A Farewell to Arms Read online

"I am happy," said the priest.

  "Priest not happy. Priest wants Austrians to win the war," the captain said. The others listened. The priest shook his head.

  "No," he said.

  "Priest wants us never to attack. Don't you want us never to attack?"

  "No. If there is a war I suppose we must attack."

  "Must attack. Shall attack!"

  The priest nodded.

  "Leave him alone," the major said. "He's all right."

  "He can't do anything about it anyway," the captain said. We all got up and left the table.

  4

  The battery in the next garden woke me in the morning and I saw the sun coming through the window and got out of the bed. I went to the window and looked out. The gravel paths were moist and the grass was wet with dew. The battery fired twice and the air came each time like a blow and shook the window and made the front of my pajamas flap. I could not see the guns but they were evidently firing directly over us. It was a nuisance to have them there but it was a comfort that they were no bigger. As I looked out at the garden I heard a motor truck starting on the road. I dressed, went downstairs, had some coffee in the kitchen and went out to the garage.

  Ten cars were lined up side by side under the long shed. They were top-heavy, blunt-nosed ambulances, painted gray and built like moving-vans. The mechanics were working on one out in the yard. Three others were up in the mountains at dressing stations.

  "Do they ever shell that battery?" Tasked one of the mechanics.

  "No, Signor Tenente. It is protected by the little hill."

  "How's everything?"

  "Not so bad. This machine is no good but the others march." He stopped working and smiled. "Were you on permission?"

  "Yes."

  He wiped his hands on his jumper and grinned. "You have a good time?" The others all grinned too.

  "Fine," I said. "What's the matter with this machine?"

  "It's no good. One thing after another."

  "What's the matter now?"

  "New rings."

  I left them working, the car looking disgraced and empty with the engine open and parts spread on the work bench, and went in under the shed and looked at each of the cars. They were moderately clean, a few freshly washed, the others dusty. I looked at the tires carefully, looking for cuts or stone bruises. Everything seemed in good condition. It evidently made no difference whether I was there to look after things or not. I had imagined that the condition of the cars, whether or not things were obtainable, the smooth functioning of the business of removing wounded and sick from the dressing stations, hauling them back from the mountains to the clearing station and then distributing them to the hospitals named on their papers, depended to a considerable extent on myself. Evidently it did not matter whether I was there or not.

  "Has there been any trouble getting parts?" I asked the sergeant mechanic.

  "No, Signor Tenente."

  "Where is the gasoline park now?"

  "At the same place."

  "Good," I said and went back to the house and drank another bowl of coffee at the mess table. The coffee was a pale gray and sweet with condensed milk. Outside the window it was a lovely spring morning. There was that beginning of a feeling of dryness in the nose that meant the day would be hot later on. That day I visited the posts in the mountains and was back in town late in the afternoon.

  The whole thing seemed to run better while I was away. The offensive was going to start again I heard. The division for which we worked were to attack at a place up the river and the major told me that I would see about the posts for during the attack. The attack would cross the river up above the narrow gorge and spread up the hillside. The posts for the cars would have to be as near the river as they could get and keep covered. They would, of course, be selected by the infantry but we were supposed to work it out. It was one of those things that gave you a false feeling of soldiering.

  I was very dusty and dirty and went up to my room to wash. Rinaldi was sitting on the bed with a copy of Hugo's English grammar. He was dressed, wore his black boots, and his hair shone.

  "Splendid," he said when he saw me. "You will come with me to see Miss Barkley."

  "No.

  "Yes. You will please come and make me a good impression on her."

  "All right. Wait till I get cleaned up."

  "Wash up and come as you are."

  I washed, brushed my hair and we started.

  "Wait a minute," Rinaldi said. "Perhaps we should have a drink." He opened his trunk and took out a bottle.

  "Not Strega," I said.

  "No. Grappa."

  "All right."

  He poured two glasses and we touched them, first fingers extended. The grappa was very strong.

  "Another?"

  "All right," I said. We drank the second grappa, Rinaldi put away the bottle and we went down the stairs. It was hot walking through the town but the sun was starting to go down and it was very pleasant. The British hospital was a big villa built by Germans before the war. Miss Barkley was in the garden. Another nurse was with her. We saw their white uniforms through the trees and walked toward them. Rinaldi saluted. I saluted too but more moderately.

  "How do you do?" Miss Barkley said. "You're not an Italian, are you?"

  "Oh, no."

  Rinaldi was talking with the other nurse. They were laughing. "What an odd thing--to be in the Italian army."

  "It's not really the army. It's only the ambulance."

  "It's very odd though. Why did you do it?"

  "I don't know," I said. "There isn't always an explanation for everything."

  "Oh, isn't there? I was brought up to think there was."

  "That's awfully nice."

  "Do we have to go on and talk this way?"

  "No," I said.

  "That's a relief. Isn't it?"

  "What is the stick?" I asked. Miss Barkley was quite tall. She wore what seemed to me to be a nurse's uniform, was blonde and had a tawny skin and gray eyes. I thought she was very beautiful. She was carrying a thin rattan stick like a toy riding-crop, bound in leather.

  "It belonged to a boy who was killed last year."

  "I'm awfully sorry."

  "He was a very nice boy. He was going to marry me and he was killed in the Somme."

  "It was a ghastly show."

  "Were you there?"

  "No."

  "I've heard about it," she said. "There's not really any war of that sort down here. They sent me the little stick. His mother sent it to me. They returned it with his things."

  "Had you been engaged long?"

  "Eight years. We grew up together."

  "And why didn't you marry?"

  "I don't know," she said. "I was a fool not to. I could have given him that anyway. But I thought it would be bad for him."

  "I see."

  "Have you ever loved any one?"

  "No," I said.

  We sat down on a bench and I looked at her.

  "You have beautiful hair," I said.

  "Do you like it?"

  "Very much."

  "I was going to cut it all off when he died."

  "No."

  "I wanted to do something for him. You see I didn't care about the other thing and he could have had it all. He could have had anything he wanted if I would have known. I would have married him or anything. I know all about it now. But then he wanted to go to war and I didn't know."

  I did not say anything.

  "I didn't know about anything then. I thought it would be worse for him. I thought perhaps he couldn't stand it and then of course he was killed and that was the end of it."

  "I don't know."

  "Oh, yes," she said. "That's the end of it."

  We looked at Rinaldi talking with the other nurse.

  "What is her name?"

  "Ferguson. Helen Ferguson. Your friend is a doctor, isn't he?"

  "Yes
. He's very good."

  "That's splendid. You rarely find any one any good this close to the front. This is close to the front, isn't it?"

  "Quite."

  "It's a silly front," she said. "But it's very beautiful. Are they going to have an offensive?"

  "Yes."

  "Then we'll have to work. There's no work now."

  "Have you done nursing long?"

  "Since the end of 'fifteen. I started when he did. I remember having a silly idea he might come to the hospital where I was. With a sabre cut, I suppose, and a bandage around his head. Or shot through the shoulder. Something picturesque."

  "This is the picturesque front," I said.

  "Yes," she said. "People can't realize what France is like. If they did, it couldn't all go on. He didn't have a sabre cut. They blew him all to bits."

  I didn't say anything.

  "Do you suppose it will always go on?"

  "No."

  "What's to stop it?"

  "It will crack somewhere."

  "We'll crack. We'll crack in France. They can't go on doing things like the Somme and not crack."

  "They won't crack here," I said.

  "You think not?"

  "No. They did very well last summer."

  "They may crack," she said. "Anybody may crack."

  "The Germans too."

  "No," she said. "I think not."

  We went over toward Rinaldi and Miss Ferguson.

  "You love Italy?" Rinaldi asked Miss Ferguson in English.

  "Quite well."

  "No understand," Rinaldi shook his head.

  "Abbastanza bene," I translated.

  He shook his head.

  "That is not good. You love England?"

  "Not too well. I'm Scotch, you see."

  Rinaldi looked at me blankly.

  "She's Scotch, so she loves Scotland better than England," I said in Italian.

  "But Scotland is England."

  I translated this for Miss Ferguson.

  "Pas encore," said Miss Ferguson.

  "Not really?"

  "Never. We do not like the English."

  "Not like the English? Not like Miss Barkley?"

  "Oh, that's different. You mustn't take everything so literally."

  After a while we said good-night and left. Walking home Rinaldi said, "Miss Barkley prefers you to me. That is very clear. But the little Scotch one is very nice."

  "Very," I said. I had not noticed her. "You like her?"

  "No," said Rinaldi.

  5

  The next afternoon I went to call on Miss Barkley again. She was not in the garden and I went to the side door of the villa where the ambulances drove up. Inside I saw the head nurse, who said Miss Barkley was on duty--"there's a war on, you know."

  I said I knew.

  "You're the American in the Italian army?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "How did you happen to do that? Why didn't you join up with us?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Could I join now?"

  "I'm afraid not now. Tell me. Why did you join up with the Italians?"

  "I was in Italy," I said, "and I spoke Italian."

  "Oh," she said. "I'm learning it. It's beautiful language."

  "Somebody said you should be able to learn it in two weeks."

  "Oh, I'll not learn it in two weeks. I've studied it for months now. You may come and see her after seven o'clock if you wish. She'll be off then. But don't bring a lot of Italians."

  "Not even for the beautiful language?"

  "No. Nor for the beautiful uniforms."

  "Good evening," I said.

  "A rivederci, Tenente."

  "A rivederla." I saluted and went out. It was impossible to salute foreigners as an Italian, without embarrassment. The Italian salute never seemed made for export.

  The day had been hot. I had been up the river to the bridgehead at Plava. It was there that the offensive was to begin. It had been impossible to advance on the far side the year before because there was only one road leading down from the pass to the pontoon bridge and it was under machine-gun and shell fire for nearly a mile. It was not wide enough either to carry all the transport for an offensive and the Austrians could make a shambles out of it. But the Italians had crossed and spread out a little way on the far side to hold about a mile and a half on the Austrian side of the river. It was a nasty place and the Austrians should not have let them hold it. I suppose it was mutual tolerance because the Austrians still kept a bridgehead further down the river. The Austrian trenches were above on the hillside only a few yards from the Italian lines. There had been a little town but it was all rubble. There was what was left of a railway station and a smashed permanent bridge that could not be repaired and used because it was in plain sight.

  I went along the narrow road down toward the river, left the car at the dressing station under the hill, crossed the pontoon bridge, which was protected by a shoulder of the mountain, and went through the trenches in the smashed-down town and along the edge of the slope. Everybody was in the dugouts. There were racks of rockets standing to be touched off to call for help from the artillery or to signal with if the telephone wires were cut. It was quiet, hot and dirty. I looked across the wire at the Austrian lines. Nobody was in sight. I had a drink with a captain that I knew in one of the dugouts and went back across the bridge.

  A new wide road was being finished that would go over the mountain and zig-zag down to the bridge. When this road was finished the offensive would start. It came down through the forest in sharp turns. The system was to bring everything down the new road and take the empty trucks, carts and loaded ambulances and all returning traffic up the old narrow road. The dressing station was on the Austrian side of the river under the edge of the hill and stretcher-bearers would bring the wounded back across the pontoon bridge. It would be the same when the offensive started. As far as I could make out the last mile or so of the new road where it started to level out would be able to be shelled steadily by the Austrians. It looked as though it might be a mess. But I found a place where the cars would be sheltered after they passed that last badlooking bit and could wait for the wounded to be brought across the pontoon bridge. I would have liked to drive over the new road but it was not yet finished. It looked wide and well made with a good grade and the turns looked very impressive where you could see them through openings in the forest on the mountain side. The cars would be all right with their good metal-to-metal brakes and anyway, coming down, they would not be loaded. I drove back up the narrow road.

  Two carabinieri held the car up. A shell had fallen and while we waited three others fell up the road. They were seventy-sevens and came with a whishing rush of air, a hard bright burst and flash and then gray smoke that blew across the road. The carabinieri waved us to go on. Passing where the shells had landed I avoided the small broken places and smelled the high explosive and the smell of blasted clay and stone and freshly shattered flint. I drove back to Gorizia and our villa and, as I said, went to call on Miss Barkley, who was on duty.

  At dinner I ate very quickly and left for the villa where the British had their hospital. It was really very large and beautiful and there were fine trees in the grounds. Miss Barkley was sitting on a bench in the garden. Miss Ferguson was with her. They seemed glad to see me and in a little while Miss Ferguson excused herself and went away.

  "I'll leave you two," she said. "You get along very well without me."

  "Don't go, Helen," Miss Barkley said.

  "I'd really rather. I must write some letters."

  "Good-night," I said.

  "Good-night, Mr. Henry."

  "Don't write anything that will bother the censor."

  "Don't worry. I only write about what a beautiful place we live in and how brave the Italians are."

  "That way you'll be decorated."

  "That will be nice. Good-night, Catherine."

&nbs
p; "I'll see you in a little while," Miss Barkley said. Miss Ferguson walked away in the dark.

  "She's nice," I said.

  "Oh, yes, she's very nice. She's a nurse."

  "Aren't you a nurse?"

  "Oh, no. I'm something called a V. A. D. We work very hard but no one trusts us."

  "Why not?"

  "They don't trust us when there's nothing going on. When there is really work they trust us."

  "What is the difference?"

  "A nurse is like a doctor. It takes a long time to be. A V. A. D. is a short cut."

  "I see."

  "The Italians didn't want women so near the front. So we're all on very special behavior. We don't go out."

  "I can come here though."

  "Oh, yes. We're not cloistered."

  "Let's drop the war."

  "It's very hard. There's no place to drop it."

  "Let's drop it anyway."

  "All right."

  We looked at each other in the dark. I thought she was very beautiful and I took her hand. She let me take it and I held it and put my arm around under her arm.

  "No," she said. I kept my arm where it was.

  "Why not?"

  "No."

  "Yes," I said. "Please." I leaned forward in the dark to kiss her and there was a sharp stinging flash. She had slapped my face hard. Her hand had hit my nose and eyes, and tears came in my eyes from the reflex.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. I felt I had a certain advantage.

  "You were quite right."

  "I'm dreadfully sorry," she said. "I just couldn't stand the nurse's-eveningoff aspect of it. I didn't mean to hurt you. I did hurt you, didn't I?"

  She was looking at me in the dark. I was angry and yet certain, seeing it all ahead like the moves in a chess game.

  "You did exactly right," I said. "I don't mind at all."

  "Poor man."

  "You see I've been leading a sort of a funny life. And I never even talk English. And then you are so very beautiful." I looked at her.

  "You don't need to say a lot of nonsense. I said I was sorry. We do get along."

  "Yes," I said. "And we have gotten away from the war."

  She laughed. It was the first time I had ever heard her laugh. I watched her face.

  "You are sweet," she said.

  "No, I'm not."

  "Yes. You are a dear. I'd be glad to kiss you if you don't mind."

  I looked in her eyes and put my arm around her as I had before and kissed her. I kissed her hard and held her tight and tried to open her lips; they were closed tight. I was still angry and as I held her suddenly she shivered. I held her close against me and could feel her heart beating and her lips opened and her head went back against my hand and then she was crying on my shoulder.

  "Oh, darling," she said. "You will be good to me, won't you?"

  What the hell, I thought. I stroked her hair and patted her shoulder. She was crying.

  "You will, won't you?" She looked up at me. "Because we're going to have a strange life."

  After a while I walked with her to the door of the villa and she went in and I walked home. Back at the villa I went upstairs to the room. Rinaldi was lying on his bed. He looked at me.

  "So you make progress with Miss Barkley?"

  "We are friends."

  "You have that pleasant air of a dog in heat."

  I did not understand the word.