The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway [71]
He took a long drink of the beer.
"He is an ass."
"What happened?"
"Brett gave him what for. She told him off. I think she was rather good."
"I'll bet she was," Bill said.
"Then Cohn broke down and cried, and wanted to shake hands with the bull-fighter fellow. He wanted to shake hands with Brett, too."
"I know. He shook hands with me."
"Did he? Well, they weren't having any of it. The bull-fighter fellow was rather good. He didn't say much, but he kept getting up and getting knocked down again. Cohn couldn't knock him out. It must have been damned funny."
"Where did you hear all this?"
"Brett. I saw her this morning."
"What happened finally?"
"It seems the bull-fighter fellow was sitting on the bed. He'd been knocked down about fifteen times, and he wanted to fight some more. Brett held him and wouldn't let him get up. He was weak, but Brett couldn't hold him, and he got up. Then Cohn said he wouldn't hit him again. Said he couldn't do it. Said it would be wicked. So the bull-fighter chap sort of rather staggered over to him. Cohn went back against the wall.
"'So you won't hit me?'
"'No,' said Cohn. 'I'd be ashamed to.'
"So the bull-fighter fellow hit him just as hard as he could in the face, and then sat down on the floor. He couldn't get up, Brett said. Cohn wanted to pick him up and carry him to the bed. He said if Cohn helped him he'd kill him, and he'd kill him anyway this morning if Cohn wasn't out of town. Cohn was crying, and Brett had told him off, and he wanted to shake hands. I've told you that before."
"Tell the rest," Bill said.
"It seems the bull-fighter chap was sitting on the floor. He was waiting to get strength enough to get up and hit Cohn again. Brett wasn't having any shaking hands, and Cohn was crying and telling her how much he loved her, and she was telling him not to be a ruddy ass. Then Cohn leaned down to shake hands with the bull-fighter fellow. No hard feelings, you know. All for forgiveness. And the bull-fighter chap hit him in the face again."
"That's quite a kid," Bill said.
"He ruined Cohn," Mike said. "You know I don't think Cohn will ever want to knock people about again."
"When did you see Brett?"
"This morning. She came in to get some things. She's looking after this Romero lad."
He poured out another bottle of beer.
"Brett's rather cut up. But she loves looking after people. That's how we came to go off together. She was looking after me."
"I know," I said.
"I'm rather drunk," Mike said. "I think I'll stay rather drunk. This is all awfully amusing, but it's not too pleasant. It's not too pleasant for me."
He drank off the beer.
"I gave Brett what for, you know. I said if she would go about with Jews and bull-fighters and such people, she must expect trouble." He leaned forward. "I say, Jake, do you mind if I drink that bottle of yours? She'll bring you another one."
"Please," I said. "I wasn't drinking it, anyway."
Mike started to open the bottle. "Would you mind opening it?" I pressed up the wire fastener and poured it for him.
"You know," Mike went on, "Brett was rather good. She's always rather good. I gave her a fearful hiding about Jews and bullfighters, and all those sort of people, and do you know what she said: 'Yes. I've had such a hell of a happy life with the British aristocracy!'
He took a drink.
"That was rather good. Ashley, chap she got the title from, was a sailor, you know. Ninth baronet. When he came home he wouldn't sleep in a bed. Always made Brett sleep on the floor. Finally, when he got really bad, he used to tell her he'd kill her. Always slept with a loaded service revolver. Brett used to take the shells out when he'd gone to sleep. She hasn't had an absolutely happy life, Brett. Damned shame, too. She enjoys things so."
He stood up. His hand was shaky.
"I'm going in the room. Try and get a little sleep."
He smiled.
"We go too long without sleep in these fiestas. I'm going to start