Read Online Across the River and Into the Trees by Ernest Hemingway - Free Book Online Page A

very much and I have never known finer people nor people more as we are.”
    “I have never had the good fortune to know them.”
    “You will, boy. You will. Unless the Honorable Pacciardi stops them on the line of the Piave, which is a river which no longer contains water. It has been syphoned off for hydro-electric projects. Perhaps the Honorable Pacciardi will fight there. But I do not think he will fight for long.”
    “I do not know the Honorable Pacciardi.”
    “I know him,” said the Colonel.
    “Now ask them to ring Harry’s and see if the Contessa is there. If not, have them ring the house again.”
    The Colonel took the drink Arnaldo, the glass-eyed waiter, made him. He did not want it, and he knew that it was bad for him.
    But he took it with his old wild-boar truculence, as he had taken everything all of his life, and he moved, still cat-like when he moved, although it was an old cat now, over to the open window and looked out on the great Canal which was now becoming as grey as though Degas had painted it on one of his greyest days.
    “Thanks very much for the drink,” the Colonel said, and Arnaldo, who was talking into the telephone, nodded and smiled his glass-eyed smile.
    I wish he did not have to have that glass eye, the Colonel thought. He only loved people, he thought, who had fought or been mutilated.
    Other people were fine and you liked them and were good friends; but you only felt true tenderness and love for those who had been there and had received the castigation that everyone receives who goes there long enough.
    So I’m a sucker for crips, he thought, drinking the unwanted drink. And any son of a bitch who has been hit solidly, as every man will be if he stays, then I love him.
    Yes, his other, good, side said. You love them.
    I’d rather not love anyone, the Colonel thought. I’d rather have fun.
    And fun, his good side said to him, you have no fun when you do not love.
    All right. I love more than any son of the great bitch alive, the Colonel said, but not aloud.
    Aloud, he said, “Where are you getting on that call, Arnaldo?”
    “Cipriani has not come in,” the waiter said. “They are expecting him at any moment and I am keeping the line open in case he arrives.”
    “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