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It was sensitive like a foot that had gone to sleep.
“It’s never bothered me.”
“A bump like that could make you crazy. It never bothers you?”
“No.”
“You’re a lucky young man. Have you the letter done? I’m going down.”
“It’s here,” I said.
“You ought to ask her not to do night duty for a while. She’s getting very tired.”
“All right. I will.”
“I want to do it but she won’t let me. The others are glad to let her have it. You might give her just a little rest.”
“All right.”
“Miss Van Campen spoke about you sleeping all the forenoons.”
“She would.”
“It would be better if you let her stay off nights a little while.”
“I want her to.”
“You do not. But if you would make her I’d respect you for it.”
“I’ll make her.”
“I don’t believe it.” She took the note and went out. I rang the bell and in a little while Miss Gage came in.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just wanted to talk to you. Don’t you think Miss Barkley ought to go off night duty for a while? She looks awfully tired. Why does she stay on so long?”
Miss Gage looked at me.
“I’m a friend of yours,” she said. “You don’t have to talk to me like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be silly. Was that all you wanted?”
“Do you want a vermouth?”
“All right. Then I have to go.” She got out the bottle from the armoire and brought a glass.
“You take the glass,” I said. “I’ll drink out of the bottle.”
“Here’s to you,” said Miss Gage.
“What did Van Campen say about me sleeping late in the mornings?”
“She just jawed about it. She calls you our privileged patient.”
“To hell with her.”
“She isn’t mean,” Miss Gage said. “She’s just old and cranky. She never liked you.”
“No.”
“Well, I do. And I’m your friend. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re awfully damned nice.”
“No. I know who you think is nice. But I’m your friend. How does your leg feel?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll bring some cold mineral water to pour over it. It must itch under the cast. It’s hot outside.”
“You’re awful nice.”
“Does it itch much?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“I’ll fix those sandbags better.” She leaned over. “I’m your friend.”
“I know you are.”
“No you don’t. But you will some day.”
Catherine Barkley took three nights off night duty and then she came back on again. It was as though we met again after each of us had been away on a long journey.
18
We had a lovely time that summer. When I could go out we rode in a carriage in the park. I remember the carriage, the horse going slowly, and up ahead the back of the driver with his varnished high hat, and Catherine Barkley sitting beside me. If we let our hands touch, just the side of my hand touching hers, we were excited. Afterward when I could get around on crutches we went to di
“If you imagine a country that makes a wine because it tastes like strawberries,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t it?” Catherine asked. “It sounds splendid.”
“You try it, lady,” said George, “if you want to. But let me bring a little bottle of margaux for the Tenente.”
“I’ll try it too, George.”
“Sir, I can’t recommend you to. It doesn’t even taste like strawberries.”
“It might,” said Catherine. “It would be wonderful if it did.”
“I’ll bring it,” said George, “and when the lady is satisfied I’ll take it away.”
It was not much of a wine. As he said, it did not even taste like strawberries. We went back to capri. One evening I was short of money and George loaned me a hundred lire. “That’s all right, Tenente,” he said. “I know how it is. I know how a man gets short. If you or the lady need money I’ve always got money.”
After di
She had wonderfully beautiful hair and I would lie sometimes and watch her twisting it up in the light that came in the open door and it shone even in the night as water shines sometimes just before it is really daylight. She had a lovely face and body and lovely smooth skin too. We would be lying together and I would touch her cheeks and her forehead and under her eyes and her chin and throat with the tips of my fingers and say, “Smooth as piano keys,” and she would stroke my chin with her finger and say, “Smooth as emery paper and very hard on piano keys.”
“Is it rough?”
“No, darling. I was just making fun of you.”
It was lovely in the nights and if we could only touch each other we were happy. Besides all the big times we had many small ways of making love and we tried putting thoughts in the other one’s head while we were in different rooms. It seemed to work sometimes but that was probably because we were thinking the same thing anyway.
We said to each other that we were married the first day she had come to the hospital and we counted months from our wedding day. I wanted to be really married but Catherine said that if we were they would send her away and if we merely started on the formalities they would watch her and would break us up. We would have to be married under Italian law and the formalities were terrific. I wanted us to be married really because I worried about having a child if I thought about it, but we pretended to ourselves we were married and did not worry much and I suppose I enjoyed not being married, really. I know one night we talked about it and Catherine said, “But, darling, they’d send me away.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t.”