Free In Our Time by Ernest Hemingway Page A

complaints. She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper. She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.
    Liking him she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber cape was crossing the empty square to the café. The cat would be around to the right. Perhaps she could go along under the eaves. As she stood in the doorway an umbrella opened behind her. It was the maid who looked after their room.
    â€œYou must not get wet,” she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel-keeper had sent her.
    With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she was under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat was gone. She was suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her.
    â€œHa perduto qualque cosa, Signora?”
    â€œThere was a cat,” said the American girl.
    â€œA cat?”
    â€œSi, il gatto.”
    â€œA cat?” the maid laughed. “A cat in the rain?”
    â€œYes,” she said, “under the table.” Then, “Oh, I wanted it so much. I wanted a kitty.”
    When she talked English the maid’s face tightened.
    â€œCome, Signora,” she said. “We must get back inside. You will be wet.”
    â€œI suppose so,” said the American girl.
    They went back along the gravel path and passed in the door. The maid stayed outside to close the umbrella. As the American girl passed the office, the padrone bowed from his desk. Something felt very small and tight inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really important. She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance. She went on up the stairs. She opened the door of the room. George was on the bed, reading.
    â€œDid you get the cat?” he asked, putting the book down.
    â€œIt was gone.”
    â€œWonder where it went to,” he said, resting his eyes from reading.
    She sat down on the bed.
    â€œI wanted it so much,” she said. “I don’t know why I wanted it so much. I wanted that poor kitty. It isn’t any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain.”
    George was reading again.
    She went over and sat in front of the mirror of the dressing table looking at herself with the hand glass. She studied her profile, first one side and then the other. Then she studied the back of her head and her neck.
    â€œDon’t you think it would be a good idea if I let my hair grow out?” she asked, looking at her profile again.
    George looked up and saw the back of her neck, clipped close like a boy’s.
    â€œI like it the way it is.”
    â€œI get so tired of it,” she said. “I get so tired of looking like a boy.”
    George shifted his position in the bed. He hadn’t looked away from her since she started to speak.
    â€œYou look pretty darn nice,” he said.
    She laid the mirror down on the dresser and went over to the window and looked out. It was getting dark.
    â€œI want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that I can feel,” she said. “I want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when I stroke her.”
    â€œYeah?” George said from the bed.
    â€œAnd I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes.”
    â€œOh, shut up and get something to read,” George said. He was reading again.
    His wife was looking out of the window. It was quite dark now and still raining in the palm trees.
    â€œAnyway, I want a cat,” she said. “I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I can’t have long hair or any fun, I can have a cat.”
    George was not listening. He was reading his book. His wife looked out of the window where the light had come on in the