Chapter 9 chapter eight

I didn't see Brett again until she came back from San Sebastián.She sent a postcard from there.The postcard had a picture of Concha Bay and said, "Darling. Very peaceful and wholesome. Greetings to all of you. Brett." I haven't seen Robert Cohen for a while.Hearing that Frances had gone to England, I got a short note from Cohn saying he was going to the country for a fortnight, not yet decided, but he wanted me to stick to the plan we had talked about last winter: a fishing trip to Spain .He wrote that I can always reach him through his bank broker. Brett was gone, and I wasn't bothered by Cohen's troubles, and I was relieved to not have to play tennis.Because I have a lot of work to do.I used to go to the racetrack and have dinner with friends.I'm going to Spain with Bill Gorton at the end of June, so I often work overtime in the office to get some things out ahead of time and hand them over to the secretary.Bill Gorton arrived in Paris, stayed at my place for two days before leaving for Vienna.He gleefully praised America as wonderful.New York couldn't be better.There's a huge theatrical season there, and a slew of fantastic young heavyweight boxers.Each of them holds great promise of growing up, putting on weight and beating Dempsey.Bill was in high spirits.One of his latest books has made him a fortune, and he's going to make more.We had a good time in Paris for two days, and then he went to Vienna.He will be back in three weeks when we will leave for Spain to go fishing and then to Pamplona for the holidays.He wrote that Vienna was charming.Then a postcard came from Budapest saying: "Jack, Budapest is amazing." Finally I got a telegram: "Come back Monday."

On Monday night, he came to my apartment.I heard his taxi stop and went to the window to call him; he waved and came upstairs with some travel bags.I meet him on the stairs and take a travel bag. "Ah," I said, "I hear you enjoyed your trip." "Excellent," he said. "Budapest is insanely nice." "Where's Vienna?" "Not great, Jack. Not great. Seems a little better than it used to be." "What do you mean?" I'm holding wine glasses and a soda bottle. "I've been drunk, Jack. I've been drunk." "Didn't think so. Let's have a drink." Bill wiped his forehead. "It's a strange thing," he said. "Drunk somehow. Suddenly drunk."

"Is it long?" "Four days, Jack. Exactly four days." "Where have you been?" "Don't remember. I sent you a postcard. I totally remember that." "What else?" "I don't know. Maybe..." "Go on. Tell me." Terrible. I'll tell you as much as I can remember." "Go on. Finish this drink and think about it." "Maybe remember a little," Bill said. "Reminds me of a boxing match. A big fight in Vienna. There was a black person in it. I remember the black person well." "Go on."

"A great black person. Looks like 'Tiger' Flowers, but four his size. All of a sudden, the audience is throwing stuff. I don't. The black person just knocked out a local guy in the Land. The black person held up his gloved hand. About to make a speech. He had a good air. He was about to speak when the local white guy punched him. He punched the white guy Knocked out. That's when the spectators started throwing the seats. The black person got a ride home with us. Couldn't even get the clothes. In my coat. I remember the whole thing now. What a night." "and after?"

"I lent some clothes to the black man, and I ran with him, trying to get the money. But people said that the place was ruined, and the black man owed them money. I don't know who is the translator? Is it me?" "Probably not you." "You're right. It wasn't really me. Someone else. We seem to call him a local Harvard graduate. Remembered him. Taking music lessons." "what's the result?" "It's not good, Jack. There's no reason in the world. The boxer insists that the black person promised to let the local white guy win. Said the black person broke the contract. Can't knock out a Viennese boxer in Viennese." Mister Ton,' said the black person, 'I was in the arena for a good forty minutes doing nothing but trying to keep him. The white guy must have hurt himself when he punched me. I really didn't shoot Hit him.'"

"You want money?" "Nothing, Jack. Just got the black person's clothes back. His watch was taken away too. The black person's a marvelous one. It's a big mistake to go to Vienna. It's not a very nice place, Jack. Not very much." it is good." "What happened to the black person?" "Back to Cologne. Lives there. Married. Wife and kid. Writes to me and sends back the money I lent him. What a black person. I hope I gave him the right address. " "Probably right." "Come on, let's eat," Bill said. "Unless you want me to tell you more about my travels."

"Go on." "Let's go eat." We went downstairs and walked up the Rue Saint-Michel on a warm June evening. "Where are we going?" "Want to eat on the island?" "Of course." We walk north along the main street.At the intersection of the Avenue and Rue Denfert-Rochereau, there is a statue of a pair of statues with fluttering robes. "I know who these two men are," Bill said, looking at the monument. "Gentlemen who pioneered pharmacy. Don't try to fool me about Paris." Let's go forward. "There's a taxidermy store here," Bill said. "Want to buy something? A nice stuffed dog?"

"Let's go," I said. "you're drunk." "Pretty stuffed dog," Bill said. "It's sure to brighten the walls of your room." "Let's go." "You buy it a stuffed dog. I can buy it or not. But listen, Jack. You buy it a stuffed dog." "Let's go." "Once you get it, you don't want anything else in the world. Simple exchange of value. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog." "Buy one when you get back." "Okay. Do as you like. The road to hell is covered with stuffed dogs that should have been bought but didn't. Don't blame me in the future."

Let's move on. "Why are you so interested in dogs all of a sudden?" "I've always liked dogs. Always been very fond of taxidermy." We stopped and had a glass of wine. "I do like drinking," Bill said. "You might as well try it once in a while, Jack," "You beat me by a hundred and forty-four points." "Don't let this discourage you. Never be discouraged. My secret to success. Never been discouraged. Never been discouraged in front of anyone." "Where did you drink?" "Bend a bit at the Krillon. Jorge made me a couple of cocktails. Jorge is a terrific guy. Know the secret to his success? Never gets discouraged." "You drink three more Pernods would get discouraged." "Not in front of other people. I just slip away by myself when I feel bad. I'm like a cat in that." "When did you meet Harvey Stone?" "In 'Crillon '. Harvey was a bit overwhelmed. Didn't eat for three days. Won't eat anything. Slew like a cat. Very sad."

"It doesn't matter to him." "Great. Hope he doesn't keep slipping away like a cat. Makes me so nervous." "What are we doing tonight?" "It's the same as anything. We just have to hold on. Do you see any boiled eggs here? If there are, we don't have to travel so far to the island to eat them." "No," I said. "We're going to have a serious meal." "Just a suggestion," Bill said. "Leave if you want?" "Walk." We walked down the street again.A carriage passed us.Bill glanced at it.

"See that wagon? I'm going to stuff that wagon for you for Christmas. Going to have stuffed animals for all my friends. I'm a naturalist." A taxi drove past, someone was waving inside, and then knocked on the window to tell the driver to stop.The car overturned onto the sidewalk.Inside sat Brett. "What a beauty," Bill said. "Take us away!" "Hi!" said Brett. "Hello!" "This is Bill Gorton. This is Mrs. Ashley." Brett smiled at Bill. "Well, I just got back and I haven't even had a shower. Michael's here tonight." "Okay. Come on, let's go eat together and pick him up later." "I have to wash up," "Stop talking nonsense! Let's go." "Must take a bath. He won't be there until nine o'clock." "Then have a drink before you take a shower." "Alright. You have a point in what you say." We got in the car.The driver turned around. "Go to the nearest hotel," I said. "Let's go to Lilac Garden," said Brett. "I can't drink that bad brandy." "'Lilac Garden'." Brett turned to Bill. "How long have you been in this nasty city?" "Just came from Budapest today." "How's Budapest?" "Excellent. Budapest is very nice." "Ask him how Vienna is." "Vienna," Bill said, "is a queer city." "Very much like Paris," Brett told him, laughing, wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes. "Exactly," Bill said. "It's a lot like Paris at this time of day." "We can't catch up with you." We sat on the patio outside Lilac Gardens, and Brett ordered a whiskey and soda, I asked for one, and Bill ordered a Pernod. "How are you, Jack?" "Very good," I said. "I had a great time." Brett looked at me. "I was a fool to go out," she said. "Whoever leaves Paris is an ass." "Have you had a good time?" "Hey, not bad. Interesting. Not particularly fun, though." "Meet someone you know?" "No, hardly any. I never leave the house." "You didn't even go swimming?" "No. Nothing." "Sounds like Vienna," Bill said. Brett squinted at him, wrinkles forming at the corners. "That's what Vienna looks like." "Everything is the same as in Vienna." Brett smiled at him again. "That's a good friend of yours, Jack." "He's good," I said, "he's a taxidermy." "That's still in another country," Bill said. "And they were all dead animals." "One more drink," said Brett. "I must be going. Tell the waiter, please, to hire a cab." "There is a row of cars outside, just opposite." "it is good." We finished our drinks and drove Brett to the car. "Remember, be at Ascot about ten. Tell him to come too. Michael will be there." "We'll go," Bill said.The taxi pulled away and Brett waved to us. "What a wonderful woman," Bill said. "Educated. Who's Michael?" "That's the one she's going to marry." "Yeah," Bill said. "It's always when I meet a woman. What do I give them? You think they'd like a pair of racehorses?" "Let's go eat." "Is she really a Mrs. So-and-so?" Bill asked me in the car on our way to Ile Saint-Louis. "It's recorded in the horse pedigree or something." "Okay." We dined in Mrs. Lecomte's restaurant in the north of the island.It was full of Americans and we had to stand and wait to be seated.Someone put the restaurant in the guidebook of the American Women's Club as a quaint restaurant on the quays of Paris that hadn't been visited by Americans, so we waited forty-five minutes for a table.Bill had dined here in 1918, right after the armistice, and Mrs. Lecomte was all set upon seeing him. "But get us an empty table without it," Bill said. "She's still a wonderful woman." We had a good meal: roast chicken, fresh beans, mashed potatoes, salad, and some apple pie with cheese. "You've got people from all over the world here," Bill said to Mrs. Lecomte.She raised a hand. "Oh, my God!" "You want to get rich!" "I hope so." After coffee and brandy we come for the bill.As usual, the bill was written in chalk on a slate, which is certainly one of the "quaint" features of the restaurant.We paid our bill, shook hands with Madame Lecomte, and came out. "You don't want to come here, Mr. Barnes," said Mrs. Lecomte. "There are too many compatriots from the United States." "Come at lunchtime. It's not crowded." "Okay. I'll be there." We walked forward under the street trees on the Orleans Riverside Street in the north of the island, whose branches protruded from the bank and shrouded the river.Across the river are the ruins of some old houses that are being demolished. "To open up a street." "That's what it's doing," Bill said. We continue to move forward and circle the island for a week.The surface of the river was pitch black, and a brightly lit small river passenger ship passed by. It hurried upstream quietly and disappeared under the bridge hole.Notre Dame crouched under the night sky down the river.We walked from the Bedouin Riverside Street to the left bank of the Seine through the small wooden bridge, and stopped on the bridge to overlook the Notre Dame Cathedral downstream of the river.Standing on the bridge, I saw the island was dark and dark, the houses rose high in the sky, and the trees showed a shadow. "What a spectacle," Bill said. "God, I really want to go back." We leaned on the wooden railing of the bridge and looked upstream at the lights of the big bridges.The water under the bridge was calm and dark.It flows silently over the piers.A man and a girl walked past us.They walked away with their arms around each other. We crossed the wooden bridge and walked up the Bishop Lemoine Road.The road was steep, and we walked until we reached Contres Cape Plaza, where arc lights fell through the foliage, and a bus was parked under a tree that was about to start. Music blares from inside the door of the "Happy Negro" café.Through the window of the Lover's Café, I see the long tin bar cabinet inside.Some workers were drinking on the patio outside the door.In the open-air kitchen of The Enthusiast, a girl fried potato chips in a frying pan.There is an iron pot of stew next to it.An old man was standing with a bottle of red wine in his hand, and the girl scooped up some and put it on a plate and handed it to him. "Want a drink?" "Don't want to drink," Bill said. "Not now." We turned right on Contrescap Square and walked down flat, narrow streets flanked by tall and ancient houses.Some houses jut out into the middle of the street.Others flinched.We took the Iron Pot Road, followed it, and it took us to the straight north-south Rue Saint-Jacques, and then we went south, passing the Valdegrasse Church with the courtyard in front of it, surrounded by iron fences, to the Port Royal Avenue. "What do you want to do?" I asked. "To see Brett and Mike in the cafe?" "OK" We walked up the Avenue Montparnasse, which joins the Avenue Port Royal, walked straight ahead, passed the "Lilac Garden", "Lavigne", "Damouilly" and other small cafes, and crossed the road to the opposite side Nathonda, passed the tables in front of it in the light, and came to Ascot. Michael got up from the table and came over to meet us.His face was tanned and looked good. "Hi-hi, Jack," he said. "Hi-hi! How are you, old friend?" "Looks like you're getting stronger, Mike." "It's pretty solid. I don't do anything but walk. I walk all day. I have a glass of wine with my mother every day at tea." Bill went into the bar.He was standing talking to Brett, who was sitting on a high stool with her legs crossed.She didn't wear stockings. "It's good to see you, Jack," Michael said. "I'm kind of drunk, you know. Unexpected? Did you notice my nose?" There was a pool of dried blood on the bridge of his nose. "Bruised by an old lady's handbag," Mike said. "I reached up to help her get some handbags and they fell on my head." Brett was gesturing to him with her cigarette holder in the bar, winking. "An old lady," Mike said. "Her handbag hit me on the head." "Let's go in and see Brett. Why, she's a charming thing. You're a lovely lady, Brett. Where did you get that hat?" "A friend bought it for me. You don't like it?" "Too ugly. Get the best." "Oh, we've got a lot of money now," said Brett. "Well, you don't know Bill yet, do you? You're a lovely host, Jack." She turned to Mike. "This is Bill Gorton. The drunk is Mike Campbell. Mr. Campbell is a bankrupt with outstanding debts." "Isn't it? You know, I ran into my old partner yesterday in London. He's the one who got me to this point." "What did he say?" "Give me a glass of wine. I thought I might as well. Say, Brett, you're a charming thing. Don't you think she's pretty?" "Beautiful. With such a nose?" "Nose is lovely. Come on, point it at me. Isn't she a charming thing?" "Shouldn't this one be left in Scotland?" Let's go back to bed early." "Don't be so sloppy, Michael. Don't forget there's a lady in this bar." "Isn't she an attractive thing? What do you think, Jack?" "There's a show tonight. Boxing," Bill said. "Want to go?" "A boxing match," Mike said. "Who fights?" "Ledoux against so-and-so." "Ledoux is good at boxing," Mike said. "I'd really like to see it"—he tried to pull himself together—"but I can't. I've got an appointment with this thing. Say, Brett, do go and buy a new hat." Brett pulled down her felt hat, covered one eye, and smiled under the brim. "You two go to the boxing. I have to take Mr. Campbell straight home." "I'm not drunk," Mike said. "Perhaps a little tipsy. Hey, Brett, you're a charming thing." "You guys go to the boxing," Brett said. "Mr. Campbell is getting more and more difficult. Where's your passion, Michael?" "Hi, you are a charming thing." We said goodbye. "It's a pity I can't go," Mike said.Brett chuckled.I went to the door and looked back.With one hand on the bar cabinet, Mike leaned forward to speak to Brett.Brett looked at him rather nonchalantly, but there was a smile in the corner of her eye. Out on the sidewalk, I said, "Do you want to go to the boxing?" "Of course," Bill said. "If we don't have to walk." "Mike is proud of his girlfriend," I said in the car. "Yeah," Bill said. "How can you blame him so much?"