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“They would. They’d send me home and then we would he apart until after the war.”
“I’d come on leave.”
“You couldn’t get to Scotland and back on a leave. Besides, I won’t leave you. What good would it do to marry now? We’re really married. I couldn’t be any more married.”
“I only wanted to for you.”
“There isn’t any me. I’m you. Don’t make up a separate me.”
“I thought girls always wanted to be married.”
“They do. But, darling, I am married. I’m married to you. Don’t I make you a good wife?”
“You’re a lovely wife.”
“You see, darling, I had one experience of waiting to be married.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“You know I don’t love any one but you. You shouldn’t mind because some one else loved me.”
“I do.”
“You shouldn’t be jealous of some one who’s dead when you have everything.”
“No, but I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Poor darling. And I know you’ve been with all kinds of girls and it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Couldn’t we be married privately some way? Then if anything happened to me or if you had a child.”
“There’s no way to be married except by church or state. We are married privately. You see, darling, it would mean everything to me if I had any religion. But I haven’t any religion.”
“You gave me the Saint Anthony.”
“That was for luck. Some one gave it to me.”
“Then nothing worries you?”
“Only being sent away from you. You’re my religion. You’re all I’ve got.”
“All right. But I’ll marry you the day you say.”
“Don’t talk as though you had to make an honest woman of me, darling. I’m a very honest woman. You can’t be ashamed of something if you’re only happy and proud of it. Aren’t you happy?”
“But you won’t ever leave me for some one else.”
“No, darling. I won’t ever leave you for some one else. I suppose all sorts of dreadful things will happen to us. But you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I don’t. But I love you so much and you did love some one else before.”
“And what happened to him?”
“He died.”
“Yes and if he hadn’t I wouldn’t have met you. I’m not unfaithful, darling. I’ve plenty of faults but I’m very faithful. You’ll be sick of me I’ll be so faithful.”
“I’ll have to go back to the front pretty soon.”
“We won’t think about that until you go. You see I’m happy, darling, and we have a lovely time. I haven’t been happy for a long time and when I met you perhaps I was nearly crazy. Perhaps I was crazy. But now we’re happy and we love each other. Do let’s please just be happy. You are happy, aren’t you? Is there anything I do you don’t like? Can I do anything to please you? Would you like me to take down my hair? Do you want to play?”
“Yes and come to bed.”
“All right. I’ll go and see the patients first.”
19
The summer went that way. I do not remember much about the days, except that they were hot and that there were many victories in the papers. I was very healthy and my legs healed quickly so that it was not very long after I was first on crutches before I was through with them and walking with a cane. Then I started treatments at the Ospedale Maggiore for bending the knees, mechanical treatments, baking in a box of mirrors with violet rays, massage, and baths. I went over there afternoons and afterward stopped at the café and had a drink and read the papers. I did not roam around the town; but wanted to get home to the hospital from the café. All I wanted was to see Catherine. The rest of the time I was glad to kill. Mostly I slept in the mornings, and in the afternoons, sometimes, I went to the races, and late to the mechanotherapy treatments. Sometimes I stopped in at the AngloAmerican Club and sat in a deep leather-cushioned chair in front of the window and read the magazines. They would not let us go out together when I was off crutches because it was unseemly for a nurse to be seen unchaperoned with a patient who did not look as though he needed attendance, so we were not together much in the afternoons. Although sometimes we could go out to di
“How do you do? How do you do?” She shook hands. “Hello,” said Meyers.
“How were the races?”
“Fine. They were just lovely. I had three wi
“How did you do?” I asked Meyers.
“All right. I had a wi
“I never know how he does,” Mrs. Meyers said. “He never tells me.”
“I do all right,” Meyers said. He was being cordial. “You ought to come out.” While he talked you had the impression that he was not looking at you or that he mistook you for some one else.
“I will,” I said.
“I’m coming up to the hospital to see you,” Mrs. Meyers said. “I have some things for my boys. You’re all my boys. You certainly are my dear boys.”
“They’ll be glad to see you.”
“Those dear boys. You too. You’re one of my boys.”
“I have to get back,” I said.
“You give my love to all those dear boys. I’ve got lots of things to bring. I’ve some fine marsala and cakes.”
“Good-by,” I said. “They’ll be awfully glad to see you.”
“Good-by,” said Meyers. “You come around to the galleria. You know where my table is. We’re all there every afternoon.” I went on up the street. I wanted to buy something at the Cova to take to Catherine. Inside, at the Cova, I bought a box of chocolate and while the girl wrapped it up I walked over to the bar. There were a couple of British and some aviators. I had a martini alone, paid for it, picked up the box of chocolate at the outside counter and walked on home toward the hospital. Outside the little bar up the street from the Scala there were some people I knew, a vice-consul, two fellows who studied singing, and Ettore Moretti, an Italian from San Francisco who was in the Italian army. I had a drink with them. One of the singers was named Ralph Simmons, and he was singing under the name of Enrico DelCredo. I never knew how well he could sing but he was always on the point of something very big happening. He was fat and looked shopworn around the nose and mouth as though he had hayfever. He had come back from singing in Piacenza. He had sung Tosca and it had been wonderful.