按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
nk you thank you my girl&mdash；〃
She lay there a long time and he thought that she had gone to sleep。 Then she moved away very slowly lifting herself lightly on her elbows and said； 〃I have a wonderful surprise for myself for tomorrow。 I'm going to the Prado in the morning and see all the pictures as a boy。〃
〃I give up；〃 David said。
Chapter Seven
IN ThE MORNING he got up while she was still sleeping and went out into the bright early morning freshness of the high plateau air。 He walked in the street up the hill to the Plaza Santa Ana and had breakfast at a cafe and read the local papers。 Catherine had wanted to be at the Prado at ten when it opened and before he left he had set the alarm to wake her at nine。 Outside on the street； walking up the hill he had thought of her sleeping； the beautiful rumpled head that looked like an ancient coin lying against the white sheet； the pillow pushed away； the upper sheet showing the curves of her body。 It lasted a month； he thought； or almost。 And the other time from le Grau du Roi to Hendaye was two months。 No； less； because she started thinking of it in Nimes。 It wasn't two months。 We've been married three months and two weeks and I hope I make her happy always but in this I do not think anybody can take care of anybody。 It's enough to stay in it。 The difference is that she asked this time； he told himself。 She did ask。
When he had read the papers and then paid for his breakfast and walked out into the heat that had come back to the plateau
when the wind had changed； he made his way to the cool； formal； sad politeness of the bank； where he found mail that had been forwarded from Paris。 He opened and read mail while he waited through the lengthy； many…windowed formalities of cashing a draft which had been sent from his bank to this； their Madrid correspondent。
Finally with the heavy notes buttoned into his jacket pocket he came out into the glare again and stopped at the newsstand to buy the English and American papers that had come in on the morning Sud Express。 He bought some bullfight weeklies to wrap the English language papers in and then walked down the Carrera San Geronimo to the cool friendly morning gloom of the Buffet Italianos。 There was no one in the place yet and he remembered that he had made no rendezvous with Catherine。
〃What will you drink？〃 the waiter asked him。
〃Beer；〃 he said。
〃This isn't a beer place。〃
〃Don't you have beer？〃
〃Yes。 But it's not a beer place。〃
〃Up yours；〃 he said and re…rolled the papers and went out and walked across the street and back on the other side to turn to the left into the Calle Vittoria and on to the Cervezeria Alvarez。 He sat at a table under the awning in the passageway and drank a big cold glass of the draft beer。
The waiter was probably only making conversation； he thought； and what the man said was quite true。 It isn't a beer place。 He was just being literal。 He wasn't being insolent。 That was a very bad thing to say and he had no defense against it。 It was a shitty thing to do。 He drank a second beer and called the waiter to pay。
〃Y la Senora？〃 the waiter said。
〃At the Museo del Prado。 I'm going to get her。〃
〃Well； until you get back；〃 the waiter said。
He walked back to the hotel by a downhill shortcut。 The key was at the desk so he rode up to their floor and left the papers and the mail on a table in the room and locked most of the money in his suitcase。 The room was made up and the shutters were lowered against the heat so that the room was darkened。 He washed and then sorted through his mail and took four letters out and put them in his hip pocket。 He took the Paris editions of The New York Herald； the Chicago Tribune and the London Daily Mail down with him to the bar of the hotel stopping at the desk to leave the key and to ask the clerk to tell Madame； when she came in； that he was in the bar。
He sat on a stool at the bar and ordered a marismeiio and opened and read his letters while he ate the garlic…flavored olives from the saucer the bartender had placed before him with his glass。 One of the letters had two cuttings of reviews of his novel from monthly magazines and he read them with no feeling that they dealt with him or with anything that he had written。
He put the cuttings back in the envelope。 They had been understanding and perceptive reviews but to him they had meant nothing。 He read the letter from the publisher with the same detachment。 The book had sold well and they thought that it might continue selling on into the fall although nobody could ever tell about such things。 Certainly； so far； it had received an extraordinarily fine critical reception and the way would be open for his next book。 It was a great advantage that this was his second and not his first novel。 It was tragic how often first novels were the only good novels American writers had in them。 But this； his publisher went on； his second； validated all the promise his first had shown。 It was an unusual summer in New York； cold and wet。 Oh Christ； David thought； the hell with how it was in New York and the hell with that thin…lipped bastard Coolidge fishing for trout in a high stiff collar in a fish hatchery in the Black Hills we stole from the Sioux and the Cheyenne and
bathtub…ginned…up writers wondering if their baby does the Charleston。 And the hell with the promise he had validated。 What promise to whom？ To The Dial； to The Bookman； to The New Republic？ No； he had shown it。 Let me show you my promise that I'm going to validate it。 What shit。
〃Hello； young man；〃 said a voice。 〃What are you looking so indignant about？〃
〃Hello； Colonel；〃 David said and felt suddenly happy。 〃What the hell are you doing here？〃
The Colonel； who had deep blue eyes； sandy hair and a tanned face that looked as though it had been carved out of flint by a tired sculptor who had broken his chisel on it； picked up David's glass and tasted the marisme no。
〃Bring me a bottle of whatever this young man is drinking to that table；〃 he said to the bartender。 〃Bring a cold bottle。 You don't need to ice it。 Bring it immediately。〃
〃Yes sir；〃 said the bartender。 〃Very good sir。〃
〃Come along；〃 the Colonel said to David； leading him to the table in the corner of the room。 〃You're looking very well。〃
〃So are you。〃
Colonel John Boyle was wearing a dark blue suit of a cloth that looked stiff but cool and a blue shirt and black tie。 〃I'm always well；〃 he said。 〃Do you want a job？〃
〃No；〃 said David。
〃Just like that。 Don't even ask what it is；〃 His voice sounded as though he had hawked it up out of a dusty throat。
The wine came and the waiter filled two glasses and put down saucers of the garlic olives and of hazelnuts。
〃No anchovies？〃 the Colonel asked。 〃What sort of a fonda is this？〃
The bartender smiled and went for the anchovies。
〃Excellent wine；〃 the Colonel said。 〃First rate。 I always hoped your taste would improve。 Now why don't you want a job？ You've just finished a book。〃
6o
〃I'm on my honeymoon。〃
〃Silly expression；〃 the Colonel said。 〃I never liked it。 It sounds sticky。 Why didn't you say you've just been married？ It makes no difference。 You'd be worthless in any event。〃
'Wh