"Hemingway, Ernest - The Sun Also Rises" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hemingway Ernest)

Brett smiled at him. "I've promised to dance this with Jacob," she laughed. "You've a hell of a biblical name, Jake."
"How about the next?" asked Cohn.
"We're going," Brett said. "We've a date up at Montmartre."
Dancing, I looked over Brett's shoulder and saw Cohn, standing at the bar, still watching her.
"You've made a new one there," I said to her.
"Don't talk about it. Poor chap. I never knew it till just now."
"Oh, well," I said. "I suppose you like to add them up."
"Don't talk like a fool."
"You do."
"Oh, well. What if I do?"
"Nothing," I said. We were dancing to the accordion and some one was playing the banjo. It was hot and I felt happy. We passed close to Georgette dancing with another one of them.
"What possessed you to bring her?"
"I don't know, I just brought her."
"You're getting damned romantic."
"No, bored."
"Now?"
"No, not now."
"Let's get out of here. She's well taken care of."
"Do you want to?"
"Would I ask you if I didn't want to?"
We left the floor and I took my coat off a hanger on the wall and put it on. Brett stood by the bar. Cohn was talking to her. I stopped at the bar and asked them for an envelope. The patronne found one. I took a fifty-franc note from my pocket, put it in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the patronne.
"If the girl I came with asks for me, will you give her this?" I said. "If she goes out with one of those gentlemen, will you save this for me?"
"C'est entendu, Monsieur," the patronne said. "You go now? So early?"
"Yes," I said.
We started out the door. Cohn was still talking to Brett. She said good night and took my arm. "Good night, Cohn," I said. Outside in the street we looked for a taxi.
"You're going to lose your fifty francs," Brett said.
"Oh, yes."
"No taxis."
"We could walk up to the Pantheon and get one."
"Come on and we'll get a drink in the pub next door and send for one."
"You wouldn't walk across the street."
"Not if I could help it."
We went into the next bar and I sent a waiter for a taxi.
"Well," I said, "we're out away from them."
We stood against the tall zinc bar and did not talk and looked at each other. The waiter came and said the taxi was outside. Brett pressed my hand hard. I gave the waiter a franc and we went out. "Where should I tell him?" I asked.
"Oh, tell him to drive around."
I told the driver to go to the Parc Montsouris, and got in, and slammed the door. Brett was leaning back in the corner, her eyes closed. I sat beside her. The cab started with a jerk.
"Oh, darling, I've been so miserable," Brett said.




4


The taxi went up the hill, passed the lighted square, then on into the dark, still climbing, then levelled out onto a dark street behind St. Etienne du Mont, went smoothly down the asphalt, passed the trees and the standing bus at the Place de la Contrescarpe, then turned onto the cobbles of the Rue Mouffetard. There were lighted bars and late open shops on each side of the street. We were sitting apart and we jolted close together going down the old street. Brett's hat was off. Her head was back. I saw her face in the lights from the open shops, then it was dark, then I saw her face clearly as we came out on the Avenue des Gobelins. The street was torn up and men were working on the car-tracks by the light of acetylene flares. Brett's face was white and the long line of her neck showed in the bright light of the flares. The street was dark again and I kissed her. Our lips were tight together and then she turned away and pressed against the corner of the seat, as far away as she could get. Her head was down.
"Don't touch me," she said. "Please don't touch me."
"What's the matter?"
"I can't stand it."
"Oh, Brett."