GARDEN OF EDEN by Ernest Hemingway

The young man borrowed a pencil from the waiter and com menced to multiply $2.50 by one thousand. That was easy. Ten percent of that was two hundred and fifty dollars. Five times that was twelve hundred and fifty dollars. Deduct seven hundred and fifty dollars for the advance. That left five hundred dollars earned by the first printing.

Now there was the second printing. Say that was two thousand. That was twelve and a half percent of five thousand dollars. If that was how the contract was. That would be six hundred and twenty-five dollars. But maybe it did not go up to twelve and a half percent until ten thousand. Well it was still five hundred dollars. That would still leave a thousand.

He started to read the reviews and found that he had drunk the vermouth without ever noticing it. He ordered another and returned the pencil to the waiter. He was still reading the reviews when the girl came in bringing her heavy envelope of letters.

“I didn’t know they’d come,” she said. “Let me see them. Please let me see them.”

The waiter brought her a vermouth and putting it down saw the picture as the girl unfolded a clipping.

“C’est Monsieur?” he asked.

“Yes it is,” the girl said and held it up for him to see.

“But differently dressed,” the waiter said. “Do they write about the marriage? May I see a picture of Madame?”

“Not about the marriage. Criticisms of a book by Monsieur.”

“Magnificent,” said the waiter who was deeply moved. “Is Madame also a writer?”

“No,” the girl said not looking up from the clippings. “Madame is a housewife.”

The waiter laughed proudly. “Madame is probably in the cinema.”

They both read clippings and then the girl put the one she was reading down and said, “I’m frightened by them and all the things they say. How can we be us and have the things we have and do what we do and you be this that’s in the clippings?”

“I’ve had them before,” the young man said. “They’re bad for you but it doesn’t last.”

“They’re terrible,” she said. “They could destroy you if you thought about them or believed them. You don’t think I married you because you are what they say you are in these clippings do you?”

“No. I want to read them and then we’ll seal them up in the envelope.”

“I know you have to read them. I don’t want to be stupid about them. But even in an envelope it’s awful to have them with us. It’s like bringing along somebody’s ashes in a jar.”

“Plenty of people would be happy if their damned husbands had good reviews.”

“I’m not plenty of people and you’re not my damned husband. Please let’s not fight.”

“We won’t. You read them and if there’s anything good you tell me and if they say anything about the book that’s intelligent that we don’t know you tell me. The book’s made some money already,” he told her.

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad. But we know it’s good. If the reviews had said it was worthless and it never made a cent I would have been just as proud and just as happy.”

I wouldn’t, the young man thought. But he did not say it. He went on reading the reviews, unfolding them and folding them up again and putting them back in the envelope. The girl sat opening envelopes and reading her letters without interest. Then she looked out of the cafe at the sea. Her face was a dark gold brown and she had brushed her hair straight back from her forehead the way the sea had pulled it when she had come out of the water and where it was cropped close and on her cheeks the sun had burned it to white gold against the brown of her skin. She looked out at the sea and her eyes were very sad. Then she went back to opening letters. There was one long typewritten one that she read with concentration. Then she went on opening and reading the other letters. The young man looked at her and thought she looked a little as though she were shelling peas.

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