In the morning it was bright, and they were sprinkling the streets of the town, and we all had breakfast in a café. Bayonne is a nice town. It is like a very clean Spanish town and it is on a big river. Already, so early in the morning, it was very hot on the bridge across the river. We walked out on the bridge and then took a walk through the town.
I was not at all sure Mike's rods would come from Scotland in time, so we hunted a tackle store and finally bought a rod for Bill up-stairs over a drygoods store. The man who sold the tackle was out, and we had to wait for him to come back. Finally he came in, and we bought a pretty good rod cheap, and two landing-nets.
We went out into the street again and took a look at the cathedral. Cohn made some remark about it being a very good example of something or other, I forget what. It seemed like a nice cathedral, nice and dim, like Spanish churches. Then we went up past the old fort and out to the local Syndicat d'Initiative office, where the bus was supposed to start from. There they told us the bus service did not start until the 1st of July. We found out at the tourist office what we ought to pay for a motor-car to Pamplona and hired one at a big garage just around the corner from the Municipal Theatre for four hundred francs. The car was to pick us up at the hotel in forty minutes, and we stopped at the café on the square where we had eaten breakfast, and had a beer. It was hot, but the town had a cool, fresh, early-morning smell and it was pleasant sitting in the café. A breeze started to blow, and you could feel that the air came from the sea. There were pigeons out in the square, and the houses were a yellow, sun-baked color, and I did not want to leave the café. But we had to go to the hotel to get our bags packed and pay the bill. We paid for the beers, we matched and I think Cohn paid, and went up to the hotel. It was only sixteen francs apiece for Bill and me, with ten per cent added for the service, and we had the bags sent down and waited for Robert Cohn. While we were waiting I saw a cockroach on the parquet floor that must have been at least three inches long. I pointed him out to Bill and then put my shoe on him. We agreed he must have just come in from the garden. It was really an awfully clean hotel.
Cohn came down, finally, and we all went out to the car. It was a big, closed car, with a driver in a white duster with blue collar and cuffs, and we had him put the back of the car down. He piled in the bags and we started off up the street and out of the town. We passed some lovely gardens and had a good look back at the town, and then we were out in the country, green and rolling, and the road climbing all the time. We passed lots of Basques with oxen, or cattle, hauling carts along the road, and nice farmhouses, low roofs, and all white-plastered. In the Basque country the land all looks very rich and green and the houses and villages look well-off and clean. Every village had a pelota court and on some of them kids were playing in the hot sun. There were signs on the walls of the churches saying it was forbidden to play pelota against them, and the houses in the villages had red tiled roofs, and then the road turned off and commenced to climb and we were going way up close along a hillside, with a valley below and hills stretched off back toward the sea. You couldn't see the sea. It was too far away. You could see only hills and more hills, and you knew where the sea was.
We crossed the Spanish frontier. There was a little stream and a bridge, and Spanish carabineers, with patent-leather Bonaparte hats, and short guns on their backs, on one side, and on the other fat Frenchmen in kepis and mustaches. They only opened one bag and took the passports in and looked at them. There was a general store and inn on each side of the line. The chauffeur had to go in and fill out some papers about the car and we got out and went over to the stream to see if there were any trout. Bill tried to talk some Spanish to one of the carabineers, but it did not go very well. Robert Cohn asked, pointing with his finger, if there were any trout in the stream, and the carabineer said yes, but not many.
I asked him if he ever fished, and he said no, that he didn't care for it.
Just then an old man with long, sunburned hair and beard, and clothes that looked as though they were made of gunny-sacking, came striding up to the bridge. He was carrying a long staff, and he had a kid slung on his back, tied by the four legs, the head hanging down.
The carabineer waved him back with his sword. The man turned without saying anything, and started back up the white road into Spain.
"What's the matter with the old one?" I asked.
"He hasn't got any passport."
I offered the guard a cigarette. He took it and thanked me.
"What will he do?" I asked.
The guard spat in the dust.
"Oh, he'll just wade across the stream."
"Do you have much smuggling?"
"Oh," he said, "they go through."
The chauffeur came out, folding up the papers and putting them in the inside pocket of his coat. We all got in the car and it started up the white dusty road into Spain. For a while the country was much as it had been; then, climbing all the time, we crossed the top of a Col, the road winding back and forth on itself, and then it was really Spain. There were long brown mountains and a few pines and far-off forests of beech-trees on some of the mountainsides. The road went along the summit of the Col and then dropped down, and the driver had to honk, and slow up, and turn out to avoid running into two donkeys that were sleeping in the road. We came down out of the mountains and through an oak forest, and there were white cattle grazing in the forest. Down below there were grassy plains and clear streams, and then we crossed a stream and went through a gloomy little village, and started to climb again. We climbed up and up and crossed another high Col and turned along it, and the road ran down to the right, and we saw a whole new range of mountains off to the south, all brown and baked-looking and furrowed in strange shapes.
After a while we came out of the mountains, and there were trees along both sides of the road, and a stream and ripe fields of grain, and the road went on, very white and straight ahead, and then lifted to a little rise, and off on the left was a hill with an old castle, with buildings close around it and a field of grain going right up to the walls and shifting in the wind. I was up in front with the driver and I turned around. Robert Cohn was asleep, but Bill looked and nodded his head. Then we crossed a wide plain, and there was a big river off on the right shining in the sun from between the line of trees, and away off you could see the plateau of Pamplona rising out of the plain, and the walls of the city, and the great brown cathedral, and the broken skyline of the other churches. In back of the plateau were the mountains, and every way you looked there were other mountains, and ahead the road stretched out white across the plain going toward Pamplona.
We came into the town on the other side of the plateau, the road slanting up steeply and dustily with shade-trees on both sides, and then levelling out through the new part of town they are building up outside the old walls. We passed the bull-ring, high and white and concrete-looking in the sun, and then came into the big square by a side street and stopped in front of the Hotel Montoya.
The driver helped us down with the bags. There was a crowd of kids watching the car, and the square was hot, and the trees were green, and the flags hung on their staffs, and it was good to get out of the sun and under the shade of the arcade that runs all the way around the square. Montoya was glad to see us, and shook hands and gave us good rooms looking out on the square, and then we washed and cleaned up and went down-stairs in the dining-room for lunch. The driver stayed for lunch, too, and afterward we paid him and he started back to Bayonne.
There are two dining-rooms in the Montoya. One is up-stairs on the second floor and looks out on the square. The other is down one floor below the level of the square and has a door that opens on the back street that the bulls pass along when they run through the streets early in the morning on their way to the ring. It is always cool in the down-stairs dining-room and we had a very good lunch. The first meal in Spain was always a shock with the hors d'ceuvres, an egg course, two meat courses, vegetables, salad, and dessert and fruit. You have to drink plenty of wine to get it all down. Robert Cohn tried to say he did not want any of the second meat course, but we would not interpret for him, and so the waitress brought him something else as a replacement, a plate of cold meats, I think. Cohn had been rather nervous ever since we had met at Bayonne. He did not know whether we knew Brett had been with him at San Sebastian, and it made him rather awkward.
"Well," I said, "Brett and Mike ought to get in to-night."
"I'm not sure they'll come," Cohn said.
"Why not?" Bill said. "Of course they'll come."
"They're always late," I said.
"I rather think they're not coming," Robert Cohn said.
He said it with an air of superior knowledge that irritated both of us.
"I'll bet you fifty pesetas they're here to-night," Bill said. He always bets when he is angered, and so he usually bets foolishly.
"I'll take it," Cohn said. "Good. You remember it, Jake. Fifty pesetas."
"I'll remember it myself," Bill said. I saw he was angry and wanted to smooth him down.
"It's a sure thing they'll come," I said. "But maybe not tonight."
"Want to call it off?" Cohn asked.
"No. Why should I? Make it a hundred if you like."
"All right. I'll take that."
"That's enough," I said. "Or you'll have to make a book and give me some of it."
"I'm satisfied," Cohn said. He smiled. "You'll probably win it back at bridge, anyway."
"You haven't got it yet," Bill said.
We went out to walk around under the arcade to the Café Irufla for coffee. Cohn said he was going over and get a shave.
"Say," Bill said to me, "have I got any chance on that bet?"
"You've got a rotten chance. They've never been on time anywhere. If their money doesn't come it's a cinch they won't get in tonight."
"I was sorry as soon as I opened my mouth. But I had to call him. He's all right, I guess, but where does he get this inside stuff? Mike and Brett fixed it up with us about coming down here."
I saw Cohn coming over across the square.
"Here he comes."
"Well, let him not get superior and Jewish."
"The barber shop's closed," Cohn said. "It's not open till four."
We had coffee at the Iru?a, sitting in comfortable wicker chairs looking out from the cool of the arcade at the big square. After a while Bill went to write some letters and Cohn went over to the barber-shop. It was still closed, so he decided to go up to the hotel and get a bath, and I sat out in front of the café and then went for a walk in the town. It was very hot, but I kept on the shady side of the streets and went through the market and had a good time seeing the town again. I went to the Ayuntamiento and found the old gentleman who subscribes for the bull-fight tickets for me every year, and he had gotten the money I sent him from Paris and renewed my subscriptions, so that was all set. He was the archivist, and all the archives of the town were in his office. That has nothing to do with the story. Anyway, his office had a green baize door and a big wooden door, and when I went out I left him sitting among the archives that covered all the walls, and I shut both the doors, and as I went out of the building into the street the porter stopped me to brush off my coat.
"You must have been in a motor-car," he said.
The back of the collar and the upper part of the shoulders were gray with dust.
"From Bayonne."
"Well, well," he said. "I knew you were in a motor-car from the way the dust was." So I gave him two copper coins.
At the end of the street I saw the cathedral and walked up toward it. The first time I ever saw it I thought the facade was ugly but I liked it now. I went inside. It was dim and dark and the pillars went high up, and there were people praying, and it smelt of incense, and there were some wonderful big windows. I knelt and started to pray and prayed for everybody I thought of, Brett and Mike and Bill and Robert Cohn and myself, and all the bull-fighters, separately for the ones I liked, and lumping all the rest, then I prayed for myself again, and while I was praying for myself I found I was getting sleepy, so I prayed that the bull-fights would be good, and that it would be a fine fiesta, and that we would get some fishing. I wondered if there was anything else I might pray foi and I thought I would like to have some money, so I prayed that I would make a lot of money, and then I started to think how I would make it, and thinking of making money reminded me of the count, and I started wondering about where he was, and regretting I hadn't seen him since that night in Montmartre, and about something funny Brett told me about him, and as all the time I was kneeling with my forehead on the wood in front of me, and was thinking of myself as praying, I was a little ashamed, and regretted that I was such a rotten Catholic, but realized there was nothing I could do about it, at least for a while, and maybe never, but that anyway it was a grand religion, and I only wished I felt religious and maybe I would the next time; and then I was out in the hot sun on the steps of the cathedral, and the forefingers and the thumb of my right hand were still damp, and I felt them dry in the sun. The sunlight was hot and hard, and I crossed over beside some buildings, and walked back along sidestreets to the hotel.
At dinner that night we found that Robert Cohn had taken a bath, had had a shave and a haircut and a shampoo, and something put on his hair afterward to make it stay down. He was nervous, and I did not try to help him any. The train was due in at nine o'clock from San Sebastian, and, if Brett and Mike were coming, they would be on it. At twenty minutes to nine we were not half through dinner. Robert Cohn got up from the table and said he would go to the station. I said I would go with him, just to devil him. Bill said he would be damned if he would leave his dinner. I said we would be right back.
We walked to the station. I was enjoying Cohn's nervousness. I hoped Brett would be on the train. At the station the train was late, and we sat on a baggage-truck and waited outside in the dark. I have never seen a man in civil life as nervous as Robert Cohn--nor as eager. I was enjoying it. It was lousy to enjoy it, but I felt lousy. Cohn had a wonderful quality of bringing out the worst in anybody.
After a while we heard the train-whistle way off below on the other side of the plateau, and then we saw the headlight coming up the hill. We went inside the station and stood with a crowd of people just back of the gates, and the train came in and stopped, and everybody started coming out through the gates.
They were not in the crowd. We waited till everybody had gone through and out of the station and gotten into buses, or taken cabs, or were walking with their friends or relatives through the dark into the town.
"I knew they wouldn't come," Robert said. We were going back to the hotel.
"I thought they might," I said.
Bill was eating fruit when we came in and finishing a bottle of wine.
"Didn't come, eh?"
"No."
"Do you mind if I give you that hundred pesetas in the morning, Cohn?" Bill asked. "I haven't changed any money here yet."
"Oh, forget about it," Robert Cohn said. "Let's bet on something else. Can you bet on bull-fights?"
"You could," Bill said, "but you don't need to."
"It would be like betting on the war," I said. "You don't need any economic interest."
"I'm very curious to see them," Robert said.
Montoya came up to our table. He had a telegram in his hand. "It's for you." He handed it to me.
It read: "Stopped night San Sebastian."
"It's from them," I said. I put it in my pocket. Ordinarily I should have handed it over.
"They've stopped over in San Sebastian," I said. "Send their regards to you."
Why I felt that impulse to devil him I do not know. Of course I do know. I was blind, unforgivingly jealous of what had happened to him. The fact that I took it as a matter of course did not alter that any. I certainly did hate him. I do not think I ever really hated him until he had that little spell of superiority at lunch--that and when he went through all that barbering. So I put the telegram in my pocket. The telegram came to me, anyway.
"Well," I said. "We ought to pull out on the noon bus for Burguete. They can follow us if they get in to-morrow night."
There were only two trains up from San Sebastian, an early morning train and the one we had just met.
"That sounds like a good idea," Cohn said.
"The sooner we get on the stream the better."
"It's all one to me when we start," Bill said. "The sooner the better."
We sat in the Irufla for a while and had coffee and then took a little walk out to the bull-ring and across the field and under the trees at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the river in the dark, and I turned in early. Bill and Cohn stayed out in the café quite late, I believe, because I was asleep when they came in.
In the morning I bought three tickets for the bus to Burguete. It was scheduled to leave at two o'clock. There was nothing earlier. I was sitting over at the Irufla reading the papers when I saw Robert Cohn coming across the square. He came up to the table and sat down in one of the wicker chairs.
"This is a comfortable café," he said. "Did you have a good night, Jake?"
"I slept like a log."
"I didn't sleep very well. Bill and I were out late, too."
"Where were you?"
"Here. And after it shut we went over to that other café. The old man there speaks German and English."
"The Café Suizo."
"That's it. He seems like a nice old fellow. I think it's a better café than this one."
"It's not so good in the daytime," I said. "Too hot. By the way, I got the bus tickets."
"I'm not going up to-day. You and Bill go on ahead."
"I've got your ticket."
"Give it to me. I'll get the money back."
"It's five pesetas."
Robert Cohn took out a silver five-peseta piece and gave it to me.
"I ought to stay," he said. "You see I'm afraid there's some sort of misunderstanding."
"Why," I said. "They may not come here for three or four days now if they start on parties at San Sebastian."
"That's just it," said Robert. "I'm afraid they expected to meet me at San Sebastian, and that's why they stopped over."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, I wrote suggesting it to Brett."
"Why in hell didn't you stay there and meet them, then?" I started to say, but I stopped. I thought that idea would come to him by itself, but I do not believe it ever did.
He was being confidential now and it was giving him pleasure to be able to talk with the understanding that I knew there was something between him and Brett.
"Well, Bill and I will go up right after lunch," I said.
"I wish I could go. We've been looking forward to this fishing all winter." He was being sentimental about it. "But I ought to stay. I really ought. As soon as they come I'll bring them right up."
"Let's find Bill."
"I want to go over to the barber-shop."
"See you at lunch."
I found Bill up in his room. He was shaving.
"Oh, yes, he told me all about it last night," Bill said. "He's a great little confider. He said he had a date with Brett at San Sebastian."
"The lying bastard!"
"Oh, no," said Bill. "Don't get sore. Don't get sore at this stage of the trip. How did you ever happen to know this fellow anyway?"
"Don't rub it in."
Bill looked around, half-shaved, and then went on talking into the mirror while he lathered his face.
"Didn't you send him with a letter to me in New York last winter? Thank God, I'm a travelling man. Haven't you got some more Jewish friends you could bring along?" He rubbed his chin with his thumb, looked at it, and then started scraping again.
"You've got some fine ones yourself."
"Oh, yes. I've got some darbs. But not alongside of this Robert Cohn. The funny thing is he's nice, too. I like him. But he's just so awful."
"He can be damn nice."
"I know it. That's the terrible part."
I laughed.
"Yes. Go on and laugh," said Bill. "You weren't out with him last night until two o'clock."
"Was he very bad?"
"Awful. What's all this about him and Brett, anyway? Did she ever have anything to do with him?"
He raised his chin up and pulled it from side to side.
"Sure. She went down to San Sebastian with him."
"What a damn-fool thing to do. Why did she do that?"
"She wanted to get out of town and she can't go anywhere alone. She said she thought it would be good for him."
"What bloody-fool things people do. Why didn't she go off with some of her own people? Or you?"--he slurred that over--"or me? Why not me?" He looked at his face carefully in the glass, put a big dab of lather on each cheek-bone. "It's an honest face. It's a face any woman would be safe with."
"She'd never seen it."
"She should have. All women should see it. It's a face that ought to be thrown on every screen in the country. Every woman ought to be given a copy of this face as she leaves the altar. Mothers should tell their daughters about this face. My son"--he pointed the razor at me--"go west with this face and grow up with the country."
He ducked down to the bowl, rinsed his face with cold water, put on some alcohol, and then looked at himself carefully in the glass, pulling down his long upper lip.
My God. he said, isn't it an awful face?
He looked in the glass.
"And as for this Robert Cohn," Bill said, "he makes me sick, and he can go to hell, and I'm damn glad he's staying here so we won't have him fishing with us."
"You're damn right."
"We're going trout-fishing. We're going trout-fishing in the Irati River, and we're going to get tight now at lunch on the wine of the country, and then take a swell bus ride."
"Come on. Let's go over to the Irufla and start," I said.
早晨，天气晴朗，人们在城里街道上洒水，我们三人在一家咖啡馆里吃早饭。巴荣纳是座秀丽的城市。它很象一座一尘不染的西班牙小城，濒临一条大河。一大早，横跨大河的桥上就已经暑气逼人了。我们走上桥头，然后穿过城市走了一通。
迈克的钓竿能否按时从苏格兰捎来，我完全没有把握，因此我们寻找一家钓鱼用具商店，最后在一家绸缎店楼上给比尔买到一根。卖钓鱼用具的人出去了，我们只得等他回来。此人终于回来了，我们很便宜地买到一根相当好的钓竿，还买了两张抄网。
我们又走上街头，到大教堂去看了一下。科恩说，它是什么式教堂的一个非常出色的范例，我记不得是什么式了。这教堂看来很讲究，象西班牙教堂那样精巧而阴暗。然后我们往前走，经过那座古老的堡垒，直走到当地的旅游事业联合会的办事处，据说公共汽车就从那里启程。那里有人告诉我们，要到七月一日才开始通车。我们在这旅游处打听到雇车到潘普洛纳去的价钱，就在市剧院拐角的一个大车库里花四百法郎雇了一辆汽车。汽车将过四十分钟到旅馆来接我们。我们回到广场上我们吃早饭的那家咖啡馆，喝了一杯啤酒。天气炎热，但城里却有清晨的那种凉爽、清新的气息，坐在咖啡馆里感到心旷神怡。微风吹来，你可以感觉到这阵风是来自大海的。广场上栖息着鸽子，房屋是黄色的，象是被阳光烤焦了。我舍不得离开咖啡馆。但是我们得到旅馆去收拾行装，付帐。我们付了啤酒钱（我们抛掷硬币赌了一下，结果好象是科思会的钞），步行到旅馆。我和比尔每人只付了十六法郎，外加百分之十的服务费，我们吩咐把旅行包送下楼，等待罗伯特.科恩来。我们正等着，我看见镶木地板上有只蟑螂，至少有三英寸长。我把它指给比尔看，然后把它踩在脚下。我们都认为它是刚从花园爬进来的。这家旅馆确实是满干净的。
科恩终于下楼来了，我们一起出去向汽车走去，这是辆有篷的大汽车，司机穿一件蓝领、蓝袖口的白色风衣，我们吩咐他把后篷放下。他堆好旅行包，我们随即出发顺大街出城。我们经过几处景色优美的花园，回头久久注视市区，然后驶上青葱而起伏不平的原野，公路始终向上爬行。一路上驶过许许多多赶着牲口或牛车的巴斯克人，还有精致的农舍，屋顶很低，墙壁全部刷白。在这巴斯克地区，土地看来都很肥沃，一片翠绿，房屋和村庄看来富裕而整洁。村村有片回力球场。在有些球场上，孩子们顶着烈日在玩耍。教堂墙上挂着牌子，写着禁止往墙上打球的字样，村里的房子都盖着红瓦。接着公路拐了个弯，开始向山上攀登，我们紧靠山坡行进，下面是河谷，几座小山往后向海边伸展。这里望不到海。离此太远了。只能看见重重叠叠的山峦，但是能够估摸出大海的方向。
我们跨过西班牙国境线。这里有一条小溪和一座桥，一侧是西班牙哨兵，头戴拿破仑式漆皮三角帽，背挎短枪，另一侧是肥胖的法国兵，头戴平顶军帽，留着小胡子。他们只打开一只旅行包，把我们的护照拿进哨所去检查。在警戒线两边各有一爿杂货铺和一家小客栈。司机不得不走进哨所去填写几张汽车登记表，我们就下车到小溪边察看那里有没有鳟鱼。比尔试着和一位哨兵唠几句西班牙语，但是成绩不大好。罗伯特.科恩用手指着小溪问里面有没有鳟鱼，哨兵说有，但是不多。我问他钓过没有，他说没有，他不感兴趣。就在这时候，有个老头儿迈着大步走到桥头。他的长发和胡子被阳光晒得发了黄，衣服好象是用粗麻袋缝制的。他手拿一根长棍，背上背着一只捆绑着四条腿、耷拉着脑袋的小山羊。
哨兵挥动佩刀叫他回来。老头儿什么也没说就转身顺着白“这老头儿怎么回事？”我问。“他没有护照。”我递给哨兵一支烟。他接过去，说了声谢谢。
“他怎么办呢？”我问。
哨兵往尘土里吐了一口唾沫。
“哼，他会干脆涉水过河。”
“你们这里走私的很多吗？”“哦，”他说，“经常有人越境。”司机走出来，一边把证件折好，放进上衣里面的口袋。我们全都上了车，驶上尘土飞扬的白色大道，开进西班牙。一开始，景色几乎依然如故；后来，公路绕着小山包盘旋而上，我们不停地向山上爬行，穿过丛山间的隘口，这才到了真正的西班牙。这里有绵延的褐色群山，山上长着一些松树，远方的几处山坡上，有几片山毛榉林。公路从隘口顶部穿过，然后下降，有两头毛驴躺在路中间打瞌睡，为了不致于撞上，司机不得不揿喇叭，降低车速，在路边绕过去。我们出了山，穿过一片栎树林，林中有白色牛群在吃草。下面是大草原和几条清澈的溪流，我们越过一条小溪，穿过一个幽暗的小村庄，又开始爬山。我们爬啊，爬啊，又翻过一个山脊隘口，然后顺着山势拐弯，公路向右方下降，我们看见南方展现出另一道山脉的全貌，全部呈褐色，象是被烤焦了一般，沟壑千姿百态，蔚为奇观。
一会儿，我们穿过群山，公路两侧绿树成行，有一条小溪和一片熟透了的庄稼。笔直的、白晃晃的大道直奔远方，再过去地势微微隆起，左边是一座小山，山上有座古堡，古堡周围簇拥着一批建筑群，一片庄稼随风起伏，一直伸向墙脚。我是在前面同司机坐在一起的，这时转过身来。罗伯特.科恩在打瞌睡，比尔却对我看看，并点点头。接着我们驶过一片开阔的平原，右方有条闪烁着太阳光辉的大河从树行间露出面来，潘普洛纳高地在远方的平原上升起，你可以看见城墙、褐色的大教堂以及其它教堂的参差不齐的轮廓。高地后面有山，极目四望，处处都是山，白色的公路向前伸展，跨过平原直奔潘普洛纳城。
我们驶进位于高地另一侧的城市，两侧绿树成荫的公路灰尘扑扑地陡然上升，然后下降，穿过老城墙外人们正在建设的新城区。我们路经斗牛场，这是一座高大的白色建筑，在阳光里显得很结实，我们接着从一条小巷驶进大广场，在蒙托亚旅馆门前停下。
司机帮我们卸下旅行包。有群孩子围观我们的汽车，广场上很热，树木青葱，有些旗帜悬挂在旗杆上，一圈拱廊把广场团团围住，避开阳光躲在拱廊下的阴凉处是很舒服的。蒙托亚看见我们很高兴，同我们握手，给我们安排了窗户朝广场的好房间，然后我们洗脸洗澡，收拾干净了下楼到餐厅吃午饭。司机也在这里就餐，吃完饭，我们给了他车钱，他就上路返回巴荣纳。
蒙托亚旅馆有两个餐厅。一个在二楼，俯瞰着广场。另一个比广场的平面低一层，有扇门通后街，牛群在清晨跑向斗牛场的时候，就是路经这条街的。地下餐厅一直很阴凉，我们饱餐了一顿。到西班牙的第一顿饭往往使人震惊，有好几碟冷盘小吃、一道鸡蛋做的菜、两道肉菜、几色蔬菜、凉拌生菜，还有点心和水果。要把这些都吞下肚去，必须喝大量的酒。罗伯特.科恩想说根本不要第二道肉菜，可是我们没有给他翻译，因此女侍者给他换了另一道菜，好象是一碟冷肉。科恩自从在巴荣纳跟我们会合以来，一直心神不定。他弄不清我们是否知道勃莱特在圣塞瓦斯蒂安曾经和他在一起，此事使他感到很尴尬。
“哦，”我说，“勃莱特和迈克今晚该到了。”
“我看不一定来，”科恩说。
“怎么不来呢？”比尔说。“他们当然会来的。”
“他们老是迟到，”我说。
“我认为他们是不会来了，”罗伯特.科恩说。
他说时带着一种比人高明的神气，把我们俩惹恼了。他们今天晚上到，我和你赌五十比塞塔，”比尔说。他一生气就打赌，所以经常赌注下得毫无道理。
“我同意，”科恩说。“好。你记住，杰克。五十比塞塔。”
“我自己会记住的，”比尔说。我看他生气了，想让他消消气。
“他们肯定会来的，”我说。“但是不见得在今天晚上。”
“你想反悔吗？”科恩问。
“不。为什么反悔呢？如果你愿意，就来它一百比塞塔。”
“好。我同意。”
“够了，”我说。“再抬上去的话，你们就得要我做中人，让我来抽头了。”
“我没有意见，”科恩说。他笑了。“反正一打桥牌，你就可能把钱赢回去。”
“你还没有赢到手哩，”比尔说。
我们走出门外，从拱廊下绕过去，到伊鲁涅咖啡馆去喝咖啡。科恩说他要去刮刮胡子。
“告诉我，”比尔对我说，“这次下的赌注我有希望赢吗？”
“你的运气糟透了。他们到哪儿也从没准时过。如果他们的钱没汇到，他们今晚绝对到不了。”
“我一张嘴，当时就懊悔了。但是我不得不激他摊牌。我看他这个人不坏，可他从哪儿得悉这内情的呢？迈克和勃莱特不是跟我们说好了要到这里来的吗？”我看见科恩从广场上在走过来。“他来了。”“噢，得让他改一改自大的毛病和犹太人的习气啦。”
“理发店关着门，”科恩说。“要到四点才开。”
我们在“伊鲁涅”喝咖啡，坐在舒适的柳条椅里，从凉爽的拱廊下面朝大广场望去。一会儿之后，比尔回去写信，科恩上理发店。理发店仍然没有开门，所以他决定回旅馆去洗个澡，我呢，还在咖啡馆门前坐着，后来在城里溜达了一下。天气很热，我一直挑路的背阴一侧走，穿过市场，愉快地重新观光了这座城市。我赶到市政厅，找到每年给我预订斗牛票的那位老先生，他已经收到我从巴黎寄来的钱，续订好了票子，所以一切都安排妥当了。他是档案保管员，城里的全部档案都放在他的办公室里。这和这段故事无关。但反正他的办公室有一扇绿粗呢包的门和一扇厚实的大木门。我走出来，撇下他一人坐在排满四壁的档案柜之间，我关上这两道门，正走出大楼要上街的时候，看门人拦住了我，给我刷掉外衣上的尘土。
“你准是坐过汽车了，”他说。
领子后面和两肩都沾满了灰蒙蒙的一层尘土。
“从巴荣纳来。”
“哎呀呀，”他说。“从你这身尘土我就知道你坐过汽车了。”于是我给了他两个铜币。
我看见那座大教堂就在街道尽头，就向它走去。我第一次看见这大教堂时，觉得它的外表很不顺眼，可是现在我却很喜欢它。我走进大教堂。里面阴沉而幽暗，几根柱子高高耸起，有人在做祷告，堂里散发着香火味，有几扇精彩的大花玻璃窗。我跪下开始祈祷， 为我能想起来的所有人祈祷，为勃莱特、迈克、比尔、罗伯特.科恩和我自己，为所有的斗牛士，对我爱慕的斗牛士单独一一为之祈祷，其余的就一古脑儿地放在一起，然后为自己又祈祷了一遍，但在我为自己祈祷的时候，我发觉自己昏昏欲睡，所以我就祈求这几场斗牛会是很精彩的，这次节期很出色，保佑我们能钓几次鱼。我琢磨着还有什么别的事要祈祷的，想起了我需要点钱，所以我祈求能发一笔大财，接着我开始想该怎样去挣，一想到挣钱，我就联想到伯爵，想到不知道他现在哪里，感到遗憾的是那天晚上在蒙马特一别就没有再见到他，还想起勃莱特告诉我有关他的一些可笑的事儿。这会儿我把额头靠在前面长木凳的靠背上跪着，想到自己在祈祷，就感到有点害臊，为自己是一个糟糕透顶的天主教徒而懊悔，但是意识到我自己对此毫无办法，至少在这一阵，或许永远，不过，怎么说天主教还是种伟大的宗教，但愿我有虔敬之心，或许下次来时我会有的；然后我来到灼热的阳光下，站在大教堂的台阶上，右手的食指和拇指依然湿漉漉的，我感到它们在太阳下被晒干了。阳光热辣辣的，我靠着一些建筑跨过广场，顺着小巷走回旅馆。
那晚吃晚饭时，我们发觉罗伯特.科恩已经洗过澡，刮过胡子，理了发，洗了头，并且为了使头发不翘起来，洗完后还擦了点什么油。他很紧张，我也不想宽慰他。圣塞瓦斯蒂安来的火车九点到达，如果勃莱特和迈克来的话，他们该坐这一趟。九点差二十分，我们还没有吃完一半，罗伯特.科恩就从饭桌边站起来，说他要到车站去。我存心戏弄他，就说要陪他一起去。比尔说，要他离开饭桌可得要他的命。我说我们马上就回来。
我们走到车站。我因科恩神经紧张而幸灾乐祸。我希望勃莱特在这班火车上。火车到站晚点了，我们在车站外面的黑地里，坐在推行李的手车上等着。我在非战时的生活中，从没见过一个人象罗伯特.科恩此时这么紧张，这么急切。我感到怪有趣的。这种高兴的情绪是恶劣的，可我的情绪确是很恶劣。科恩就有这种奇特的本事，他能在任何人身上唤起最丑恶的本质。
过了一会儿，我们听到远在高地另一头的下坡传来火车汽笛声，然后看见火车的前灯从山坡上一路过来。我们走进车站，和一群人一起紧挨在出站口站着，火车进站停下，旅客开始通过出站口走出来。
人群里没有他们。我们一直等到旅客全部出了站，乘上公共汽车、出租马车或者和他们的亲朋穿过黑暗朝城里走去。
“我早知道他们是不会来的，”罗伯特说。我们走回旅馆。
“我倒以为他们可能会来的，”我说。
我们走进旅馆时，比尔正在吃水果，一瓶酒快喝光了。
“没来，呃？”
“是的。”
“明儿早晨给你那一百比塞塔行吗，科恩？”比尔问。“我的钱还没有换呢。”
“嘿，不必了，”罗伯特.科恩说。“我们赌点别的吧。斗牛赛能赌吗？”
“可以嘛，”比尔说，“但是大可不必。”
“这等于拿战争来打赌一样，”我说。“你不必有任何经济方面的得失心。”
“我太想看斗牛了，”罗伯特说。
蒙托亚走到我门餐桌边来。他手里拿着一封电报。“是给你的。”他把电报递给我。
电文是：夜宿圣塞瓦斯蒂安。
“这是他们打来的，”我说。我把电报塞进口袋。要在平时我就给大家看了。“他们在圣塞瓦斯蒂安过夜，”我说。“他们向你们问好。”
我不知道当时是什么原因驱使我去调弄他。当然，今天我明白了。他的艳遇使我感到一种毫无理性的、跟人过不去的忌妒。尽管我把这回事看作理所当然，也无法改变自己的感触。我当时确实恨他。我看，起先我也并不真心恨他，直到他在就餐时表现出那种无所不知的样子——这还不算，还去理发、洗头、搽油什么的闹了一通。所以我把电报装进了口袋。电报反正是打给我的嘛。
“就这样吧，”我说。“我们该乘中午的公共汽车到布尔戈特去。他们要是明儿晚上到的话，可以随后再来。”
从圣塞瓦斯蒂安开来的火车只有两班，一班是清晨到，另一班就是方才我们去接的。
“这倒是个好主意，”科恩说。
“我们越早赶到河边越好。”
“什么时候走对我都一样，”比尔说。“越快越好。”
我们在“伊鲁涅”坐了一会儿，喝了咖啡，然后出来走一小段路到了斗牛场，再穿过一片地，在悬崖边的树丛下俯视笼罩在黑暗之中的河流，回来后我早早就上床了。比尔和科恩在咖啡馆大概一直待到很晚，因为他们回旅馆的时候，我已经睡着了。
第二天早晨，我买了三张到布尔戈特去的公共汽车票。车子预定在两点开。没有再早的车了。我坐在“伊鲁涅”看报，只见罗伯特.科恩从广场上走过来。他走到桌边，在一把柳条椅上坐下。“这家咖啡馆很舒适，”他说。“昨晚你睡得好吗，杰克？”“睡得象死过去一样。”“我没睡好。我和比尔在外面待得也太晚了。”
“你们上哪儿去啦？”
“就坐在这里。等这儿打了烊，我们到另外那家咖啡馆去。那里的上了年纪的主人会讲德语和英语。”
“是苏伊佐咖啡馆。”
“就是那家。那老头挺好。我看那家咖啡馆比这家好。”
“那边白天不怎么好，”我说。“太热了。告诉你，我已经买好车票了。”
“今天我不走了。你和比尔先走吧。”
“你的票我已经买了。”
“给我吧，我去把钱退回来。”
“五比塞塔。”
罗伯特.科恩拿出一个五比塞塔的银币给我。
“我得留下，”他说。“你知道，我担心发生了差错。”
“怎么，”我说。“他们要是在圣塞瓦斯蒂安一玩起来，三四天之内是不会到这里来的。”
“就是嘛，”罗伯特说。“我怕他们指望在圣塞瓦斯蒂安同我碰头，因此他们在那里歇脚。”
“你怎么会这样想的？”
“呃，我曾写信向勃莱特提出过。”
“那你他妈为什么不留在那里接他们呢？”我正想这么说，但是把话咽下去了。我以为他会自动地想到这一点的，但是我看结果根本没有。
他这是对我讲的知心话，他知道我了解他和勃莱特的底细，所以可以对我吐吐衷肠，这使他很高兴。
“好吧，比尔和我午饭后马上就走，”我说。
“我真想去。这次钓鱼我们已经盼了整整一冬天了。”他为此很感伤。“但是我应该留下来。我真的应该。等他们一到，我马上带他们去。”
“我们去找比尔吧。”
“我要到理发店去。”
“午饭时再见。”
我在比尔自己的房间里找到他。他在刮脸。
“哦，是的，他昨儿晚上通通告诉我了，”比尔说。“他讲起知心话来可真了不起。他说他曾和勃莱特约定在圣塞瓦斯蒂安相会。”
“这个撒谎的杂种！”
“啊，别这样，”比尔说。“不要发火。你别在旅行刚一开始就发火。不过你怎么认识这个家伙的？”
“别提了。”
比尔的胡子刮到一半，他回头看看，然后一边在脸上抹皂沫，一边对着镜子继续讲下去。
“去年冬天你不是叫他捎信来纽约找我的吗？感谢上帝，我经常外出旅行，没有碰上。难道你没有别的犹太朋友可以带来一起旅行的？”比尔用大拇指捋捋下巴，看了一下，然后又刮起脸来。
“你自己不也有些很好的朋友嘛！”
“是啊。有几个呱呱叫的。但是哪能和这位罗伯特.科恩相提并论啊，有趣的是他也很可爱。我喜欢他。不过他真叫人受不了。”
“他有时候能变得满可爱。”
“我知道，可怕就可怕在这里。”
我哈哈大笑起来。
“是的。笑吧，”比尔说。“昨天晚上你可没有和他在外面待到两点钟啊。”
“他的情绪很坏？”
“真可怕。他和勃莱特到底是怎么回事？她曾经跟他有过什么关系吗？”
他抬起下巴，用手把它朝左右转动了一下。
“当然有。她跟他一起到圣塞瓦斯蒂安去过。”
“干得多愚蠢啊。她为什么这样干？”
“她想离开城市待一阵，可是就她一个人，哪儿也去不成。她说她以为这样会对他有好处哩。”
“一个人竞干得出这样不可思议的蠢事。她为什么不和自己的家属一起去呢？或者和你？”——他把这句一带而过——“或者和我？为什么不和我呢？”他对着镜子仔细端详自己的脸，在两侧颧骨上涂上一大摊皂沫。“这是一张诚实的面孔。这是任何女人都可以信得过的。”
“她从来没有见过你这副模样。”
“她应该看见过。该让所有的女人都看见。该把它在全国的每个银幕上放映。当每个女人结婚离开圣坛的时候，都应该发给一张这样的照片。做母亲的应该给她们的女儿介绍这张面孔。我的儿啊，”——他用剃刀指着我——“带着这张面孔到西部去，和祖国一起成长吧。”
他低头就着脸盆，用凉水冲洗了一下，抹上一点酒精，然后对着镜子仔细端详自己，往下扯着他那片很长的上嘴唇。
“我的上帝！”他说，“这脸蛋丑不丑？”
他对着镜子看。
“至于这个罗伯特.科恩嘛，”比尔说,“他叫我恶心。让他见鬼去吧，他留在这里我打心眼里高兴，这样我们可以不用跟他一起钓鱼了。”
“你说得真对。”
“我们要去钓鳟鱼。我们要到伊拉蒂河去钓鳟鱼，现在我们去吃中饭，把本地美酒喝个醉，然后上车踏上美妙的旅途。”
“走吧。我们到‘伊鲁涅’去，然后动身，”我说。