One thing that’s curious is that Hemingway sometimes
transcribes the dialogue in the present tense, especially for Jack. Notice how for the most part it’s “I said” or
“Jack said,” but every so often it’s “Jacks says.” It’s certainly not a slip up. It’s consciously done. I just can’t figure out what Hemingway means
or suggests by it. The story is told in
first person from a friend of Jack’s named Jerry Doyle. They are at Hogan’s training camp.
We put on our coats and
started out. It was quite a way down to
the main road and then we walked along the main road about a mile and a
half. Cars kept going by and we would pull
out to the side until they were past.
Jack didn’t say anything. After
we had stepped out into the bushes to let a big car go by Jack said, “To hell
with this walking. Come on back to
Hogan’s.
We went along a side
road that cut up over the hill and cut across the fields back to Hogan’s. We could see the lights of the house up on
the hill. We came around to the front of
the house and there standing in the doorway was Hogan.
“Have a good walk?”
Hogan asked.
“Oh, fine,” Jack
said. “Listen, Hogan. Have you got any liquor?”
“Sure,” says
Hogan. “What’s the idea?”
“Send it up to the
room,” Jack says. “I’m going to sleep
tonight.”
“You’re the doctor,”
Hogan says.
“Come on up to the
room, Jerry,” Jack says.
Upstairs Jack sat on
the bed with his head in his hands.
“Ain’t it a life?” Jack
says.
Hogan brought in a
quart of liquor and two glasses.
“Want some ginger ale?”
“What do you think I
want to do, get sick?”
“I just asked you,”
said Hogan.
“Have a drink?” said
Jack.
“No, thanks,” said
Hogan. He went out.
“How about you, Jerry?”
“I’ll have one with
you,” I said.
Jack poured out a
couple of drinks. “Now,” he said, “I
want to take it slow and easy.”
“Put some water in it,”
I said.
“Yes,” jack said. “I guess that’s better.”
We had a couple of
drinks without saying anything. Jack
started to pour me another.
“No,” I said, “that’s
all I want.”
“All right,” Jack
said. He poured himself another big shot
and put water in it. He was lighting up
a little.
“That was a fine bunch
out here this afternoon,” he said. “They
don’t take any chances, those two.”
Then a little later,
“Well,” he says, they’re right. What the
hell’s the good of taking chances?”
“Don’t you want
another, Jerry?” he said. “Come on,
drink along with me.”
“I don’t need it,
Jack,” I said. “I feel alright.”
“Just have one more,”
Jack said. It was softening him up.
“All right,” I said.
Jack poured one for me
and another big one for himself.
“You know,” he said, “I
like liquor pretty well. If I hadn’t
been boxing I would have drunk quite a lot.”
“Sure,” I said.
“You know,” he said, “I
missed a lot, boxing.”
“You made plenty of
money.”
“Sure, that’s what I’m
after. You know I miss a lot, Jerry.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” he says, “like
about my wife. And being away from home
so much. It don’t do my girls any
good. ‘Who’s your old man?’ some of
these society kids ‘ll say to them. ‘My
old man’s Jack Brennan.’ That don’t do
them any good.”
‘Hell,” I said, “all
that makes a difference is if they got dough.”
“Well,” says Jack, “I
got the dough for them all right.”
He poured out another
drink. The bottle was about empty.
“Put some water in it,”
I said. Jack poured in some water.
“You know,” he says,
“You ain’t got any idea how I miss the wife.”
“Sure.”
“You ain’t got any
idea. You can’t have an idea what it’s
like.”
“It ought to be better
out in the country than in town.”
“With me now,” jack
said, “it don’t make any difference where I am.
You can’t have any idea what it’s like.”
“Have another drink.”
“Am I getting
soused? Do I talk funny?”
“You’re coming on all
right.”
“You can’t have any
idea what it’s like. They ain’t anybody
can have an idea what it’s like.”
“Except the wife,” I
said.
“She knows,” Jack
said. “She knows all right. She knows.
You bet she knows.”
“Put some water in
that,” I said.
“Jerry,” says Jack,
“you can’t have an idea what it gets to be like.”
He was good and
drunk. He was looking at me steady. His eyes were sort of too steady.
“You’ll sleep all
right,” I said.
“Listen, Jerry,” Jack
says. “You want to make some money? Get some money down on Walcott.”
“Yes?”
“Listen, Jerry,” Jack
put down the glass. “I’m not drunk now,
see? You know what I’m betting on
him? Fifty grand.”
“That’s a lot of
dough.”
“Fifty grand,” Jack
says, “at two to one. I’ll get
twenty-five thousand bucks. Get some
money on him, Jerry.”
“It sounds good,” I
said.
“How can I beat him?”
Jack says. “It ain’t crooked. How can I beat him? Why not make money on it?”
“Put some water in
that,” I said.
“I’m through after this
fight,” Jack says. “I’m through with
it. I got to take a beating. Why shouldn’t I make money on it?”
“Sure.”
“I ain’t slept for a
week,” Jack says. “All night I lay awake
and worry my can off. I can’t sleep,
Jerry. You ain’t got an idea what it’s
like when you can’t sleep.”
“Sure.”
“I can’t sleep. That’s all.
I just can’t sleep. What’s the
use of taking care of yourself all these years when you can’t sleep?”
“It’s bad.”
“You ain’t got an idea
what it’s like, Jerry, when you can’t sleep.”
“Put some water in
that,” I said.
Well, about eleven
o’clock Jack passes out and I put him to bed.
Finally he’s so he can’t keep from sleeping. I help him get his clothes off and got him to
bed.
“You’ll sleep all
right, Jack,” I said.
“Sure,” Jack says,
“I’ll sleep now.”
“Good night, Jack,” I
said.
“Good night, Jerry,”
Jack says. “You’re the only friend I
got.”
“Oh, hell,” I said.
“You’re the only friend
I got,” Jack says, “the only friend I got.”
“Go to sleep,” I said.
“I’ll sleep, “Jack
says.
Now
these aren’t intellectuals speaking. The
dialogue is so true; it’s as sharp as a dramatist. It reminds me very much of my Brooklyn
upbringing, only Hemingway’s characters are bit more taciturn than the people I
grew up around. Read the story to find
out how it turns out. It’s not quite
what one expects, but very much concludes the theme.
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