Ernest Hemingway

THE GARDEN OF EDEN
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Chapter Eight

IN THE BUEN RETIRO in the morning it was as fresh as though it was a forest. It was green and the trunks of the trees were dark and the distances were all new. The lake was not where it had been and when they saw it through the trees it was quite changed.

"You walk ahead," she said. "I want to look at you.

So he turned away from her and walked to where there was a bench and sat down. He could see a lake at a long distance and knew it was too far to ever walk to.

He sat there on the bench and she sat down beside him and said, "It's all right."

But remorse had been there to meet him in the Retiro and now it was so bad he told Catherine that he would meet her at the cafe of The Palace.

"Are you all right? Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. I'm all right. I just have to go.

"I'll see you there," she said.

She looked particularly beautiful that morning and she smiled at their secret and he smiled at her and then took his remorse to the cafe. He did not think he would make it but he did and later when Catherine came he was finishing his second absinthe and the remorse was gone.

"How are you, Devil?" he said.

"I'm your devil," she said. "Could I have one of those too?" The waiter went away pleased to see her looking so handsome and so happy and she said, "What was it?"

"I just felt rotten but I feel fine now."

"Was it that bad?"

"No," he lied.

She shook her head. "I'm so sorry. I hoped there wouldn't be any bad at all."

"It went away.

"That's good. Isn't it lovely to be here in the summer and no one here? I thought of something."

"Already?"

"We can stay on and not go to the sea. This is ours now. The town and here. We could stay here and then drive back straight through to la Napoule."

"There aren't many more moves to make."

"Don't. We've only just started."

"Yes . . . we can always go back where we started."

"Of course we can and we will."

"Let's not talk about it," he said.

He had felt it start to come back and he took a long sip of his drink.

"It's a very strange thing," he said. "This drink tastes exactly like remorse. It has the true taste of it and yet it takes it away."

"I don't like you to have to take it for that. We aren't like that. We mustn't be."

"Maybe I am."

"You mustn't be." She took a long sip out of her glass and another long sip and looked around and then at him. "I can do it. Look at me and watch it happen. Here in the outdoor cafe of The Palace in Madrid and you can see the Prado and the street and the sprinklers under the trees so it's real. It's awfully brusque. But I can do it. You can see. (...)

(......)