Princess, that you know, and several people that you do not know. Riff-raff from the American Consulate who have stayed on since noon.�

  �Tell him to call back when the riff-raff goes and I�ll come over.�

  Arnaldo spoke into the phone, then turned to the Colonel who was looking out of the window at the Dome of the Dogana, �Ettore says he will try to move them, but he is afraid Cipriani will not like it.�

  �Tell him not to move them. They don�t have to work this afternoon and there is no reason why they should not get drunk like any other man. I just don�t want to see them.�

  �Ettore says he will call back. He told me to tell you he thinks the position will fall of its own weight.�

  �Thank him for calling,� the Colonel said.

  He watched a gondola working up the Canal against the wind and thought, not with Americans drinking. I know they are bored. In this town, too. They are bored in this town. I know the place is cold and their wages are inadequate and what fuel costs. I admire their wives, for the valiant efforts they make to transport Keokuk to Venice, and their children already speak Italian like little Venetians. But no snapshots today, Jack. Today we are giving the snapshots, the barroom confidences, the unwanted comradely drinks and the tedious woes of the Consular services a miss.

  �No second, third or fourth vice-consuls today, Arnaldo.�

  �There are some very pleasant people from the Consulate.�

  �Yeah,� the Colonel said. �They had a hell of a nice consul here in 1918. Everybody liked him. I�ll try to remember his name.�

  �You go back a long way back, my Colonel.�

  �I go back so damn far back that it isn�t funny.�

  �Do you remember everything from the old days?�

  �Everything,� the Colonel said. �Carroll was the man�s name.�

  �I have heard of him.�

  �You weren�t born then.�

  �Do you think it is necessary to have been born at the time to know about things that have happened in this town, my Colonel?�

  �You�re perfectly correct. Tell me, does everybody always know about everything that happens in this town?�

  �Not everybody. But nearly everybody,� the waiter said. �After all, sheets are sheets and some one has to change them, and some one has to wash them. Naturally I do not refer to the sheets in a hotel such as this.�

  �I�ve had some damn good times in my life without sheets.�

  �Naturally. But the gondoliers, while they are the most cooperative and, for me, the finest people that we have, speak among themselves.�

  �Naturally.�

  �Then the clergy. While they would never violate the secrecy of the confessional, talk among themselves.�

  �It is to be expected.�

  �Their housekeepers talk among themselves.�

  �It is their right.�

  �Then the waiters,� Arnaldo said. �People talk at a table as though the waiter were stone-deaf. The waiter, according to his ethics, makes no attempt to ever overhear a conversation. But sometimes he cannot escape from hearing. Naturally, we have our own conversations among ourselves. Never in this hotel of course. I could go on.�

  �I believe I get the point.�

  �Not to mention the coiffeurs and the hair-dressers.�

  �And what�s the news from the Rialto now?�

  �You will get it all at Harry�s except the part you figure in.�

  �Do I figure?�

  �Everyone knows everything.�

  �Well, it�s a damn pleasant story.�

  �Some people don�t understand the Torcello part.�

  �I�m damned if I do sometimes myself.�

  �How old are you, my Colonel, if it is not indiscreet to ask?�

  �Fifty plus one. Why didn�t you find out from the concierge? I fill out a slip there for the Questura.�

  �I wanted to hear it from you yourself and to congratulate you.�

  �I don�t know what you are talking about.�

  �Let me congratulate you anyway.�

  �I can�t accept it.�

  �You are very well liked in this city.�

  �Thank you. That is a very great compliment.�

  Just then the telephone buzzed.

  �I�ll take it,� the Colonel said and heard Ettore�s voice say, �Who speaks?�

  �Colonel Cantwell.�

  �The position has fallen, my Colonel.�

  �Which way did they go?�

  �Toward the Piazza.�

  �Good. I will be there at once.�

  �Do you want a table?�

  �In the corner,� said the Colonel and hung up.

  �I am off for Harry�s.�

  �Good hunting.�

  �I hunt ducks day after tomorrow before first light in a botte in the marshes.�

  �It will be cold, too.�

  �I dare say,� the Colonel said and put on his trench coat and looked at his face in the glass of the long mirror as he put on his cap.

  �An ugly face,� he said to the glass. �Did you ever see a more ugly face?�

  �Yes,� said Arnaldo. �Mine. Every morning when I shave.�

  �We both ought to shave in the dark,� the Colonel told him, and went out the door.

  CHAPTER IX

  AS Colonel Cantwell stepped out of the door of the Gritti Palace Hotel he came out into the last sunlight of that day. There was still sunlight on the opposite side of the Square but the gondoliers preferred to be sheltered from the cold wind by lounging in the lee of the Gritti, than to use the last remaining heat of the sun on the wind-swept side of the Square.

  After noting this, the Colonel turned to the right and walked along the Square to the paved street which turned off on the right. As he turned, he stopped for a moment and looked at the church of Santa Maria del Giglio.

  What a fine, compact and, yet, ready to be air-borne building, he thought. I never realized a small church could look like a P47. Must find out when it was built, and who built it. Damn, I wish I might walk around this town all my life. All my life, he thought. What a gag that is. A gag to gag on. A throttle to throttle you with. Come on, boy, he said to himself. No horse named Morbid ever won a race.

  Besides, he thought, as he looked in the windows of the various shops he passed, the charcuterie with the Parmesan cheeses and the hams from San Daniele, and the sausages alla cacciatora, and the bottles of good Scotch whisky and real Gordon�s gin, the cutlery store, an antique dealer�s with some good pieces and some old maps and prints, a second-rate restaurant disguised expensively as one of the first class, and then came to the first bridge crossing a feeder canal with steps to be climbed, I don�t feel so badly. There is only the buzzing. I remember when that started and I thought perhaps it was seven year locusts in the trees and I did not like to ask young Lowry but I did. And he answered, No, General, I don�t hear any crickets or seven year locusts. The night is perfectly quiet except for the usual noises.

  Then, as he climbed, he felt the twinges, and coming down the other side, he saw two lovely looking girls. They were beautiful and hatless and poorly but chicly dressed, and they were talking very fast to each other and the wind was blowing their hair as they climbed with their long, easy striding Venetian legs and the Colonel said to himself, I�d better quit window gazing along this street and make that next bridge, and two squares afterwards you turn due right and keep along it till you are in Harry�s.

  He did just that, twinging on the bridge, but walking with his sa
me old stride and only seeing, quickly, the people that he passed. There�s a lot of oxygen in this air, he thought, as he faced into the wind and breathed deeply.

  Then he was pulling open the door of Harry�s bar and was inside and he had made it again, and was at home.

  At the bar a tall, very tall, man, with a ravaged face of great breeding, merry blue eyes, and the long, loose-coupled body of a buffalo wolf, said, �My ancient and depraved Colonel.�

  �My wicked Andrea.�

  They embraced and the Colonel felt the rough texture of Andrea�s handsome tweed coat that must have been entering, at least, its twentieth year.

  �You look well, Andrea,� the Colonel said.

  It was a lie and they both knew it.

  �I am,� said Andrea, returning the lie. �I must say I never felt better. You look extraordinarily well, yourself.�

  �Thank you, Andrea. Us healthy bastards shall inherit the earth.�

  �Very good idea. I must say I wouldn�t mind inheriting something these days.�

  �You have no kick. You�ll inherit well over six feet four of it.�

  �Six feet six,� said Andrea. �You wicked old man. Are you still slaving away at la vie militaire?�

  �I don�t slave too hard at it,� the Colonel said. �I�m down to shoot at San Relajo.�

  �I know. But don�t make jokes in Spanish at this hour. Alvarito was looking for you. He said to tell you he�d be back.�

  �Good. Is your lovely wife and are the children well?�

  �Absolutely, and they asked me to remember them to you if I saw you. They�re down in Rome. There comes your girl. Or one of your girls.� He was so tall he could see into the now almost dark street, but this was a girl you could recognize if it was much darker than it was at this hour.

  �Ask her to have a drink with us here before you carry her off to that corner table. Isn�t she a lovely girl?�

  �She is.�

  Then she came into the room, shining in her youth and tall striding beauty, and the carelessness the wind had made of her hair. She had pale, almost olive colored skin, a profile that could break your, or any one else�s heart, and her dark hair, of an alive texture, hung down over her shoulders.

  �Hello, my great beauty,� the Colonel said.

  �Oh, oh, hello,� she said. �I thought I would miss you. I am so sorry to be late.�

  Her voice was low and delicate and she spoke English with caution.

  �Ciao, Andrea,� she said. �How is Emily and are the children?�

  �Probably just the same as when I answered that same question for you at noon.�

  �I am so sorry,� she said and blushed. �I am so excited and I always say the wrong things. What should I say? Have you had a good time here all afternoon?�

  �Yes,� said Andrea. �With my old friend and severest critic.�

  �Who is that?�

  �Scotch whisky and water.�

  �I suppose if he must tease me he must,� she said to the Colonel. �But you won�t tease me, will you?�

  �Take him over to that corner table and talk to him. I�m tired of you both.�

  �I�m not tired of you,� the Colonel told him. �But I think it is a good idea. Should we have a drink sitting down, Renata?�

  �I�d love to if Andrea isn�t angry.�

  �I�m never angry.�

  �Would you have a drink with us, Andrea?�

  �No,� said Andrea. �Get along to your table. I�m sick of seeing it unoccupied.�

  �Good-bye, Caro. Thanks for the drink we didn�t have.�

  �Ciao, Ricardo,� Andrea said and that was all.

  He turned his fine, long, tall back on them and looked into the mirror that is placed behind bars so a man can tell when he is drinking too much, and decided that he did not like what he saw there. �Ettore,� he said. �Please put this nonsense on my bill.�

  He walked out after waiting carefully for his coat, swinging into it, and tipping the man who brought it exactly what he should be tipped plus twenty per cent.

  At the corner table, Renata said, �Do you think we hurt his feelings?�

  �No. He loves you and he likes me.�

  �Andrea is so nice. And you�re so nice.�

  �Waiter,� the Colonel called; then asked, �Do you want a dry Martini, too?�

  �Yes,� she said. �I�d love one.�

  �Two very dry Martinis,� the Colonel said. �Montgomerys. Fifteen to one.�

  The waiter, who had been in the desert, smiled and was gone, and the Colonel turned to Renata.

  �You�re nice,� he said. �You�re also very beautiful and lovely and I love you.�

  �You always say that and I don�t know what it means but I like to hear it.�

  �How old are you now?�

  �Nearly nineteen. Why?�

  �And you don�t know what it means?�

  �No. Why should I? Americans always say it to you before they go away. It seems to be necessary to them. But I love you very much, too, whatever that is.�

  �Let�s have a fine time,� the Colonel said. �Let�s not think about anything at all.�

  �I would like that. I cannot think very well this time of day at any rate.�

  �Here are the drinks,� the Colonel said. �Remember not to say, chin-chin.�

  �I remember that from before. I never say chin-chin, nor here�s to you, nor bottom�s up.�

  �We just raise the glass to each other and, if you wish, we can touch the edges.�

  �I wish,� she said.

  The Martinis were icy cold and true Montgomerys, and, after touching the edges, they felt them glow happily all through their upper bodies.

  �And what have you been doing?� the Colonel asked.

  �Nothing. I still wait to go away to school.�

  �Where now?�

  �God knows. Wherever I go to learn English.�

  �Turn your head and raise your chin once for me.�

  �You�re not making fun?�

  �No. I�m not making fun.�

  She turned her head and raised her chin, without vanity, nor coquetry, and the Colonel felt his heart turn over inside him, as though some sleeping animal had rolled over in its burrow and frightened, deliciously, the other animal sleeping close beside.

  �Oh you,� he said. �Would you ever like to run for Queen of Heaven?�

  �That would be sacrilegious.�

  �Yes,� he said. �I suppose it would and I withdraw the suggestion.�

  �Richard,� she said. �No I can�t say it.�

  �Say it.�

  �No.�

  The Colonel thought, I order you to say it. And she said, �Please never look at me like that.�

  �I�m sorry,� the Colonel said. �I had just slipped into my trade unconsciously.�

  �And if we were such a thing as married would you practice your trade in the home?�

  �No. I swear it. I never have. Not in my heart.�

  �With no one?�

  �With no one of your sex.�

  �I don�t like that word your sex. It sounds as though you were practicing your trade.�

  �I throw my trade out of that God-damn window into the Grand Canal.�

  �There,� she said. �You see how quickly you practice it?�

  �All right,� he said. �I love you and my trade can gently leave.�

  �Let me feel your hand,� she said. �It�s all right. You can put it on the table.�

  �Thank you,� the Colonel said.

  �Please don�t,� she said. �I wanted to feel it because all last week, every night, or I think nearly every night, I dreamed about it, and it was a strange mixed-up dream and I dreamed it was the hand of Our Lord.�

  �That�s bad. You oughtn�t to do that.�

  �I know it. That�s just what I dreamed.�

  �You aren�t on the junk, are you?�

  �I don�t know what you mean, and please don�t make fun when I tell you something true. I dreamed just as I say.�

  �What did the hand do?�


  �Nothing. Or maybe that is not true. Mostly it was just a hand.�

  �Like this one?� The Colonel asked, looking at the misshapen hand with distaste, and remembering the two times that had made it that way.

  �Not like. It was that one. May I touch it carefully with my fingers if it does not hurt?�

  �It does not hurt. Where it hurts is in the head, the legs and the feet. I don�t believe there�s any sensation in that hand.�

  �You�re wrong,� she said. �Richard. There is very much sensation in that hand.�

  �I don�t like to look at it much. You don�t think we could skip it.�

  �Of course. But you don�t have to dream about it.�

  �No. I have other dreams.�

  �Yes. I can imagine. But I dream lately about this hand. Now that I have touched it carefully, we can talk about funny things if you like. What is there funny we should talk about?�

  �Let�s look at the people and discuss them.�

  �That�s lovely,� she said. �And we won�t do it with malice. Only with our best wit. Yours and mine.�

  �Good,� the Colonel said. �Waiter, Ancora due Martini.�

  He did not like to call for Montgomerys in a tone that could be overheard because there were two obvious Britishers at the next table.

  The male might have been wounded, the Colonel thought, although, from his looks, it seems unlikely. But God help me to avoid brutality. And look at Renata�s eyes, he thought. They are probably the most beautiful of all the beautiful things she has, with the longest honest lashes I have ever seen and she never uses them for anything except to look at you honestly and straight. What a damn wonderful girl and what am I doing here anyway? It is wicked. She is your last and true and only love, he thought, and that�s not evil. It is only unfortunate. No, he thought, it is damned fortunate and you are very fortunate.

  They sat at a small table in the corner of the room and on their right there were four women at a larger table. One of the women was in mourning; a mourning so theatrical that it reminded the Colonel of the Lady Diana Manners playing the nun in Max Reinhardt�s, �The Miracle.� This woman had an attractive, plump, naturally gay face and her mourning was incongruous.

  At the table there was another woman who had hair three times as white as hair can be, the Colonel thought. She, also, had a pleasant face. There were two other women whose faces meant nothing to the Colonel.

  �Are they lesbians?� he asked the girl.

  �I do not know,� she said. �They are all very nice people.�

  �I should say they are lesbians. But maybe they are just good friends. Maybe they are both. It means nothing to me and it was not a criticism.�

  �You are nice when you are gentle.�

  �Do you suppose the word gentleman derives from a man who is gentle?�

  �I do not know,� the girl said, and she ran her fingers very lightly over the scarred hand. �But I love you when you are gentle.�

  �I�ll try very hard to be gentle,� the Colonel said. �Who do you suppose that son of a bitch is at the table beyond them?�

  �You don�t stay gentle very long,� the girl said. �Let us ask Ettore.�

  They looked at the man at the third table. He had a strange face like an over-enlarged, disappointed weasel or ferret. It looked as pock-marked and as blemished as the mountains of the moon seen through a cheap telescope and, the Colonel thought, it looked like Goebbels� face, if Herr Goebbels had ever been in a plane that burned, and not been able to bail out before the fire reached him.

  Above this face, which was ceaselessly peering, as though the answer might be found by enough well directed glances and by queries, there was black hair that seemed to have no connection with the human race. The man looked as though he had been scalped and then the hair replaced. Very interesting, the Colonel thought. Can he be a compatriot? Yes, he must.