Summary

Portrait of Ernest Hemingway Ernest Hemingway Men Without Women — Che Ti Dice La Patria… (1955)

It was raining hard when we passed through the suburbs of Genoa and, even going very slowly behind the tram-cars and the motor trucks, liquid mud splashed on to the sidewalks, so that people stepped into doorways as they saw us coming. In San Pier d’Arena, the industrial suburb outside of Genoa, there is a wide street with two car-tracks and we drove down the centre to avoid sending the mud on to the men going home from work. On our left was the Mediterranean. There was a big sea running and waves broke and the wind blew the spray against the car.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ernest Hemingway Ernest Hemingway Men Without Women — Che Ti Dice La Patria… (1955)

I said.
“Then thanks,” the young man said, not “thank you,” or “thank you very much,” or “thank you a thousand times,” all of which you formerly said in Italy to a man when he handed you a time-table or explained about a direction. The young man uttered the lowest form of the word “thanks” and looked after us suspiciously as Guy started the car. I waved my hand at him. He was too dignified to reply. We went on into Spezia.
“That’s a young man that will go a long way in Italy,” I said to Guy.
“Well,” said Guy, “he went twenty kilometres with us.”
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ernest Hemingway Ernest Hemingway Men Without Women — Che Ti Dice La Patria… (1955)

The wind had dried the mud and the wheels were beginning to lift dust. On the flat road we passed a Fascist riding a bicycle, a heavy revolver in a holster on his back. He held the middle of the road on his bicycle and we turned out for him. He looked up at us as we passed. Ahead there was a railway crossing, and as we came toward it the gates went down.
As we waited, the Fascist came up on his bicycle. The train went by and Guy started the engine.
“Wait,” the bicycle man shouted from behind the car. “Your number’s dirty.”
Source: Wikisource

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature