“He lives up at Hirsch’s rooming house,”George said to Nick.
“I’ll go up there.”
Outside the arc light shone through the bare branches of a tree. Nick walked up the street beside the car tracks and turned at the next arc light down a side street. Three houses up the street was Hirsch’s rooming house. Nick walked up the two steps and pushed the bell. A woman came to the door.
“Is Ole Andreson here？”
“Do you want to see him？”
“Yes, if he’s in.”
Nick followed the woman up a flight of stairs and back to the end of a corridor. She knocked on the door.
“Who is it？”
“It’s somebody to see you, Mr. Andreson,”the woman said.
“It’s Nick Adams.”
“Come in.”
Nick opened the door and went into the room. Ole Andreson was lying on the bed with all his clothes on. He had been a heavyweight prizefighter and he was too long for the bed. He lay with his head on two pillows. He did not look at Nick.
“What was it？”he asked.
“I was up at Henry’s,”Nick said, “and two fellows came in and tied up me and the cook, and they said they were going to kill you.”
It sounded silly when he said it. Ole Andreson said nothing.
“They put us out in the kitchen,”Nick went on. “They were going to shoot you when you came in to supper.”
Ole Andreson looked at the wall and did not say anything.
“George thought I better come and tell you about it.”
“There isn’t anything I can do about it,”Ole Andreson said.
“I’ll tell you what they were like.”
“I don’t want to know what they were like,”Ole Andreson said. He looked at the wall. “Thanks for coming to tell me about it.”
“That’s all right”
Nick looked at the big man lying on the bed.
“Don’t you want me to go and see the police？”
“No,”Ole Andreson said. “That wouldn’t do any good.”
“Isn’t there something I could do？”
“No. There ain’t anything to do.”
“Maybe it was just a bluff.”
“No. It ain’t just a bluff.”
Ole Andreson rolled over toward the wall.
“The only thing is,”he said, talking toward the wall, “I just can’t make up my mind to go out. I been in here all day.”
“Couldn’t you get out of town？”
“No,”Ole Andreson said. “I’m through with all that running around.”
He looked at the wall.
“There ain’t anything to do now.”
“Couldn’t you fix it up some way？”
“No. I got in wrong.”He talked in the same flat voice. “There ain’t anything to do. After a while I’ll make up my mind to go out.”
“I better go back and see George,”Nick said.
“So long,”said Ole Andreson. He did not look toward Nick. “Thanks for coming around.”
Nick went out. As he shut the door he saw Ole Andreson with all his clothes on, lying on the bed looking at the wall.
“He’s been in his room all day,”the landlady said downstairs. “I guess he don’t feel well. I said to him: ’Mr. Andreson, you ought to go out and take a walk on a nice fall day like this,’ but he didn’t feel like it.”
“He doesn’t want to go out.”
“I’m sorry he don’t feel well,”the woman said. “He’s an awfully nice man. He was in the ring, you know.”
“I know it.”
“You’d never know it except from the way his face is,”the woman said. They stood talking just inside the street door. “He’s just as gentle.”
“Well, goodnight, Mrs. Hirsch,”Nick said.
“I’m not Mrs. Hirsch,”the woman said. “She owns the place. I just look after it for her. I’m Mrs. Bell.”
“Well, goodnight, Mrs. Bell,”Nick said.
“Goodnight,”the woman said.
Nick walked up the dark street to the corner under the arc light, and then along the car tracks to Henry’s eating house. George was inside, back of the counter.
“Did you see Ole？”
“Yes,”said Nick. “He’s in his room and he won’t go out.”
The cook opened the door from the kitchen when he heard Nick’s voice.
“I don’t even listen to it,”he said and shut the door.
“Did you tell him about it？”George asked.
“Sure. I told him but he knows what it’s all about.”
“What’s he going to do？”
“Nothing.”
“They’ll kill him.”
“I guess they will.”
“He must have got mixed up in something in Chicago.”
“I guess so,”said Nick.
“It’s a hell of a thing.”
“It’s an awful thing,”Nick said.
They did not say anything. George reached down for a towel and wiped the counter.
“I wonder what he did？”Nick said.
“Double-crossed somebody. That’s what they kill them for.”
“I’m going to get out of this town,”Nick said.
“Yes,”said George. “That’s a good thing to do.”
“I can’t stand to think about him waiting in the room and knowing he’s going to get it. It’s too damned awful.”
“Well,”said George, “you better not think about it.”
杀人者
[美国] 欧内斯特·海明威
欧内斯特·海明威（1899-1961），20世纪美国著名小说家，生于伊利诺伊州芝加哥市郊。他的作品风格独具魅力，在世界范围内产生了广泛影响。1926年发表的《太阳照样升起》是海明威获得声誉的第一部长篇小说，并成为“迷惘的一代”的代表作品。一战给海明威留下了难以愈合的心灵创伤，为他创作举世名作《永别了，武器》提供了素材。1952年，中篇小说《老人与海》出版，轰动文坛，并使他获得了诺贝尔文学奖。
亨利家的小餐馆门被推开了，两个男人走进来，在柜台边坐了下来。
“你们想吃什么呢？”乔治问他们。
“我不知道。”其中一个人说道，“艾尔，你想吃什么？”
“我不知道，”艾尔说，“我不大清楚自己想吃什么。”
外面天色越来越暗，窗外的街灯映进屋来，坐在柜台边的那两个男人正看着菜单。而柜台的另一面，尼克·亚当斯正打量着他们，刚才他在跟乔治说话的时候见他们进来的。
“我要一份烤猪肉里脊加苹果酱和土豆。”头一个人说。
“它们还没有弄好呢。”
“那你他妈的干吗写上菜单呐？”
“那是晚餐的菜谱，”乔治解释说，“六点钟的时候就能吃。”
乔治看了一下柜台后面墙壁上的闹钟。
“五点啦。”
“钟指示的是五点二十分了。”第二个男的说。
“它快了二十分钟。”
“噢，真他妈的是个破钟，”第一个男的问，“那你们这儿还有什么吃的？”
“我们这儿有多种三明治，”乔治说，“你们可以吃火腿蛋、熏肉蛋、肝加熏肉或者牛排。”
“给我来份炸仔鸡饼，配上青豆、奶油、生菜和土豆。”
“那是晚餐的菜。”
“我们要的样样都是晚餐的菜，呃？你们就是这样做生意的？”
“我们可以给你火腿蛋、熏肉蛋、肝……”
“我要火腿蛋。”那个叫艾尔的人说道。他戴顶礼帽，穿件黑大衣，胸前有一排纽扣。他的脸狭小而苍白，嘴巴紧闭着，围着丝巾，戴着手套。
“给我熏肉蛋，”另一个人说，他跟艾尔简直是一个模样，面孔不同，穿得却像一对双胞胎。两人紧裹着大衣，双手压在柜台上，身子前倾歪在那里。
“有什么喝的啊？”艾尔问。
“啤酒、葡萄酒、姜汁酒。”乔治说。
“我问你们有什么好喝的？”
“就是我刚才说的那些。”
“这真是个销赃城，”另一个人说，“人们管它叫什么了？”
“顶尖。”
“听过这种说法吗？”艾尔问他的朋友。
“没有。”他朋友说。
“你们这儿晚上干什么？”艾尔问，
“聚餐，”他朋友说，“他们都来这儿吃晚饭。”
“对。”乔治说。
“你认为对吗？”艾尔问乔治。
“当然。”
“你是个非常聪明的家伙，不是吗？”
“当然。”乔治答道。
“唔哦，你不是，”另一个小个子说，“他是吗？艾尔？”
“他是个哑巴，”艾尔说，他转向尼克，“你叫什么？”
