FIESTA. The Sun Also Rises

Ernest Hemingway

Ana Osés Marín

Across the square the white wicker tables and chairs of the Iruña extended out beyond the arcade to the edge of the street.

I looked for Brett and Mike at the tables.

There they were. Bret and Mike and Robert Cohn.

Brett was wearing a Basque beret. So was Mike.

Robert Cohn was bare-headed and wearing his spectacles.

Brett saw us coming and waved.

Her eyes crinkled as we came up to the table.

‘Hello, you chaps!’ she called.

Brett was happy. Mike had a way of getting an intensity of feeling into shaking hands.

Robert Cohn shook hands because we were back.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ I asked.

‘I brought them up here,’ Cohn said.

‘What rot,’ Brett said. ‘We’d have gotten here earlier if you hadn’t come.’