ACROSS the RIVER and INTO the TREES by ERNEST HEMINGWAY

“So then daughter, not to bore you, the wind was from the east and the smoke began to blow back in our direc­tion. The heavies were bombing on the smoke line and the smoke line was now over us. Therefore they bombed us the same as they had bombed the Krauts. First it was the heavies, and no one need ever worry about hell who was there that day. Then, to really make the break­through good and to leave as few people as possible on either side, the mediums came over and bombed who was left. Then we made the break-through as soon as the Valhalla Express had gone home, stretching in its beauty and its majesty from that part of France to all over England.”

If a man has a conscience, the Colonel thought, he might think about air-power some time.

“Give me a glass of that Valpolicella,” the Colonel said, and remembered to add, “please.”

“Excuse me,” he said. “Be comfortable, honey dog, please. You asked me to tell you.”

“I’m not your honey dog. That must be someone else.”

“Correct. You’re my last and true and only love. Is that correct? But you asked me to tell you.”

“Please tell me,” the girl said. “I’d like to be your honey dog if I knew how to do it. But I am only a girl from this town that loves you.”

“We’ll operate on that,” the Colonel said. “And I love you. I probably picked up that phrase in the Philippines.”

“Probably,” the girl said. “But I would rather be your straight girl.”

“You are,” the Colonel said. “Complete with handles and with the flag on top.”

“Please don’t be rough,” she said. “Please love me true and tell me as true as you can, without hurting yourself in any way.”

“I’ll tell you true,” he said. “As true as I can tell and let it hurt who it hurts. It is better that you hear it from me, if you have curiosity on this subject, than that you read it in some book with stiff covers.”

“Please don’t be rough. Just tell me true and hold me tight and tell me true until you are purged of it; if that can be.”

“I don’t need to purge,” he said. “Except heavies being used tactically. I have nothing against them if they use them right even if they kill you. But for ground support give me a man like Pete Quesada. There is a man who will boot them in.”

“Please.”

“If you ever want to quit a beat-up character like me that guy could give you ground support.”

“You are not beat-up, whatever that is, and I love you.”

“Please give me two tablets from that bottle and pour the glass of Valpolicella that you neglected to pour, and I will tell you some of the rest of it.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to tell me and I know now it is not good for you. Especially not the Valhalla Express day. I am not an inquisitor; or what­ever the female of inquisitor is. Let us just lie quietly and look out of the window, and watch and see what happens on our Grand Canal.”

“Maybe we better. Who gives a damn about the war anyway?”

“You and me, maybe,” she said and stroked his head. “Here are the two things from the square bottle. Here is the glass of decanted vino. I’ll send you better from our own estates. Please let us sleep a little while. Please be a good boy and we just lie together and love each other. Please put your hand here.”

“My good or my bad?”

“Your bad,” the girl said. “The one I love and must think about all week. I cannot keep it like you keep the stones.”

“They’re in the safe,” the Colonel said. “In your name,” he added.

“Let’s just sleep and not talk about any material things nor any sorrows.”

“The hell with sorrows,” the Colonel said with his eyes closed and his head resting lightly on the black sweater that was his fatherland. You have to have some damned fatherland, he thought. Here is mine.

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