Chapter 11 chapter Ten

In the morning, when the weather was fine and people sprinkled the streets of the city, the three of us had breakfast in a cafe.Bayonne is a beautiful city.It resembled a small spotless Spanish town on the verge of a great river.Early in the morning, the heat on the bridge across the river was already overwhelming.We walked up the bridge and walked through the city. I was not at all sure that Mike's rod would arrive from Scotland on time, so we looked for a fishing tackle shop and finally got Bill one upstairs in a satin shop.The fishing tackle guy is out and we'll just have to wait for him to come back.The man finally came back and we got a pretty good rod very cheap and two dip nets.

We took to the streets again and went to the cathedral to have a look.Cohen said it was a very good example of what kind of church it was, I can't remember what kind.The church looked elegant, delicate and dark like a Spanish church.Then we went on, past the old fort, to the office of the local tourism union, where the bus is said to leave.We were told there that traffic would not open until July 1st.We inquired about the price of a car to Pamplona at the tourist office, and hired a car for four hundred francs from a large garage on the corner of the Municipal Theater.The car will pick us up at the hotel in forty minutes.We went back to the café on the square where we had breakfast and had a beer.It was hot, but the city had the cool, fresh air of early morning, and it was refreshing to sit in a café.There is a breeze, and you can feel it coming from the sea.Pigeons are perched on the square, and the houses are yellow, as if scorched by the sun.I can't bear to leave the cafe.But we got to the hotel to pack up and pay the bill.We paid for the beers (we tossed a coin and it turned out to be Koeth's bill) and walked to the hotel.Bill and I paid only sixteen francs each, plus a ten percent service charge, and we ordered our bags to be sent downstairs, waiting for Robert Cohen to arrive.We were waiting and I saw a cockroach on the parquet floor, at least three inches long.I pointed it out to Bill and stomped it underfoot.We all thought it had just crawled in from the garden.The hotel is indeed full and clean.

Cohn finally came downstairs, and we went out to the car, which was a big car with a cover, and the driver was wearing a white trench coat with a blue collar and blue cuffs, and we told him to put the rear cover down.He piled up his bags and we set off down Main Street out of town.We passed several landscaped gardens, looked back at the city for a long time, and then drove on to green and rolling fields, the road always creeping upwards.Along the way, there are many Basques driving cattle or ox carts, as well as exquisite farmhouses with low roofs and whitewashed walls.In this Basque country, the land looks fertile and green, and the houses and villages look rich and tidy.There is a piece of pelota in every village, and children are playing under the scorching sun on some courts.There is a sign on the wall of the church, saying that it is forbidden to play ball on the wall, and the houses in the village are covered with red tiles.Then the road turned a corner and began to climb up the mountain. We followed the hillside, with a river valley below, and several hills stretched back to the sea.You can't see the sea from here.It's too far from here.You can only see overlapping mountains, but you can estimate the direction of the sea.

We crossed the Spanish border.There was a stream and a bridge, and on one side were Spanish sentinels with Napoleonic patent-leather cocked hats and muskets on their backs, and on the other side fat French soldiers in baton caps and mustaches.They just opened a travel bag and took our passports into the post for inspection.There is a grocery store and a small inn on both sides of the cordon.The driver had to go into the post to fill out some car registration forms, and we got out to the creek to check for trout.Bill tried a few words of Spanish with a sentinel, but with little success.Robert Cohn pointed to the creek and asked if there were any trout in it, and the sentinel said there were, but not many.I asked him if he had ever fished, and he said no, he wasn't interested.At this moment, an old man walked to the bridge with big strides.His long hair and beard were yellowed by the sun, and his clothes seemed to be sewn from burlap sacks.He held a long stick in his hand, and on his back was a kid with four legs bound and its head drooping.

The sentinel waved his saber to call him back.The old man turned around and followed Bai without saying anything, "What's the matter with this old man?" I asked. "He doesn't have a passport." I handed the sentry a cigarette.He took it and said thank you. "What will he do?" I asked. The sentry spat into the dust. "Hmph, he'll just wade across the river." "Do you have a lot of smuggling here?" "Oh," he said, "people often cross the border." The driver came out and folded the ID and put it in the inner pocket of his jacket.We all got into the car and drove up the dusty white road into Spain.At first, the scenery was almost the same; then, as the road wound up around the hills, we kept climbing up the hills, passing through the passes in the mountains, and then we came to the real Spain.There are rolling brown hills here, with some pine trees growing on them, and beech forests on some distant slopes.The road passed through the top of the pass and then descended. There were two donkeys lying dozing in the middle of the road. In order not to hit them, the driver had to honk his horn, slow down his speed, and go around the side of the road.We came out of the mountains through a forest of oaks where white cattle were grazing.Below were prairies and a few clear streams, and we crossed a small stream, passed through a small dark village, and began climbing again.We climbed, climbed, turned another ridge pass, then turned down the mountain, the road descended to the right, and we saw the whole picture of another mountain range to the south, all brown and burnt, The ravines are in various poses and with different expressions, which is a spectacle.

After a while, we passed through the mountains, with green trees on both sides of the road, a stream and a field of overripe crops.The straight, white road goes straight to the distance, and then the terrain rises slightly. On the left is a hill with an old castle on the hill. There are a group of buildings around the castle. A piece of crops fluctuates with the wind and stretches to the foot of the wall.I was sitting in front with the driver when I turned around.Robert Cohen was dozing off, but Bill looked at me and nodded.Then we drove across an open plain, and on the right a great river, shining with the sun, emerged from the trees, and the highlands of Pamplona rose in the distance, and you could see the city walls, the brown cathedral, and other The jagged silhouette of the church.There are mountains behind the highlands, and there are mountains everywhere as far as the eye can see. The white road stretches forward across the plain and goes straight to the city of Pamplona.

We drove into the city on the other side of the highlands, with tree-lined roads rising steeply and dusty on both sides, then descending through new towns being built outside the old city walls.We passed the bullring, a tall white building that looked solid in the sun, then we drove into the Grand Place by a side street and stopped in front of the Hotel Montoya. The driver helped us unload our travel bags.There was a group of children watching our car, the square was hot, the trees were green, some flags were hanging on the flagpoles, and the square was surrounded by arcades, and it was very comfortable to hide in the shade under the arcades from the sun.Montoya was delighted to see us, shook our hands, gave us a nice room with a window facing the square, then we washed and showered, cleaned up and went downstairs to the restaurant for lunch.The driver also ate here. After eating, we gave him the fare, and he went back to Bayonne.

Hotel Montoya has two restaurants.One was on the second floor, overlooking the square, and the other was one floor below the level of the square, with a door leading to the back street, which is the street that the cattle pass when they run to the bullring in the early morning.The underground restaurant was always shady and we had a good meal.The first meal in Spain is often shocking. There are several plates of cold cuts, an egg dish, two meat dishes, several colored vegetables, cold lettuce, desserts and fruits.It takes a lot of alcohol to swallow all this.Robert Cohn wanted to say that he didn't want the second meat course at all, but we didn't translate it for him, so the waitress brought him another course, which seemed to be a plate of cold meat.Cohen has been in a state of disquiet since he joined us at Bayonne.He wondered if we knew that Brett had been with him in San Sebastián, and it embarrassed him.

"Oh," I said, "Brett and Mike should be here tonight." "I don't see it coming," Cohen said. "Why don't you come?" Bill said. "Of course they will." "They're always late," I said. "I don't think they're coming," Robert Cohen said. He spoke with an air of superiority which annoyed both of us.They come tonight, and I'll bet you fifty pesetas," said Bill. He bets when he's angry, so often he bets unreasonably. "I agree," Cohen said. "Good. You remember, Jack. Fifty pesetas."

"I'll remember it myself," Bill said.I saw that he was angry and wanted to calm him down. "They're sure to come," I said. "But not necessarily tonight." "Do you want to go back on your word?" Cohn asked. "No. Why back out? A hundred pesetas if you like." "Okay. I agree." "Enough," I said. "If you lift it up again, you will have to ask me to be the middleman and let me take the lead." "I have no problem," Cohen said.he laughed. "Anyway, play bridge and you'll probably win your money back."

"You haven't won yet," Bill said. We went out, walked around under the arcade, and went to Café Irune for coffee.Cohen said he was going to shave. "Tell me," Bill said to me, "do I have any hope of winning this bet?" "You're out of luck. They never get anywhere on time. If their money doesn't arrive, they'll never make it tonight." "When I opened my mouth, I regretted it. But I had to push him to a showdown. I don't think he's a bad guy, but where did he get the information? Didn't Mike and Brett tell us to come here?" Are you here?" I saw Cohn coming from the square. "Here he comes." "Oh, let him get over his arrogance and Jewishness." "Barbershops are closed," Cohen said. "It doesn't open until four o'clock." We drank coffee at "Irune", sat in comfortable wicker chairs, looked out over the Grand Place from under the cool arcades.After a while, Bill went back to writing letters, and Cohn went to the barber shop.The barber shop was still closed, so he decided to go back to the hotel and take a shower, while I sat in front of the cafe and wandered around town afterwards.It was hot, and I kept picking the shady side of the road, walking through the market and happily revisiting the city.I rushed to the town hall and found the old gentleman who booked my tickets for the bullfight every year, he had already received the money I sent from Paris and renewed the tickets, so everything was settled.He was the archivist, and all the files in the city were kept in his office.This has nothing to do with this story.But anyway his office had a green duffel door and a big thick wooden door.I came out and left him sitting among the filing cabinets that lined the walls, I closed the doors, and was going out into the street when the porter stopped me to brush the dust off my coat. "You must have been in a car," he said. The back of the collar and the shoulders were covered with a gray layer of dust. "From Bayonne." "Oops," he said. "I know you've been in a car from the dirt on you." So I gave him two coppers. I saw the cathedral at the end of the street and walked towards it.When I first saw this cathedral, I thought its appearance was unpleasant, but now I like it very much.I go into the cathedral.The inside is gloomy and gloomy, with several towering pillars, some people are praying, the hall smells of incense, and there are several wonderful large stained glass windows.I got down on my knees and began to pray, for everyone I could think of, for Brett, Mike, Bill, Robert Cohen, myself, all the bullfighters, and the one I loved, individually, Just put the rest together in one go and prayed for myself again, but as I prayed for myself, I found myself falling asleep, so I just prayed that these bullfights would be good , this festival is excellent, bless us with a few catches.I wondered what else to pray for, and remembered that I needed some money, so I prayed for a fortune, and then I began to think how to earn it, and when I thought of earning money, I thought of the count, Thinking of not knowing where he was, regretting not seeing him that night at Montmartre, and remembering some ridiculous things Brett had told me about him.Now I'm kneeling with my forehead against the back of the bench in front of me, feeling a little ashamed to think I'm praying, regretting being a terrible Catholic, but realizing there's nothing I can do about it , at least for a while, maybe forever, but Catholicism is still a great religion, I hope I have a devout heart, and maybe I will next time I come; On the steps of the church, the index finger and thumb of my right hand are still wet, and I feel them drying in the sun.The sun was hot, and I crossed the square leaning on some buildings and walked back to the hotel along the alleys. At supper that night we found that Robert Cohn had been bathed, shaved, cut, washed, and put on some oil afterwards to keep it from sticking up.He was nervous and I didn't want to comfort him.The train from San Sebastian arrived at nine, and if Brett and Mike came, they should have taken this one.It was twenty minutes to nine, and we hadn't even finished our meal when Robert Cohen got up from the table and said he was going to the station.I deliberately teased him, so I said I would go with him.Bill said it would kill him to get him off the table.I said we'd be right back. We walk to the station.I gloated over Cohen's nervousness.I hope Brett is on this train.The train was late, and we waited in the dark outside the station, sitting on a trolley pushing luggage.Never in my non-war life have I seen a man so nervous, so eager.I find it funny.This joy is bad, but mine is bad.Cohen had this uncanny knack for evoking the ugliest essence in anyone. After a while we heard the whistle of the train coming downhill on the far side of the plateau, and saw the headlights of the train coming up the hill.We walked into the station and stood with a group of people right next to the exit as the train stopped and passengers started to come out through the exit. They were not in the crowd.We waited until the passengers had all left the station, and took buses, cabs, or walked with their relatives and friends through the darkness towards the city. "I knew they wouldn't come," said Robert.We walk back to the hotel. "I thought they might come," I said. Bill was eating some fruit when we walked into the hotel, and the bottle of wine was nearly empty. "Not here, eh?" "yes." "Will you have the hundred pesetas tomorrow morning, Cohen?" Bill asked. "My money hasn't been changed yet." "Hey, no need," said Robert Cohn. "Let's bet on something else. Can you bet on a bullfight?" "You can," Bill said, "but you don't have to." "It's like betting on the war," I said. "You don't have to have any financial concerns." "I'd love to see a bullfight so much," said Robert. Montoya came over to my table.He held a telegram in his hand. "It's for you." He handed me the telegram. The telegram was: Overnight in San Sebastian. "They're calling," I said.I stuffed the telegram in my pocket.Normally I would show it to everyone. "They're spending the night in San Sebastián," I said. "They greet you." I don't know what drove me to tease him at the time.Of course, today I get it.His affair made me feel a kind of irrational, venomous jealousy.Even though I took it for granted, I couldn't change how I felt.I did hate him then.I don't think I really hated him at first, either, until he acted like he knew everything at dinner--and that's not all, and got his hair cut, washed, oiled, and all that shit.So I pocketed the telegram.The telegram was addressed to me anyway. "That's it," I said. "We ought to take the noon bus to Burgot. If they come tomorrow night, they can come later." There are only two trains from San Sebastian, one arrives early in the morning and the other is just picked up by us. "That's a good idea," Cohen said. "The sooner we get to the river the better." "It's the same for me whenever I go," Bill said. "The sooner the better." We sat in "Irune" for a while, drank coffee, and then went out for a short walk to the bullring, and then across a field, under the trees on the edge of the cliff overlooking the river shrouded in darkness. Just go to bed.Bill and Cohn probably stayed in the cafe until very late, because I was asleep by the time they got back to the hotel. The next morning I bought three bus tickets to Burgotte.The car is scheduled to leave at two o'clock.There is no earlier car.I was sitting in "Irune" reading the newspaper, and I saw Robert Cohen coming from the square.He went to the table and sat down in a wicker chair. "This cafe is cozy," he said. "Did you sleep well last night, Jack?" "Slept like you died." "I didn't sleep well. Me and Bill stayed out too late." "Where have you been?" "Just sit here. When it closes, we'll go to the other café. The elderly owner there speaks German and English." "It's Café Suizo." "That's it. The old man's nice. I think that's better than this one." "It's not very nice in the daytime over there," I said. "It's too hot. Let me tell you, I've already bought a ticket." "I'm not leaving today. You and Bill go first." "I've already bought your ticket." "Give it to me, I'll go and get the money back." "Five pesetas." Robert Cohn gave me a five peseta piece. "I have to stay," he said. "You know, I'm afraid something's gone wrong." "What," I said. "If they play in San Sebastián, they won't come here for three or four days." "That's right," said Robert. "I was afraid they were expecting to meet me at San Sebastián, so they stopped there." "Why do you think so?" "Well, I wrote to Brett about it." "Then why the hell didn't you stay there to pick them up?" I was about to say, but I swallowed it.I thought he would have thought of that automatically, but I don't see how it turned out at all. He was speaking intimately to me, and it pleased him that he knew I knew all about him and Brett, so he could tell me the truth. "Okay, Bill and I'll be leaving right after lunch," I said. "I really want to go. We've been looking forward to this fishing all winter." He was sentimental about it. "But I should stay. I really should. I'll take them as soon as they arrive." "Let's go find Bill." "I'm going to the barber's." "See you at lunch." I found Bill in his own room.He is shaving. "Oh, yes, he told me all about it last night," Bill said. "He's a marvelous talker. He said he had an appointment with Brett to meet in San Sebastián." "The lying bastard!" "Oh, come on," Bill said. "Don't be mad. You don't get mad at the beginning of the trip. But how did you know this guy?" "Forget it." Bill was half-shaved, and he looked back, and then, lathering his face, continued talking in the mirror. "Didn't you send him a message to find me in New York last winter? Thank God, I travel a lot and I didn't run into each other. Don't you have any other Jewish friends to bring along?" Bill stroked his chin with his thumb , looked at it, and then shaved again. "Don't you have some very good friends yourself!" "Yeah, there's a few croakers. But there's nothing like this Robert Cohen, who's funny, too. I like him. But he's just too much to bear." "He can be really cute sometimes." "I know, the horror is here." I laughed out loud. "Yeah. Laugh," Bill said. "You didn't stay out with him until two o'clock last night." "Is he in a bad mood?" "It's terrible. What's the matter with him and Brett? Has she ever had anything to do with him?" He raised his chin and turned it side to side with his hand. "Of course. She went to San Sebastián with him." "What a stupid thing to do. Why did she do it?" "She wanted to get away from the city for a while, but she couldn't go anywhere by herself. She said she thought it would do him good." "One man can do such incredible follies. Why doesn't she go with her own family? Or with you?"--he passed the sentence--"Or with me? Why not with me? ’ He examined his face in the mirror, lathering a generous amount of soap on both cheekbones. "It's an honest face. It's something any woman can trust." "She's never seen you like this before." "She should have seen it. It should have been seen by all women. It should have been shown on every screen in the country. A picture like this should have been sent to every woman when she got married and left the altar. Mothers That face should be introduced to their daughters. My son,"—he pointed his razor at me—"go West with this face, and grow up with the country." He lowered his head to the washbasin, rinsed it with cold water, applied a little alcohol, then looked at himself carefully in the mirror, and pulled down his very long upper lip. "My God!" said he, "isn't that an ugly face?" He looks in the mirror. "As for this Robert Cohn," Bill said, "he disgusts me. To hell with him, I'm glad he's here so we don't have to go fishing with him." "You're right." "We're going trout-fishing. We're going trout-fishing on the Irati River, and now we're going to lunch and get drunk on the local wine, and then we'll get in the car and go on a wonderful journey." "Come on. Let's go to 'Irune' and start," I said.