那年夏天就那么过去了。那些日子我已不大记得清楚了，只记得当时天气炎热，报纸上刊载了许多打胜仗的消息。我身体很健康，两条腿好得很快，拄拐杖不久以后便改用手杖走路了。随后我开始上马焦莱医院去接受机械治疗，恢复膝部的弯曲功能，在装满镜子的小间里晒紫外线，还有按摩，沐浴等等。我到那边去是在下午，事后上咖啡店喝点酒，看看报纸。我并不在城里随便乱逛，到了咖啡店就想回医院。我一心只想看到凯瑟琳。其余的时间我随便消磨。上午我大抵是睡觉，午后有时上跑马场去玩，以后才去接受机械治疗。有时我也去英美俱乐部呆一会，坐在窗前一张很深的有皮垫的椅了上，翻阅杂志。我不用拐杖后，人家就不许凯瑟琳陪我一道出去，因为像我这样一个看起来不需要照应的病人，单独叫个护士陪着走，太不成体统了，因此午后的时间我们不大在一起。不过有时有弗格逊作陪，我们还是一同出去吃饭。范坎本女士现已承认我和凯瑟琳是好朋友这种关系，因为凯瑟琳很肯替她卖力办事。她以为凯瑟琳出身于很好的上等家庭，因此终于也喜欢她了。范坎本女士很钦佩高贵的家庭，她本人就是个出身很好的人。况且医院事务繁忙，她也没空多管闲事。那年夏天很燥热，我在米兰本有许多熟人，但是一到傍晚我总是想赶回医院去。前线意军正在卡索高原上挺进，已经占领了普拉伐河对面的库克，现在正在攻占培恩西柴高原。西线消息可没有这么好。战争好像还要打一个长时期。我们美国已经参战，但是我想，要运输大批人马过来，要训练他们作战，非得有一年工夫不可。明年或许是吉年，或许是凶年。意军已经消耗了数目惊人的人员。我不晓得怎么熬得下去。即使他们全部攻占了培恩西柴高原和圣迦伯烈山，奥军可以盘踞的还有许多高山峻岭哩。我亲眼见到过。那些最高的山岭还在后边。意军在卡索高原上进军，但是下面的海边尽是一片沼地泽国。要是拿破仑，一定会在平原上击溃奥军。他才不会在山间作战哩。他会让他们先下山来，然后在维罗纳附近给他们一个迎头痛击。不过在西线也没听见谁在痛击谁。也许战争已经无所谓胜败了。也许会永远打个不停。也许又是一场百年战争。我把报纸摆回架子上，离开了俱乐部。我小心地走下石阶，沿着曼佐尼大街走。我在大旅馆前碰见了迈耶斯老头和他的妻子从一部马车上下来。他们刚从跑马场回来。她是个胸围宽大的女人，身穿黑缎衫裙。他则又矮又老，长着白色的小胡子，拄着根手杖。一步步拖着脚步走。
“你好啊？你好啊？”她和我握手。“哈罗，”迈耶斯说。
“跑马财运怎么样？”
“不错。挺好玩的。我赢了三次。”
“你怎么样？”我问迈耶斯。
“不坏。我中了一次。”“他输赢怎么样我总不知道，”迈耶斯太太说。
“他从来不告诉我。”“我运气不错，”迈耶斯说。他表示亲切关心。“你应当去玩玩啊。”他讲话时，你总觉得他不在看你，或是把你误当做别人。
“我要去的，”我说。
“我正想上医院去探望你们，”迈耶斯太太说。“我有点东西要给我的孩子们。你们都是我的孩子。你们真是我的好孩子。”
“大家见到你一定高兴。”
“那些好孩子。你也是。你也是我的一个孩子。”
“我得回去啦，”我说。
“代我问候所有的好孩子。我有许多东西要带去。我有一些上好的马萨拉酒①和蛋糕。”“再会，”我说。“大家见到你一定非常高兴。”
“再会，”迈耶斯说。“你上拱廊来玩玩吧。你知道我的桌子在什么地方。我们每天下午都在那儿。”我继续沿街走去。我想到科伐去买点东西给凯瑟琳。走进科伐，我买了一盒巧克力，趁女店员包糖的当儿，我走到酒吧间去。那儿有两个英国人和几名飞行员。我独自喝了一杯马丁尼鸡尾酒，付了账，跑到外边柜台前，捡起那盒巧克力便回医院去。在歌剧院旁边那条街上的小酒吧外，我碰到几个熟人，一个是副领事，两个学唱歌的家伙，还有一个来自旧金山的意大利人，叫做爱多亚·摩里蒂，现在在意大利军队中。我跟大家喝了一杯酒。歌唱家中有一个叫做拉夫·西蒙斯，歌唱时改用意大利姓名：恩利科·戴尔克利多。我不晓得他唱得怎么样，不过他老在说有件伟大的事就要发生了。他人长得胖，鼻子和嘴巴显出一副饱经风霜的可怜相，好像患着枯草热②。他刚从皮阿辰扎城演唱回来。他唱的是歌剧《托斯加》③， 他自己说成绩很好。“自然你还没听我唱过，”他说。
“这儿你什么时候登台？”
“今年秋天，就在那歌剧院里。”“我可以打赌，人家准会拿起凳子来扔你的，”爱多亚说。“你们听见他在摩得那给人家扔凳子了没有？”
“该死的撒谎。”
“人家拿起凳子来扔他，”爱多亚说。“我当时在场。我亲自扔了六只凳子。”
“你无非是个旧金山来的意大利佬罢了。”
“他念不准意大利语，”爱多亚说。“他到处被人家扔凳子。”
“皮阿辰扎的歌剧院是意大利北部最难对付的，”另外一个男高音说。“说真话，那座小歌剧院可很难对付。”这位男高音的姓名是艾得加·桑达斯，登台歌唱时改名为爱德华多·佐凡尼。
“我倒很想在那儿看着人家给你扔凳子，”爱多亚说。“用意大利语唱歌你不行。”
“他是个傻子，”艾得加·桑达斯说。“他只会说扔凳子。”“你们俩一唱起歌来，人家也只知道扔凳子，”爱多亚说。“往后你们回到美国，就会到处瞎吹你们在米兰歌剧院的大成功。其实他们在这儿登台，包你唱不完第一句。”
“我就要在这歌剧院演唱了，”西蒙斯说。“十月里我要唱《托斯加》。”
“我们准去，可不是吗，麦克？”爱多亚对副领事说。“他们得找些人做保镖。”
“也许还得把美国军队开去保护他们，”副领事说。“再来一杯吧，西蒙斯？你也要一杯吧，桑达斯？”
“好的，”桑达斯说。
“听说你要得银质勋章了，”爱多亚对我说。“你会得到哪一种嘉奖呢？”
“我不知道。我也不知我会得勋章。”
① 马萨拉是西西里岛西部的一海滨城市，这里指该地区出产的白葡萄酒。
② 患枯草热的人，容易伤风流鼻涕。
③《托斯加》是意大利作曲家普契尼（1858—1924）的杰作之一；1900 年首次演出。
“你会得到的。科伐的姑娘们到那时候一定把你看做了不起的。她们都会以为你杀死了二百名奥国兵，或者单身占领了一条战壕。嗯，为了得勋章我得奋发图强。”
“你已经得了几枚，爱多亚？”副领事问。
“他什么都有啦，”西蒙斯说。“战争就是为他这种人打的。”“我应该得两枚铜质勋章，三枚银的，”爱多亚说。“但是公文上说只通过一枚。”
“其余的怎么啦？”西蒙斯问。
“战役失利，”爱多亚说。“战役一失利，所有的勋章都给压下了。”
“你受了几次伤，爱多亚？”
“三次重伤。我有三条受伤的杠杠。看见吗？”他把袖管扭过来给大家看。所谓杠杠是黑底上三条平行的银钱，缝在袖管的布料上，在他肩头下八英寸的地方。
“你也有一条，”爱多亚对我说。“佩戴这东西真好。我认为比勋章好得多。相信我，小伙子，等你有了三条，那就显得你有能耐啦。你要受了得住院三个月的重伤，人家才肯给你这种杠杠。”
“你哪儿受伤啊，爱多亚？”副领事问。
爱多亚拉起袖子来。“这里，”他给我们看那深深的、光滑的红疤。“还有这儿腿上。这我可不能给人家看，因为我打了绑腿；还有在我脚上。我脚上有根死骨头，到现在还在发臭。我每天早晨捡些小骨头出来，不过还是时时发臭。”
“什么东西打中了你？”西蒙斯问。
“手榴弹。那种马铃薯捣烂器①。把我一只脚的一边全炸掉了。你知道那种马铃薯捣烂器吗？”他转而问我。
“当然啦。”
“我看着那狗杂种抬起手来扔的，”爱多亚说。“我一下子给它炸倒了，我当时以为这次准死了，想不到那些该死的马铃薯捣烂器里头并没有什么东西。我就用我的步枪打死了那狗杂种。我随身总带着一支步枪，叫敌人看不出我是个军官。”
“他的神情怎么样？”西蒙斯问。
“他只有那么一颗手榴弹，”爱多亚说。“我也不懂他干吗扔它。我猜想他大概只是一直想扔罢了。大概他还没参加过实在的打仗。我一枪就把这狗杂种结果了。”
“你开枪的时候，他是什么神情？”西蒙斯问。
“见鬼，我怎么知道，”爱多亚说。“我开枪打他的肚子。打他的头我怕万一打不中。”
“你当军官有多久了，爱多亚？”我问。“两年了。我快升上尉了。你当中尉好久了？”
“快三年了。”
“你当不上上尉，因为你不够熟悉意大利语，”爱多亚说。“你只会讲，看和写可不大行。要当上尉你得受过相当的教育。你为什么不进美国军队？”
“我也许要转过去。”
“我倒盼望老天爷肯让我去。哦，好家伙，一个上尉官俸多少啊，麦克？”
① 指9 英寸长的德国木柄手榴弹。
“我不十分清楚。大概总在两百五十元左右吧。”
“耶稣基督！两百五十元，我花起来太舒服了。弗雷德，你赶快转入美国军队吧。看看有没有法子也把我拉进去。”
“好的。”
“我能用意大利语指挥一连兵。改用英语指挥，我学起来很容易。”“你将来会当上将军，”西蒙斯说。
“不，我的知识不配当将军。一位将军得知道许许多多的事情。你们这些家伙，以为战争等于儿戏。老实说，你的脑子还不配当名起码的中士哪。”
“谢谢上帝，我还不至于非当兵不可，”西蒙斯说。
“人家要是把你们这些逃避兵役的都抓起来，那你就怕要当兵了。哦，好家伙，最好你们两位都到我那一排来。麦克，你也来。我派你当我的勤务兵，麦克。”
“你人倒不错，爱多亚，”麦克说。“但是你恐怕是个军国主义者吧。”
“战争结束以前，我一定要当上校，”爱多亚说。
“要是人家不把你打死的话。”
“人家打不死我的。”他用拇指和食指摸摸他领子上的徽星。“你看见我这一动作吗？谁一提起给打死的话，我们便摸摸我们的星。”“我们走吧，西蒙斯，”桑达斯说，站了起来。
“好。”
“再会，”我说。“我也得走了。”根据酒吧间里的时钟，已经是六点差一刻了。“再见，爱多亚。”
“再见，弗雷德，”爱多亚说。“你就要得到银质勋章，这倒是个很好的消息。”“我还不知道是否拿得到。”
“你稳拿得到的，弗雷德。我听说你是稳拿得到的。”
“好，再会，”我说。“多多保重自己，爱多亚。”
“你犯不着为我操心。我既不喝酒，也不乱搞。我既不是酒鬼，更不是嫖客。我知道什么对我有益处。”
“再会，”我说。“听说你快要被提升为上尉，我很高兴。”“我也不必等待人家来提升。我单凭战功就可以当上上尉。你知道。领章上三颗星，上面有只皇冠和两把交叉的刀。这才是我。”“祝你运道好。”
“祝你运道好。你什么时候回前线？”
“快啦。”
“好，哪天我来看看你。”
“再会。”
“再会。别上当。”
我走上一条后街，那是条直达医院的近路。爱多亚现年二十三。由旧金山一位叔父抚养成人，战争宣布时他恰巧回到意大利的都灵看望父母。他有个妹妹，以前同他一道上美国，住在他叔父那里，今年要从师范学校毕业。他是个地道的英雄，人人见了他都讨厌。凯瑟琳每每忍受不住。“我们也有我们的英雄，”她说。“但是一般地讲，亲爱的，人家安静多了。”
“我倒不在乎。”
“我对他也不在乎，只要他别那么自负，那么惹人讨厌，真是讨厌透了。”
“他也惹我讨厌。”
“你这么说，太好了，亲爱的。其实你也不必附和我。你能够想象他在前线时怎么样，你也知道他是多么能干，不过他太像我所不喜欢的那种男人。”
“我知道。”
“你知道，你真太好了。我也想试试喜欢他，不料他真是个讨厌又讨厌的家伙。”
“他今天下午说快要升上尉了。”
“这也好，”凯瑟琳说。“这总该叫他高兴高兴吧。”“你岂不喜欢我也升级吗？”
“不，亲爱的。我只要你的军衔可以进进比较好的酒家饭馆就行了。”
“我现在这一级恰巧就是。”
“你的军衔好极了。我不要你升级。那样怕会使你傲慢起来。哦，亲爱的，我十分喜欢你并不自高自大。你就是自负，我还是会嫁给你的，不过丈夫不自负那就太平多了。”
我们俩正在阳台上轻声谈话。月亮本来应该上升了，可惜城市上空罩了一层雾，月亮没有露出来，过了一会儿，下起纷纷细雨来，我们只得回房间去。外边的雾转成雨，一会儿雨大起来，我们听着雨打在屋顶上，仿佛擂鼓似的。我起身走到阳台门口站一站，看看雨打进来没有，原来并没有打进来，于是我让门仍旧开着。
“你还碰见了谁？”凯瑟琳问。
“迈耶斯夫妇。”
“那是一对怪物。”
“他本应当关在美国监牢里。人家却让他到国外来死。”
“而且幸福地住在米兰，直到永远。”
“怎么幸福也难说。”
“坐过牢的人，这种生活总算是幸福的吧。”
“她要送些东西来。”
“她送来的东西很棒。你是她的宝贝儿子吗？”
“是其中的一个。”
“你们都是她的宝贝儿子，”凯瑟琳说。“她偏爱这些宝贝儿子。你听那雨声。”
“雨下得很大。”
“还有你是不是永远爱我？”
“是的。”
“就是下了雨也没有差别吗？”
“没有。”
“这很好。因为我怕雨。”
“为什么呢，”我昏昏欲睡。外边雨潺潺下个不停。
“我不知道，亲爱的。我一向是怕雨的。”
“我喜欢雨。”“我喜欢在雨中散步。但是雨对于恋爱总是很不利的。”
“我永远爱你。”
“我爱你，不管下雨也好，下雪也好，冰雹也好——还有什么别的没有？”
“我不知道。我看我想睡了。”
“睡吧，亲爱的，不管怎么样，我总爱你。”
“你并不当真怕雨吧？”
“同你在一起就不怕了。”
“你为什么怕雨呢？”
“我不知道。”
“告诉我。”
“别叫我说。”
“告诉我。”
“不。”
“告诉我。”
“好吧。我怕雨，因为我有时看见自己在雨中死去。”
“哪有这种事。”
“还有，有时我看见你也在雨中死去。”
“那倒是比较可能的。”
“不，不可能，亲爱的。因为我能够叫你安全。我知道我能。但是没人能够救自己。”
“请你别说吧。今天夜里我可不要你发苏格兰人的怪脾气，疯疯癫癫的。我们在一起的时间也不会长久了。”
“不，可我本是苏格兰人，本是疯疯癫癫的。不过我不发作就是啦。这一切都是胡闹。”
“对啦，都是胡闹。”
“都是胡闹。只是胡闹。我并不怕雨。我并不怕雨。哦，哦，上帝啊，但愿我真的不害怕。”她哭了。我安慰她，她停止了哭泣。但是外边的雨还是漫漫地下着。
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 caf?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 caf? 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 dinner if Ferguson went along. Miss Van Campen had accepted the status that we were great friends because she got a great amount of work out of Catherine. She thought Catherine came from very good people and that prejudiced her in her favor finally. Miss Van Campen admired family very much and came from an excellent family herself. The hospital was quite busy, too, and that kept her occupied. It was a hot summer and I knew many people in Milan but always was anxious to get back home to the hospital as soon as the afternoon was over. At the front they were advancing on the Carso, they had taken Kuk across from Plava and were taking the Bainsizza plateau. The West front did not sound so good. It looked as though the war were going on for a long time. We were in the war now but I thought it would take a year to get any great amount of troops over and train them for combat. Next year would be a bad year, or a good year maybe. The Italians were using up an awful amount of men. I did not see how it could go on. Even if they took all the Bainsizza and Monte San Gabriele there were plenty of mountains beyond for the Austrians. I had seen them. All the highest mountains were beyond. On the Carso they were going forward but there were marshes and swamps down by the sea. Napoleon would have whipped the Austrians on the plains. He never would have fought them in the mountains. He would have let them come down and whipped them around Verona. Still nobody was whipping any one on the Western front. Perhaps wars weren't won any more. Maybe they went on forever. Maybe it was another Hundred Years' War. I put the paper back on the rack and left the club. I went down the steps carefully and walked up the Via Manzoni. Outside the Gran Hotel I met old Meyers and his wife getting out of a carriage. They were coming back from the races. She was a big-busted woman in black satin. He was short and old, with a white mustache and walked flat-footed with a cane.
"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 winners."
"How did you do?" I asked Meyers.
"All right. I had a winner."
"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.
"Of course you've never heard me sing," he said.
"When will you sing here?"
"I'll be at the Scala in the fall."
"I'll bet they throw the benches at you," Ettore said. "Did you hear how they threw the benches at him in Modena?"
"It's a damned lie."
"They threw the benches at him," Ettore said. "I was there. I threw six benches myself."
"You're just a wop from Frisco."
"He can't pronounce Italian," Ettore said. "Everywhere he goes they throw the benches at him."
"Piacenza's the toughest house to sing in the north of Italy," the other tenor said. "Believe me that's a tough little house to sing." This tenor's name was Edgar Saunders, and he sang under the name of Edouardo Giovanni.
"I'd like to be there to see them throw the benches at you." Ettore said. "You can't sing Italian."
"He's a nut," said Edgar Saunders. "All he knows how to say is throw benches."
"That's all they know how to do when you two sing," Ettore said. "Then when you go to America you'll tell about your triumphs at the Scala. They wouldn't let you get by the first note at the Scala."
"I'll sing at the Scala," Simmons said. "I'm going to sing Tosca in October."
"We'll go, won't we, Mac?" Ettore said to the vice-consul. "They'll need somebody to protect them."
"Maybe the American army will be there to protect them," the vice-consul said. "Do you want another drink, Simmons? You want a drink, Saunders?"
"All right," said Saunders.
"I hear you're going to get the silver medal," Ettore said to me. "What kind of citation you going to get?"
"I don't know. I don't know I'm going to get it."
"You're going to get it. Oh boy, the girls at the Cova will think you're fine then. They'll all think you killed two hundred Austrians or captured a whole trench by yourself. Believe me, I got to work for my decorations."
"How many have you got, Ettore?" asked the vice-consul.
"He's got everything," Simmons said. "He's the boy they're running the war for."
"I've got the bronze twice and three silver medals," said Ettore. "But the papers on only one have come through."
"What's the matter with the others?" asked Simmons.
"The action wasn't successful," said Ettore. "When the action isn't successful they hold up all the medals."
"How many times have you been wounded, Ettore?"
"Three times bad. I got three wound stripes. See?" He pulled his sleeve around. The stripes were parallel silver lines on a black background sewed to the cloth of the sleeve about eight inches below the shoulder.
"You got one too," Ettore said to me. "Believe me they're fine to have. I'd rather have them than medals. Believe me, boy, when you get three you've got something. You only get one for a wound that puts you three months in the hospital."
"Where were you wounded, Ettore?" asked the vice-consul.
Ettore pulled up his sleeve.
"Here," he showed the deep smooth red scar. "Here on my leg. I can't show you that because I got puttees on; and in the foot. There's dead bone in my foot that stinks right now. Every morning I take new little pieces out and it stinks all the time."
"What hit you?" asked Simmons.
"A hand-grenade. One of those potato mashers. It just blew the whole side of my foot off. You know those potato mashers?" He turned to me.
"Sure."
"I saw the son of a bitch throw it," Ettore said. "It knocked me down and I thought I was dead all right but those damn potato mashers haven't got anything in them. I shot the son of a bitch with my rifle. I always carry a rifle so they can't tell I'm an officer."
"How did he look?" asked Simmons.
"That was the only one he had," Ettore said. "I don't know why he threw it. I guess he always wanted to throw one. He never saw any real fighting probably. I shot the son of a bitch all right."
"How did he look when you shot him?" Simmons asked.
"Hell, how should I know?" said Ettore. "I shot him in the belly. I was afraid I'd miss him if I shot him in the head."
"How long have you been an officer, Ettore?" I asked.
"Two years. I'm going to be a captain. How long have you been a lieutenant?"
"Going on three years."
"You can't be a captain because you don't know the Italian language well enough," Ettore said. "You can talk but you can't read and write well enough. You got to have an education to be a captain. Why don't you go in the American army?"
"Maybe I will."
"I wish to God I could. Oh, boy, how much does a captain get, Mac?"
"I don't know exactly. Around two hundred and fifty dollars, I think."
"Jesus Christ what I could do with two hundred and fifty dollars. You better get in the American army quick, Fred. See if you can't get me in."
"All right."
"I can command a company in Italian. I could learn it in English easy."
"You'd be a general," said Simmons.
"No, I don't know enough to be a general. A general's got to know a hell of a lot. You guys think there ain't anything to war. You ain't got brains enough to be a second-class corporal."
"Thank God I don't have to be," Simmons said.
"Maybe you will if they round up all you slackers. Oh, boy, I'd like to have you two in my platoon. Mac too. I'd make you my orderly, Mac."
"You're a great boy, Ettore," Mac said. "But I'm afraid you're a militarist."
"I'll be a colonel before the war's over," Ettore said.
"If they don't kill you."
"They won't kill me." He touched the stars at his collar with his thumb and forefinger. "See me do that? We always touch our stars if anybody mentions getting killed."
"Let's go, Sim," said Saunders standing up.
"All right."
"So long," I said. "I have to go too." It was a quarter to six by the clock inside the bar. "Ciaou, Ettore."
"Ciaou, Fred," said Ettore. "That's pretty fine you're going to get the silver medal."
"I don't know I'll get it."
"You'll get it all right, Fred. I heard you were going to get it all right."
"Well, so long," I said. "Keep out of trouble, Ettore."
"Don't worry about me. I don't drink and I don't run around. I'm no boozer and whorehound. I know what's good for me."
"So long," I said. "I'm glad you're going to be promoted captain."
"I don't have to wait to be promoted. I'm going to be a captain for merit of war. You know. Three stars with the crossed swords and crown above. That's me."
"Good luck."
"Good luck. When you going back to the front?"
"Pretty soon."
"Well, I'll see you around."
"So long."
"So long. Don't take any bad nickels."
I walked on down a back Street that led to a cross-cut to the hospital. Ettore was twenty-three. He had been brought up by an uncle in San Francisco and was visiting his father and mother in Torino when war was declared. He had a sister, who had been sent to America with him at the same time to live with the uncle, who would graduate from normal school this year. He was a legitimate hero who bored every one he met. Catherine could not stand him.
"We have heroes too," she said. "But usually, darling, they're much quieter."
"I don't mind him."
"I wouldn't mind him if he wasn't so conceited and didn't bore me, and bore me, and bore me."
"He bores me."
"You're sweet to say so, darling. But you don't need to. You can picture him at the front and you know he's useful but he's so much the type of boy I don't care for."
"I know."
"You're awfully sweet to know, and I try and like him but he's a dreadful, dreadful boy really."
"He said this afternoon he was going to be a captain."
"I'm glad," said Catherine. "That should please him."
"Wouldn't you like me to have some more exalted rank?"
"No, darling. I only want you to have enough rank so that we're admitted to the better restaurants."
"That's just the rank I have."
"You have a splendid rank. I don't want you to have any more rank. It might go to your head. Oh, darling, I'm awfully glad you're not conceited. I'd have married you even if you were conceited but it's very restful to have a husband who's not conceited."
We were talking softly out on the balcony. The moon was supposed to rise but there was a mist over the town and it did not come up and in a little while it started to drizzle and we came in. Outside the mist turned to rain and in a little while it was raining hard and we heard it drumming on the roof. I got up and stood at the door to see if it was raining in but it wasn't, so I left the door open.
"Who else did you see?" Catherine asked.
"Mr. and Mrs. Meyers."
"They're a strange lot."
"He's supposed to have been in the penitentiary at home. They let him out to die."
"And he lived happily in Milan forever after."
"I don't know how happily."
"Happily enough after jail I should think."
"She's bringing some things here."
"She brings splendid things. Were you her dear boy?"
"One of them."
"You are all her dear boys," Catherine said. "She prefers the dear boys. Listen to it rain."
"It's raining hard."
"And you'll always love me, won't you?"
"Yes."
"And the rain won't make any difference?"
"No."
"That's good. Because I'm afraid of the rain."
"Why?" I was sleepy. Outside the rain was falling steadily.
"I don't know, darling. I've always been afraid of the rain."
"I like it."
"I like to walk in it. But it's very hard on loving."
"I'll love you always."
"I'll love you in the rain and in the snow and in the hail and-- what else is there?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm sleepy."
"Go to sleep, darling, and I'll love you no matter how it is."
"You're not really afraid of the rain are you?"
"Not when I'm with you."
"Why are you afraid of it?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me."
"Don't make me."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"All right. I'm afraid of the rain because sometimes I see me dead in it."
"No."
"And sometimes I see you dead in it."
"That's more likely."
"No, it's not, darling. Because I can keep you safe. I know I can. But nobody can help themselves."
"Please stop it. I don't want you to get Scotch and crazy tonight. We won't be together much longer."
"No, but I am Scotch and crazy. But I'll stop it. It's all nonsense."
"Yes it's all nonsense."
"It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not afraid of the rain. I'm not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn't." She was crying. I comforted her and she stopped crying. But outside it kept on raining.