Ernest Hemingway

ACROSS THE RIVER AND INTO THE TREES
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CHAPTER XXXVIII

THEY ate lunch at the Gritti, and the girl had unwrapped the small ebony negro’s head and torso, and pinned it high on her left shoulder. It was about three inches long, and was quite lovely to look at if you liked that sort of thing. And if you don’t you are stupid, the Colonel thought.

But do not even think rough, he told himself. You have to be good now in every way until you say good­bye. What a word, he thought, good-bye.

It sounds like a Valentine slogan.

Good-bye and bonne chance and hasta la vista. We always just said merde and let it go at that. Farewell, he thought, that is a nice word. It sings well, he thought. Farewell, a long farewell and take it with you where you go. With handles, he thought.

“Daughter,” he said. “How long has it been since I told you that I loved you?”

“Not since we sat at the table.”

“I tell you now.”

She had combed her hair with patience when they came into the hotel and she had gone into the room for women. She disliked such rooms.

She had used lipstick to make the sort of mouth she knew he most desired, and she had said to herself, mak­ing the mouth correctly, “Don’t think at all. Don’t think. Above all don’t be sad because he is going now.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. I would like to be beautiful for you if I could and if I could be beautiful.”

“Italian is a lovely language.”

“Yes. Mister Dante thought so.”

“Gran Maestro,” the Colonel said. “What is there to eat in this Wirtschaft?”

The Gran Maestro had been observing, without ob­serving, with affection and without envy.

“Do you want meat, or fish?”

“It’s Saturday,” the Colonel said. “Fish is not compul­sory. So I’ll take it.”

“It is sole,” the Gran Maestro said. “What do you want, my Lady?”

“Whatever you decide. You know more about food than I do, and I like it all.”

“Make a decision, Daughter.”

“No. I would rather leave it to some one who knows more than me. I have a boarding school appetite.”

“It will come as a surprise,” the Gran Maestro said with his long and loving face with the grey eyebrows over the softly hooded eyes, and the ever happy face of the old soldier who is still alive and appreciates it.

“Is there any news from the Order?” the Colonel asked.

“Only that our leader, Himself, is in trouble. They have confiscated everything he owns. Or at any rate they have intervened.”

“I hope it is not serious.”

“We will have confidence in our leader. He has ridden out worse tempests than this.”

“To our leader,” the Colonel said.

He raised his glass, which had been filled with the decanted new and true Valpolicella. “Drink to him, daughter.”

“I can’t drink to that swine,” the girl said. “Besides I do not belong to the Order.”

“You are a member now,” the Gran Maestro said. “Por merito di guerra.”

“I’ll drink to him then,” she said. “Am I really a mem­ber of the Order?”

“Yes,” the Gran Maestro said. “You have not received your parchment yet but I appoint you Super Honorary Secretary. My (...)

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