hemingway, ernest - men without women-第20章
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ld in distant Australia； the English cricketers were sharpening up their wickets。 There was Romance。
Patrons of the arts and letters have discovered The Forum； he read。 It is the guide； philosopher； and friend of the thinking minority。 Prize short…storieswill their authors write our best…sellers of tomorrow？〃
You will enjoy these warm； homespun； American tales； bits of real life on the open ranch； in crowded tenement or comfortable home； and all with a healthy undercurrent of humor。
I must read them； he thought。
He read on。 Our childrenˇs childrenwhat of them？ Who of them？ New means must be discovered to find room for us under the sun。 Shall this be done by war or can it be done by peaceful methods？〃
Or will we all have to move to Canada？〃
Our deepest convictionswill Science upset them？ Our civilizationis it inferior to older orders of things
And meanwhile； in the far…off dripping jungles of Yucatan； sounded the chopping of the axes of the gum…choppers。 Do we want big menor do we want them cultured？ Take Joyce。 Take President Coolidge。 What star must our college students aim at？ There is Jack Britton。 There is Dr Henry Van Dyke。 Can we reconcile the two？ Take the case of Young Stribling。
And what of our daughters who must take their own Soundings？ Nancy Hawthorne is obliged to make her own Soundings in the sea of life。 Bravely and sensibly she faces the problems which come to every girl of eighteen。
It was a splendid booklet。
Are you a girl of eighteen？ Take the case of a Joan of Arc。 Take the case of Bernard Shaw。 Take the case of Betsy Ross。
Think of these things in 1925 Was there a frisqu？ page in Puritan history？ Were there two sides to Pocahontas？ Did she have a fourth dimension？〃
Are modern paintingsand poetryArt？ Yes and No。 Take Picasso。
Have tramps codes of conduct？ Send your mind adventuring。
There is Romance everywhere。 Forum writers talk to the point； are possessed of humor and wit。 But they do not try to be smart and are never long…winded。
Live the full life of the mind； exhilarated by new ideas； intoxicated by the romance of the unusual。 He laid down the booklet。
And meanwhile； stretched flat on a bed in a darkened room in the house in Triana； Manuel Garcia Maera lay with a tube in each lung； drowning with the pneumonia。 All the papers in Andalucia devoted special supplements to his death； which had been expected for some days。 Men and boys bought full…length colored pictures of him to remember him by； and lost the picture they had of him in their memories by looking at the lithographs。 Bullfighters were very relieved he was dead； because he did always in the bullring the things they could only do sometimes。 They all marched in the rain behind his coffin and there were one hundred and forty…seven bullfighters followed him out to the cemetery where they buried him in the tomb next to Joselito。 After the funeral every one sat in the caf？s out of the rain； and many colored pictures of Maera were sold to men who rolled them up and put them away in their pockets。
NOW I LAY ME
THAT night we lay on the floor in the room and I listened to the silk…worms eating。 The silk…worms fed in racks of mulberry leaves and all night you could hear them eating and a dropping sound in the leaves。 I myself did not want to sleep because I had been living for a long time with the knowledge that if I ever shut my eyes in the dark and let myself go； my soul would go out of my body。 I had been that way for a long time； ever since I had been blown up at night and felt it go out of me and go off and then come back。 I tried never to think about it； but it had started to go since； in the nights； just at the moment of going off to sleep； and I could only stop it by a very great effort。 So while now I am fairly sure that it will not really have gone out； yet then； that summer； I was unwilling to make the experiment。
I had different ways of occupying myself while I lay awake。 I would think of a trout stream I had fished along when I was a boy； and fish its whole length very carefully in my mind； fishing very carefully under all the logs； all the turns of the bank； the deep holes and the clear shallow stretches； sometimes catching trout and sometimes losing them。 I would stop fishing at noon to eat my lunch； sometimes on a log over the stream； sometimes on a high bank under a tree； and I always ate my lunch very slowly and watched the stream below me while I ate。 Often I ran out of bait because I would take only ten worms with me in a tobacco tin when I started。 When I had used them all I had to find more worms； and sometimes it was very difficult digging in the bank of the stream where the cedar trees kept out the sun and there was no grass but only the bare moist earth and often I could find no worms。 Always though I found some kind of bait； but one time in the swamp I could find no bait at all and had to cut up one of the trout I had caught and use him for bait。
Sometimes I found insects in the swamp meadows； in the grass or under ferns； and used them。 There were beetles and insects with legs like grass stems； and grubs in old rotten logs； white grubs with brown pinching heads that would not stay on the hook and emptied into nothing in the cold water； and wood ticks under logs where sometimes I found angle…worms that slipped into the ground as soon as the log was raised。 Once I used a salamander from under an old log。 The salamander was very small and neat and agile and a lovely color。 He had tiny feet that tried to hold on to the hook； and after that one time I never used a salamander； although I found them very often。 Nor did I use crickets； because of the way they acted about the hook。
Sometimes the stream ran through an open meadow； and in the dry grass I would catch grasshoppers and use them for bait and sometimes I would catch grasshoppers and toss them into the stream and watch them float along swimming on the stream and circling on the surface as the current took them and then disappear as a trout rose。 Sometimes I would fish four or five different streams in the night； starting as near as I could get to their source and fishing them down stream。 When I had finished too quickly and the time did not go； I would fish the stream over again； starting where it emptied into the lake and fishing back up stream； trying for all the trout I had missed coming down。 Some nights too I made up streams； and some of them were very exciting； and it was like being awake and dreaming。 Some of those streams I still remember and think that I have fished in them； and they are confused with streams I really know。 I gave them all names and went to them on the train and sometimes walked for miles to get to them。
But some nights I could not fish； and on those nights I was cold…awake and said my prayers over and over and tried to pray for all the people I had ever known。 That took up a great amount of time； for if you try to remember all the people you have ever known； going back to the earliest thing you rememberwhich was； with me； the attic of the house where I was born and my mother and fatherˇs wedding…cake in a tin box hanging from one of the rafters； and； in the attic； jars of snakes and other specimens that my father had collected as a boy and preserved in alcohol sunken in the jars so the backs of some of the snakes and specimens were exposed and had turned whiteif you thought back that far； you remembered a great many people。 If you prayed for all of them； saying a Hail Mary and Our Father for each one； it took a long time and finally it would be light； and then you could go to sleep； if you were in a place where you could sleep in the daylight。
On those nights I tried to remember everything that had ever happened to me； starting with just before I went to the war and remembering back from one thing to another。 I found I could only remember back to that attic in my grandfatherˇs house。 Then I would start there and remember this way again； until I reached the war。
I remembered； after my grandfather died we moved away from the house and to a new house designed and built by my mother。 Many things that were not to be moved were burned in the backyard and I remember those jars from the attic being thrown in the fire； and how they popped in the heat and the fire flamed up from the alcohol。 I remember the snakes burning in the fire in the backyard。 But there were no people in that； only things。 I could not remember who burned the things even； and I would go on until I came to people and then stop and pray for them。
About the new house I remember how my mother was always cleaning things out and making a good clearance。 One time when my father was away on a hunting trip she made a good thorough cleaning out in the basement and burned everything that should not have been there。 When my father came home and got down from his buggy and hitched the horse； the fire was still burning in the road beside the house。 I went out to meet him。 He handed me his shotgun and looked at the fire。 ¨Whatˇs this？〃 he asked。
¨Iˇve been cleaning out the basement； dear；〃 my mother said from the porch。 She was standing there smiling； to meet him。 My father looked at the fire and kicked at something。 Then he leaned over and picked something out of the ashes。 ¨Get a rake； Nick；〃 he said to me。 I went to the basement and brought a rake and my father raked very carefully in the ashes。 He raked out stone axes and stone skinning knives and tools for making arrow…heads and pieces of pottery and many arrow…heads。 They had all been blackened and chipped by the fire。 My father raked them all out very carefully and spread them on the grass by the road。 His shotgun in its leather case and his game…bags were on the grass where he had left them when he stepped down from the buggy。
¨Take the gun and the bags in the house； Nick； and bring me a paper；〃 he said。 My mother had gone inside the house。 I took the shotgun； which was heavy to carry and banged against my legs； and the two game…bags and started towards the house。 ¨Take them one at a time；〃 my father said。 ¨Donˇt try and carry too much at once。〃 I put down the game…bags and took in the shotgun and brought out a newspaper from the pile in my fatherˇs office。 My father spread all the blackened； chipped stone implements on the paper and then wrapped them up。 ¨The best arrow…heads went all to pieces；〃 he said。 He walked into the house with the paper package and I stayed outside on the grass with the two game…bags。 After a while； I took them in。 In remembering that； there were only two people； so I would pray for them both。
Some nights； though； I could not remember my prayers even。 I could only get as far as ¨On earth as it is in heaven〃 and then have to start all over and be absolutely unable to get past that。 Then I would have to recognize that I could not remember and give up saying my prayers that night and try something else。 So on some nights I would try to remember all the animals in the world by name and then the birds and then fishes and then countries and cities and then kinds of food and the names of all the streets I could remember in Chicago； and when I could not remember anything at all any more I would j
