"Hemingway, Ernest - Garden of Eden" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hemingway Ernest)

her hair covered with a scarf and the young man stood in the back of the church
with the men. They gave twenty francs which was more than a dollar then and
since the priest took up the collection himself their attitude toward the church
was known and the wearing of shorts in the village was regarded as an
eccentricity by foreigners rather than an attempt against the morality of the
ports of the Camargue. The priest did not speak to them when
they wore shorts but he did not denounce them and when they wore trousers in the
evening the three of them bowed to each other.
"I'll go up and write the letters," the girl said and she got up and smiled at
the waiter and went out of the cafe.
"Monsieur is going to fish?" the waiter asked when the young man, whose name was
David Bourne, called him over and paid him.
"I think so. How is the tide?"
"This tide is very good," the waiter said. "I have some bait if you want it."
"I can get some along the road."
"No. Use this. They're sandworms and there are plenty."
"Can you come out?"
"I'm on duty now. But maybe I can come out and see how you do. You have your
gear?"
"It's at the hotel."
"Stop by for the worms.
At the hotel the young man wanted to go up to the room and see the girl but
instead he found the long, jointed bamboo pole and the basket with his fishing
gear behind the desk where the room keys hung and went back out into the
brightness of the road and on down to the cafe and out onto the glare of the
jetty. The sun was hot but there was a fresh breeze and the tide was just
starting to ebb. He wished that he had brought a casting rod and spoons so that
he might cast out across the flow of the water from the canal over the rocks on
the far side but instead he rigged his long pole with its cork and quill float
and let a sandworm float gently along at a depth where he thought fish might be
feeding.
He fished for some time with no luck and watched the mackerel boats tacking back
and forth out on the blue sea and the shadows the high clouds made on the water.
Then his float went under in a sharp descent with the line angling stiffly and
he brought the pole up against the pull of a fish that was strong and driving
wildly and making the line hiss through the water. He tried to hold it as
lightly as he could and the long pole was bent to the breaking point of the line
and trace by the fish which kept trying to go toward the open sea. The young man
walked with him on the jetty to ease the strain but the fish kept pulling so
that as he drove a quarter of the rod was forced under water.
The waiter had come from the cafe and was very excited. He was talking by the
young man's side saying, "Hold him. Hold him. Hold him as softly as you can.
He'll have to tire. Don't let him break. Soft with him. Softly. Softly."
There was no way the young man could be softer with him except to get into the
water with the fish and that did not make sense as the canal was deep. If I
could only walk along the bank with him, he thought. But they had come to the
very end of the jetty. More than half the pole was under water now.
"Just hold him softly," the waiter pleaded. "It's a strong trace." The fish
bored deep, ran, zig-zagged and the long bamboo pole bent with his weight and
his rapid, driving strength. Then he came up thrashing at the surface and then