the lost road-第63部分

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the　club。

One　of　the　men　there　asked　Hemingway　what　brought　him　to
Africa；　and　when　he　answered　simply　and　truthfully　that　he　had
come　to　shoot　big　game；　it　was　as　though　he　had　said　something
clever；　and　every　one　smiled。　　On　the　way　back　to　the　hotel；　as
they　felt　their　way　through　the　narrow　slits　in　the　wall　that
served　as　streets；　he　asked　the　consul　why　every　one　had　smiled。

The　consul　laughed　evasively。

〃It's　a　local　joke；〃　he　explained。　　〃A　lot　of　men　come　here　for
reasons　best　kept　to　themselves；　and　they　all　say　what　you　said；
that　they've　come　to　shoot　big　game。　　It's　grown　to　be　a　polite
way　of　telling　a　man　it　is　none　of　his　business。〃

〃But　I　didn't　mean　it　that　way；〃　protested　Hemingway。　　〃I　really
have　been　after　big　game　for　the　last　eight　months。〃

In　the　tone　one　uses　to　quiet　a　drunken　man　or　a　child；　the
consul　answered　soothingly。

〃Of　course；〃　he　assented　〃of　course　you　have。〃　　But　to　show　he
was　not　hopelessly　credulous；　and　to　keep　Hemingway　from
involving　himself　deeper；　he　hinted　tactfully：　　〃Maybe　they
noticed　you　came　ashore　with　only　one　steamer　trunk　and　no
gun…cases。〃　

〃Oh；　that's　easily　explained；〃　laughed　Hemingway。　　〃My　heavy
luggage〃

The　consul　had　reached　his　house　and　his　〃boy〃　was　pounding　upon
it　with　his　heavy　staff。

〃Please　don't　explain　to　me；〃　he　begged。　　〃It's　quite　unnecessary。
Down　here　we're　so　darned　glad　to　see　any　white　man　that　we　don't
ask　anything　of　him　except　that　he　won't　hurry　away。　　We　judge
them　as　they　behave　themselves　here；　we　don't　care　what　they　are
at　home　or　why　they　left　it。〃

Hemingway　was　highly　amused。　　To　find　that　he；　a　respectable；
sport…loving　Hemingway　of　Massachusetts；　should　be　mistaken　for　a
gun…runner；　slave…dealer；　or　escaping　cashier　greatly　delighted
him。

〃All　right！〃　he　exclaimed。　　〃I'll　promise　not　to　bore　you　with　my　past；
and　I　agree　to　be　judged　by　Zanzibar　standards。　　I　only　hope　I　can
live　up　to　them；　for　I　see　I　am　going　to　like　the　place　very　much。〃

Hemingway　kept　his　promise。　　He　bored　no　one　with　confidences　as
to　his　ancestors。　　Of　his　past　he　made　a　point　never　to　speak。　　He
preferred　that　the　little　community　into　which　he　had　dropped
should　remain　unenlightened；　should　take　him　as　they　found　him。
Of　the　fact　that　a　college　was　named　after　his　grandfather　and
that　on　his　father's　railroad　he　could　travel　through　many
States；　he　was　discreetly　silent。

The　men　of　Zanzibar　asked　no　questions。　　That　Hemingway　could　play
a　stiff　game　of　tennis；　a　stiffer　game　of　poker；　and；　on　the　piano；　songs
from　home　was　to　them　sufficient　recommendation。　　In　a　week　he　had
become　one　of　the　most　popular　members　of　Zanzibar　society。　　It　was
as　though　he　had　lived　there　always。　　Hemingway　found　himself　reaching
out　to　grasp　the　warmth　of　the　place　as　a　flower　turns　to　the　sun。　　He
discovered　that　for　thirty　years　something　in　him　had　been　cheated。
For　thirty　years　he　had　believed　that　completely　to　satisfy　his　soul　all
he　needed　was　the　gray　stone　walls　and　the　gray…shingled　cabins　under
the　gray　skies　of　New　England；　that　what　in　nature　he　most　loved　was
the　pine　forests　and　the　fields　of　goldenrod　on　the　rock…bound　coast
of　the　North　Shore。　　But　now；　like　a　man　escaped　from　prison；　he
leaped　and　danced　in　the　glaring　sunlight　of　the　equator；　he　revelled
in　the　reckless　generosity　of　nature；　in　the　glorious　confusion　of
colors；　in　the　〃blooming　blue〃　of　the　Indian　Ocean；　in　the　Arabian
nights　spent　upon　the　housetops　under　the　purple　sky；　and　beneath
silver　stars　so　near　that　he　could　touch　them　with　his　hand。

He　found　it　like　being　perpetually　in　a　comic　opera　and　playing　a
part　in　one。　　For　only　the　scenic　artist　would　dare　to　paint　houses
in　such　yellow；　pink；　and　cobalt…blue；　only　a　〃producer〃　who　had
never　ventured　farther　from　Broadway　than　the　Atlantic　City
boardwalk　would　have　conceived　costumes　so　mad　and　so
magnificent。　　Instinctively　he　cast　the　people　of　Zanzibar　in　the
conventional　roles　of　musical　comedy。

His　choruses　were　already　in　waiting。　　There　was　the　Sultan's
body…guard　in　gold…laced　turbans；　the　merchants　of　the　bazaars　in
red　fezzes　and　gowns　of　flowing　silk；　the　Malay　sailors　in　blue；
the　black　native　police　in　scarlet；　the　ladies　of　the　harems　closely
veiled　and　cloaked；　the　market　women　in　a　single　garment　of
orange；　or　scarlet；　or　purple；　or　of　all　three；　and　the　happy；
hilarious　Zanzibari　boys　in　the　color　God　gave　them。

For　hours　he　would　sit　under　the　yellow…and…green　awning　of　the
Greek　hotel　and　watch　the　procession　pass；　or　he　would　lie　under
an　umbrella　on　the　beach　and　laugh　as　the　boatmen　lifted　their
passengers　to　their　shoulders　and　with　them　splash　through　the
breakers；　or　in　the　bazaars　for　hours　he　would　bargain　with　the
Indian　merchants；　or　in　the　great　mahogany　hall　of　the　Ivory
House；　to　the　whisper　of　a　punka　and　the　tinkle　of　ice　in　a　tall
glass；　listen　to　tales　of　Arab　raids；　of　elephant　poachers；　of
the　trade　in　white　and　black　ivory；　of　the　great　explorers　who
had　sat　in　that　same　roomof　Emin　Pasha；　of　Livingstone；　of
Stanley。　　His　comic　opera　lacked　only　a　heroine　and　the　love
interest。

When　he　met　Mrs。　Adair　he　found　both。　　Polly　Adair；　as　every
one　who　dared　to　do　so　preferred　to　call　her；　was；　like　himself；　an
American　and；　though　absurdly　young；　a　widow。　　In　the　States　she
would　have　been　called　an　extremely　pretty　girl。　　In　a　community
where　the　few　dozen　white　women　had　wilted　and　faded　in　the
fierce　sun　of　the　equator；　and　where　the　rest　of　the　women　were
jet　black　except　their　teeth；　which　were　dyed　an　alluring　purple；
Polly　Adair　was　as　beautiful　as　a　June　morning。　　At　least；　so
Hemingway　thought　the　first　time　he　saw　her；　and　each　succeeding
time　he　thought　her　more　beautiful；　more　lovely；　more　to　be　loved。

He　met　her；　three　days　after　his　arrival；　at　the　residence　of　the
British　agent　and　consul…general；　where　Lady　Firth　was　giving　tea
to　the　six　nurses　from　the　English　hospital　and　to　all　the　other
respectable　members　of　Zanzibar　society。

〃My　husband's　typist；〃　said　her　ladyship　as　she　helped　Hemingway
to　tea；　〃is　a　copatriot　of　yours。　　She's　such　a　nice　gell；　not　a　bit　like
an　American。　　I　don't　know　what　I'd　do　in　this　awful　place　without　her。
Promise　me；〃　she　begged　tragically；　〃you　will　not　ask　her　to　marry　you。〃

Unconscious　of　his　fate；　Hemingway　promised。

〃Because　all　the　men　do；〃　sighed　Lady　Firth；　〃and　I　never　know
what　morning　one　of　the　wretches　won't　carry　her　off　to　a　home　of
her　own。　　And　then　what　would　become　of　me？　Men　are　so　selfish！
If　you　must　fall　in　love；〃　suggested　her　ladyship；　〃promise　me　you
will　fall　in　love　with〃she　paused　innocently　and　raised　baby…blue
eyes；　in　a　baby…like　stare〃with　some　one　else。〃

Again　Hemingway　promised。　　He　bowed　gallantly。　　〃That　will　be　quite
easy；〃　he　said。

Her　ladyship　smiled；　but　Hemingway　did　not　see　the　smile。　　He　was
looking　past　her　at　a　girl　from　home；　who　came　across　the　terrace
carrying　in　her　hand　a　stenographer's　note…book。

Lady　Firth　followed　the　direction　of　his　eyes　and　saw　the　look　in
them。　　She　exclaimed　with　dismay：

〃Already！　Already　he　deserts　me；　even　before　the　ink　is　dry　on
the　paper。〃

She　drew　the　note…book　from　Mrs。　Adair's　fingers　and　dropped　it
under　the　tea…table。

〃Letters　must　wait；　my　child；〃　she　declared。

〃But　Sir　George〃　protested　the　girl。

〃Sir　George　must　wait；　too；〃　continued　his　wife；　〃the　Foreign　Office
must　wait；　the　British　Empire　must　wait　until　you　have　had　your　tea。〃

The　girl　laughed　helplessly。　　As　though　assured　her　fellow
countryman　would　comprehend；　she　turned　to　him。

〃They're　so　exactly　like　what　you　want　them　to　be；〃　she　said〃I
mean　about　their　tea！〃

Hemingway　smiled　back　with　such　intimate　understanding　that
Lady　Firth　glanced　up　inquiringly。

〃Have　you　met　Mrs。　Adair　already？〃　she　asked。

〃No；〃　said　Hemingway；　〃but　I　have　been　trying　to　meet　her　for
thirty　years。〃

Perplexed；　the　Englishwoman　frowned；　and　then；　with　delight　at
her　own　perspicuity；　laughed　aloud。　

〃I　know；〃　she　cried；　〃in　your　country　you　are　what　they　call　a
'hustler'！　Is　that　right？〃　She　waved　them　away。　　〃Take　Mrs。　Adair
over　there；〃　she　commanded；　〃and　tell　her　all　the　news　from　home。
Tell　her　about　the　railroad　accidents　and　'washouts'　and　the
latest　thing　in　lynching。〃

The　young　people　stretched　out　in　long　wicker　chairs　in　the　shade
of　a　tree　covered　with　purple　flowers。　　On　a　perch　at　one　side　of
them　an　orang…outang　in　a　steel　belt　was　combing　the　whiskers　of
her　infant　daughter；　at　their　feet　what　looked　like　two　chow　puppies；
but　which　happened　to　be　Lady　Firth's　pet　lions；　were　chewing　each
other's　toothless　gums；　and　in　the　immediate　foreground　the　hospital
nurses　were　defying　the　sun　at　tennis　while　the　Sultan's　band　played
selections　from　a　Gaiety　success　of　many　years　in　the　past。　　With　these
surroundings　it　was　difficult　to　talk　of　home。　　Nor　on　any　later　occasions；
except　through　inadvertence；　did　they　talk　of　home。　

For　the　reasons　already　stated；　it　amused　Hemingway　to　volunteer
no　confidences。　　On　account　of　what　that　same　evening　Harris　told
him　of　Mrs。　Adair；　he　asked　none。

Harris　himself　wa