A Farewell to Arms

When the sun was bright we ate lunch on the porch but the rest of the time we ate upstairs in a small room with plain wooden walls and a big stove in the corner. We bought books and magazines in the town and a copy of “Hoyle” and learned many two-handed card games. The small room with the stove was our living room. . . . Mr. and Mrs. Guttingen lived downstairs. . . . Downstairs there was a parlor where they sold wine and beer[.]

“I suppose if we really have this child we ought to get married,” Catherine said. We were at the beer place at the corner table. It was getting dark outside. . . . “It’s too embarrassing now. I show too plainly. I won’t go before anyone and get married in this state. . . . I know one thing. I’m not going to be married in this splendid matronly state. . . . Oh yes, I am, darling. The hairdresser asked me if this was our first. . . . Any time after I’m thin again. We want to have a splendid wedding with every one thinking what a handsome young couple.”

“Give it to me. Give it to me.” She clutched hold of the mask and breathed short and deep, pantingly, making the respirator click. Then she gave a long sigh and the doctor reached with his left hand and lifted away the mask. “That was a very big one,” Catherine said. Her voice was very strange. “I’m not going to die now, darling. I’m past where I was going to die. Aren’t you glad?”

The doctor came into the room. . . . “It doesn’t go. . . . I made an examination—” He detailed the result of the examination. “Since then I’ve waited to see. But it doesn’t go. . . . There are two things. Either a high forceps delivery which can tear and be quite dangerous besides possibly being bad for the child, and a Cæsarean. . . . It should be no greater than the danger of an ordinary delivery. . . . I would advise a Cæsarean operation. If it were my wife I would do a Cæsarean.”

I’m not brave any more, darling. I’m all broken. They’ve broken me. I know it now. . . . But it’s awful. They just keep it up till they break you. . . . Darling, I won’t die, will I? . . . Because I don’t want to die and leave you, but I get so tired of it and feel I’m going to die. . . . Sometimes I know I’m going to die. . . . I won’t die. I won’t let myself die.