Chapter 3 Chapter two

That winter, Robert Cohen traveled to America with his novel, and the manuscript was accepted by a fairly prestigious publisher.I heard that his trip had caused a violent quarrel, and that Frances probably lost him thereafter, for he had been treated well by several women in New York, and when he returned to Paris he was very changed.He was more devoted to America than ever before, he was not so simple, he was not so kind.The fact that his publishers were raving about his novel had really gone to his head.At that time, several women tried their best to get along with him, and his vision changed completely.For four years his vision was absolutely limited to his wife.For three years, or nearly three years, his attention never went beyond Frances.I am convinced that he had never been really in love in his life.

He had had such a bad time at college that he married under the spur of the moment, and when he found out that he wasn't everything to his first wife, Frances had him.He hadn't really been in love yet, but the realization that he was an attractive man to women, and that a woman liked him and wanted to live with him was more than a miracle of God.It changed him and made him less pleasant to be with.Also, when he played high-stakes bridge games with his New York friends and bet more than he could afford, he had hit good cards and won hundreds of dollars.This made him very proud of his skill, and he remarked several times that one could always make a living at bridge, if one had to.

Besides, there's another thing.He read a lot of W. H. Hudson's novels.It seemed a blameless thing to do, but Cohn read "The Crimson Country" over and over again.Adults reading "The Fuchsia Country" is very harmful.This book describes the imaginary affairs of a perfect English gentleman in a country rich in romance, the stories are colorful and the natural scenery is very good.A man of thirty-four was as unreliable a guide to life as a man of his age who brought a whole set of more practical Alger books straight from a French convent to Wall Street.I believe that Cohen took every sentence in "The Fuchsia Country" word for word as if he read the report of Roger G. Dunn.Don't get me wrong, he has his reservations, but on the whole he thinks the book has a lot of merit.This book alone has animated him.I didn't think how much it affected him, until one day he came to me in the office.

"Hi, Robert," I said. "You came to make me happy, didn't you?" "Do you want to go to South America, Jack?" he asked. "I don't want to go." "why?" "I don't know. I never wanted to go. It's too expensive. Anyway, if you want to see South Americans, you can see them all in Paris." "They're not really South American." "I think they are all very authentic." My one-week newsletter had to be sent out by the intermodal ship, but I only wrote half of it. "What scandal did you hear?" I asked.

"No." "None of your distinguished friends are divorced?" "No. Listen, Jack. If I pay for both of us, will you go to South America with me?" "Why should I go?" "You speak Spanish, and it's more fun when we go together." "No," I said, "I like Paris. I'm going to Spain in the summer." "I've dreamed of doing this trip all my life," Cohen said.He sits down. "Before I go, I will be old." "Stop being silly," I said. "You can go wherever you want. Don't you make such a fortune?"

"I know that. But I always can't go." "Don't be sad," I said. "Every country is not the same as in the movie." But I feel sorry for him.It was enough for him. "I just can't stand the thought that my life is passing so quickly and I'm not really living it." "Except for the matador, no one's life can be called rich and colorful," "I'm not interested in bullfighting. That's not a normal life. I'd like to go out into the interior of South America. Our trip will be interesting." "Have you thought of going hunting in British East Africa?"

"No, I don't like hunting." "I'd like to go there with you." "No, I'm not interested." "It's because you've never read a book about it. Find a book full of stories about people making love to beautiful princesses with shiny dark skin." "I'm going to South America." He had the obstinate, obstinate air of a Jew. "Go downstairs and have a drink." "You're not working?" "Quit," I said.We went downstairs and into the coffee room on the ground floor.I've found this to be the best way to send a friend away.You've got a drink and you just say, "Oh, I've got to go back and send some telegrams," and that's it.One of the most important rules of journalism is that you have to appear off-duty at all times, so it's important to come up with such decent escapes.So we went down to the bar and asked for a whiskey and soda.Cohn looked at the crates of bottles against the wall. "It's a really nice place," he said.

"That's a lot of wine," I said along the way. "Listen, Jack," he said, leaning over the bar cabinet. "Don't you ever feel that your years are passing and you don't enjoy yourself? Don't you realize that you've already lived almost half your life?" "Yes, sometimes I do." "In thirty-five years or so, we'll all be dead, do you understand?" "Don't talk nonsense, Robert," I said. "What are you talking about?" "I'm serious." "I'm not bothering myself about it," I said.

"You should think about it." "I have a lot of troubles in two or three days. I don't want to worry about it anymore." "I'm going to South America anyway." "Listen, Robert, it's the same in other countries. I've tried it. You can't free yourself from one place to another. It's no use." "But you've never been to South America" "To hell with South America! If you go there in the mood you're in, it's not the same. Paris is a good place. Why can't you regroup in Paris?" "I hate Paris, I hate the Latin Quarter."

"Get out of the Latin Quarter, then. Go around by yourself and see what you can come across." "Nothing. Once I wandered alone all night and nothing happened, except for a policeman on a bicycle who stopped me and asked for my papers." "Isn't Paris beautiful at night?" "I don't like Paris." That's the problem.I feel sorry for him, but this is not something you can help, because you will encounter his two deep-rooted ideas at the beginning: one is that going to South America will solve his problems, and the other is that he doesn't like Paris.He got the former idea from a book, and I guess the latter idea also from a book.

"Oh," I said, "I've got to go upstairs and send some telegrams." "You really have to go up?" "Yes, I must send these telegrams." "May I go upstairs and sit in the office for a while?" "Okay, let's go up." He sat outside and read the newspaper. The editor and publisher and I worked intensely for two hours.At last I separated the typescripts from the originals, typed my name, put the papers in two large manila envelopes, and rang the bell for the footman to deliver the envelopes to the St. Laza station.I went out into the outside room and saw Robert Cohn asleep in the big easy chair.He fell asleep with his head on his arms.I hate to wake him up, but I'm going to lock the door and leave the office.I put my hand on his shoulder.He shook his head. "I can't do this," he said, burying his head deeper in his arms. "I can't do it. Not at all." "Robert," I said, shaking his shoulders.He looked up.He laughed and blinked. "Did I just say it out loud?" "Said a few words. But vaguely." "My God, what an unpleasant dream!" "Did the clicking of the typewriter lull you to sleep?" "Probably so. I stayed up all night last night." "What's the matter?" "Talk," he said. I can imagine what was going on.I have a nasty habit of imagining my friends in their bedrooms.We took to the streets to have an aperitif at the Café Napoli and watch the people strolling the boulevards at dusk.