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T.Nazmi
Elza

Story 4

by Ernest Hemingway

HILLS LIKE WHITE
ELEPHANTS

The hills across the valley of the Ebro
were long and white. On this side there was no
shade and no trees and the station was between
two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the
side of the station there was the warm shadow of
the building and a curtain, made of strings of
bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the
bar, to keep out flies. The American and the
girl with him sat at a table in the shade,
outside the building. It was very hot and the
express from Barcelona would come in forty
minutes. It stopped at this junction for two
minutes and went to Madrid.

'What should
we drink?' the girl asked. She had taken off her
hat and put it on the table.

'It's pretty
hot,' the man said.

'Let's drink
beer.'

'Dos cervezas,' the man said into
the curtain.

'Big ones?' a woman asked
from the doorway.

'Yes. Two big
ones.'

The woman brought two glasses of
beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads
and the beer glass on the table and looked at
the man and the girl. The girl was looking off
at the line of hills. They were white in the sun
and the country was brown and dry.

'They
look like white elephants,' she
said.

'I've never seen one,' the man
drank his beer.

'No, you wouldn't
have.'

'I might have,' the man said.
'Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't
prove anything.'

The girl looked at the
bead curtain. 'They've painted something on it,'
she said. 'What does it say?'

'Anis del
Toro. It's a drink.'

'Could we try
it?'

The man called 'Listen' through the
curtain. The woman came out from the
bar.

'Four reales.'

'We want two
Anis del Toro.'

'With water?'

'Do you want
it with water?'

'I don't know,' the girl
said. 'Is it good with water?'

'It's all
right.'

'You want them with water?' asked
the woman.

'Yes, with water.'

'It
tastes like liquorice,' the girl said and put
the glass down.

'That's the way with
everything.'

'Yes,' said the girl.
'Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all
the things you've waited so long for, like
absinthe.'

'Oh, cut it out.'

'You
started it,' the girl said. 'I was being amused.
I was having a fine time.'

'Well, let's
try and have a fine time.'

'All right. I
was trying. I said the mountains looked like
white elephants. Wasn't that
bright?'

'That was bright.'

'I
wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do,
isn't it - look at things and try new
drinks?'

'I guess so.'

The girl
looked across at the hills.

'They're
lovely hills,' she said. 'They don't really look
like white elephants. I just meant the coloring
of their skin through the trees.'

'Should
we have another drink?'

'All
right.'

The warm wind blew the bead
curtain against the table.

'The beer's
nice and cool,' the man said.

'It's
lovely,' the girl said.

'It's really an
awfully simple operation, Jig,' the man said.
'It's not really an operation at
all.'

The girl looked at the ground the
table legs rested on.

'I know you
wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything.
It's just to let the air in.'

The girl did
not say anything.

'I'll go with you and
I'll stay with you all the time. They just let
the air in and then it's all perfectly
natural.'

'Then what will we do
afterwards?'

'We'll be fine afterwards.
Just like we were before.'

'What makes
you think so?'

'That's the only thing
that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made
us unhappy.'

The girl looked at the bead
curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two
of the strings of beads.

'And you think
then we'll be all right and be happy.'

'I
know we will. Yon don't have to be afraid. I've
known lots of people that have done
it.'

'So have I,' said the girl. 'And
afterwards they were all so
happy.'

'Well,' the man said, 'if you
don't want to you don't have to. I wouldn't have
you do it if you didn't want to. But I know it's
perfectly simple.'

'And you really want
to?'

'I think it's the best thing to do.
But I don't want you to do it if you don't
really want to.'

'And if I do it you'll
be happy and things will be like they were and
you'll love me?'

'I love you now. You
know I love you.'

'I know. But if I do
it, then it will be nice again if I say things
are like white elephants, and you'll like
it?'

'I'll love it. I love it now but I
just can't think about it. You know how I get
when I worry.'

'If I do it you won't ever
worry?'

'I won't worry about that because
it's perfectly simple.'

'Then I'll do it.
Because I don't care about me.'

'What do
you mean?'

'I don't care about
me.'

'Well, I care about
you.'

'Oh, yes. But I don't care about
me. And I'll do it and then everything will be
fine.'

'I don't want you to do it if you
feel that way.'

The girl stood
up and walked to the end of the station. Across,
on the other side, were fields of grain and
trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away,
beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of
a cloud moved across the field of grain and she
saw the river through the trees.

'And we
could have all this,' she said. 'And we could
have everything and every day we make it more
impossible.'

'What did you
say?'

'I said we could have
everything.'

'We can have
everything.'

'No, we can't.'

'We
can have the whole world.'

'No, we
can't.'

'We can go
everywhere.'

'No, we can't. It isn't ours
any more.'

'It's ours.'

'No, it
isn't. And once they take it away, you never get
it back.'

'But they haven't taken it
away.'

'We'll wait and see.'

'Come
on back in the shade,' he said. 'You mustn't
feel that way.'

'I don't feel any way,'
the girl said. 'I just know things.'

'I
don't want you to do anything that you don't
want to do -'

'Nor that isn't good for
me,' she said. 'I know. Could we have another
beer?'

'All right. But you've got to
realize - '

'I realize,' the girl said.
'Can't we maybe stop talking?'

They sat
down at the table and the girl looked across at
the hills on the dry side of the valley and the
man looked at her and at the table.

'You've got to
realize,' he said, ' that I don't want you to do
it if you don't want to. I'm perfectly willing
to go through with it if it means anything to
you.'

'Doesn't it mean anything to you?
We could get along.'

'Of course it does.
But I don't want anybody but you. I don't want
anyone else. And I know it's perfectly
simple.'

'Yes, you know it's perfectly
simple.'

'It's all right for you to say
that, but I do know it.'

'Would you do
something for me now?'

'I'd do anything
for you.'

'Would you please please please
please please please please stop
talking?'

He did not say anything but
looked at the bags against the wall of the
station. There were labels on them from all the
hotels where they had spent nights.

'But
I don't want you to,' he said, 'I don't care
anything about it.'

'I'll scream,' the
girl said.

The woman came out through the
curtains with two glasses of beer and put them
down on the damp felt pads. 'The train comes in
five minutes,' she said.

'What did she
say?' asked the girl.

'That the train is
coming in five minutes.'

The girl smiled
brightly at the woman, to thank her.

'I'd
better take the bags over to the other side of
the station,' the man said. She smiled at
him.

'All right. Then come back and we'll
finish the beer.'

He picked up the two
heavy bags and carried them around the station
to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but
could not see the train. Coming back, he walked
through the bar-room, where people waiting for
the train were drinking. He drank an Anis at the
bar and looked at the people. They were all
waiting reasonably for the train. He went out
through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the
table and smiled at him.

'Do you feel
better?' he asked.

'I feel fine,' she
said. 'There's nothing wrong with me. I feel
fine.'

The Lottery

The morning of June 27th was clear and
sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer
day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and
the grass was richly green. The people of the
village began to gather in the square, between
the post office and the bank, around ten
o`clock; in some towns there were so many people
that the lottery took two days and had to be
started on June 26th. but in this village, where
there were only about three hundred people, the
whole lottery took less than two hours, so it
could begin at ten o`clock in the morning and
still be through in time to allow the villagers
to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course.
School was recently over for the summer, and the
feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them;
they tended to gather together quietly for a
while before they broke into boisterous play.
and their talk was still of the classroom and
the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby
Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of
stones, and the other boys soon followed his
example, selecting the smoothest and roundest
stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie
Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name
"Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of
stones in one corner of the square and guarded
it against the raids of the other boys. The
girls stood aside, talking among themselves,
looking over their shoulders at the boys. and
the very small children rolled in the dust or
clung to the hands of their older brothers or
sisters.

Soon the men began to gather. surveying
their own children, speaking of planting and
rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together,
away from the pile of stones in the corner, and
their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather
than laughed. The women, wearing faded house
dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their
menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged
bits of gossip as they went to join their
husbands. Soon the women, standing by their
husbands, began to call to their children, and
the children came reluctantly, having to be
called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked
under his mother`s grasping hand and ran,
laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father
spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and
took his place between his father and his oldest
brother.

The lottery was conducted--as were the
square dances, the teen club, the Halloween
program--by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy
to devote to civic activities. He was a
round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal
business, and people were sorry for him. because
he had no children and his wife was a scold.
When he arrived in the square, carrying the
black wooden box, there was a murmur of
conversation among the villagers, and he waved
and called. "Little late today, folks." The
postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a
three- legged stool, and the stool was put in
the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the
black box down on it. The villagers kept their
distance, leaving a space between themselves and
the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of
you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a
hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his
oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box
steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up
the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the
lottery had been lost long ago, and the black
box now resting on the stool had been put into
use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man
in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently
to the villagers about making a new box, but no
one liked to upset even as much tradition as was
represented by the black box. There was a story
that the present box had been made with some
pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one
that had been constructed when the first people
settled down to make a village here. Every year,
after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking
again about a new box, but every year the
subject was allowed to fade off without
anything`s being done. The black box grew
shabbier each year: by now it was no longer
completely black but splintered badly along one
side to show the original wood color, and in
some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter,
held the black box securely on the stool until
Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly
with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had
been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had
been successful in having slips of paper
substituted for the chips of wood that had been
used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers
had argued. had been all very well when the
village was tiny, but now that the population
was more than three hundred and likely to keep
on growing, it was necessary to use something
that would fit more easily into the black box.
The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and
Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put
them in the box, and it was then taken to the
safe of Mr. Summers` coal company and locked up
until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the
square next morning. The rest of the year, the
box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes
another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves`s
barn and another year underfoot in the post
office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in
the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be
done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery
open. There were the lists to make up--of heads
of families. heads of households in each family.
members of each household in each family. There
was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the
postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at
one time, some people remembered, there had been
a recital of some sort, performed by the
official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless
chant that had been rattled off duly each year;
some people believed that the official of the
lottery used to stand just so when he said or
sang it, others believed that he was supposed to
walk among the people, but years and years ago
this part of the ritual had been allowed to
lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute,
which the official of the lottery had had to use
in addressing each person who came up to draw
from the box, but this also had changed with
time, until now it was felt necessary only for
the official to speak to each person
approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all
this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans.
with one hand resting carelessly on the black
box. he seemed very proper and important as he
talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the
Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off
talking and turned to the assembled villagers,
Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to
the square, her sweater thrown over her
shoulders, and slid into place in the back of
the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it was," she
said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her,
and they both laughed softly. "Thought my old
man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson
went on. "and then I looked out the window and
the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was
the twenty-seventh and came a-running." She
dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix
said, "You`re in time, though. They`re still
talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see
through the crowd and found her husband and
children standing near the front. She tapped
Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and
began to make her way through the crowd. The
people separated good-humoredly to let her
through: two or three people said. in voices
just loud enough to be heard across the crowd,
"Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and
"Bill, she made it after all." Mrs. Hutchinson
reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had
been waiting, said cheerfully. "Thought we were
going to have to get on without you, Tessie."
Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn`t have
me leave m`dishes in the sink, now, would you.
Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd
as the people stirred back into position after
Mrs. Hutchinson`s arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly,
"guess we better get started, get this over
with, so`s we can go back to work. Anybody ain`t
here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar.
Dunbar."

Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde
Dunbar." he said. "That`s right. He`s broke his
leg, hasn`t he? Who`s drawing for him?"

"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr.
Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws
for her husband." Mr. Summers said.
"Don`t you have a grown boy to do it for
you, Janey?" Although Mr. Summers
and everyone else in the village knew the answer
perfectly well, it was the business of the
official of the lottery to ask such questions
formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression
of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

"Horace`s not but sixteen vet." Mrs.
Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in
for the old man this year."

"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note
on the list he was holding. Then he asked,
"Watson boy drawing this year?"

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand.
"Here," he said. "I m drawing for my mother and
me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked
his head as several voices in the crowd said
thin#s like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to
see your mother`s got a man to do it."

"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that`s
everyone. Old Man Warner make it?"

"Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers
nodded.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr.
Summers cleared his throat and looked at the
list. "All ready?" he called. "Now, I`ll read
the names--heads of families first--and the men
come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep
the paper folded in your hand without looking at
it until everyone has had a turn. Everything
clear?"

The people had done it so many times that
they only half listened to the directions: most
of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not
looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand
high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself
from the crowd and came forward. "Hi. Steve."
Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe."
They grinned at one another humorlessly and
nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black
box and took out a folded paper. He held it
firmly by one corner as he turned and went
hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he
stood a little apart from his family. not
looking down at his hand.

"Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson....
Bentham."

"Seems like there`s no time at all
between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said
to Mrs. Graves in the back row.

"Seems like we got through with the last
one only last week."

"Time sure goes fast.-- Mrs. Graves said.

"Clark.... Delacroix"

"There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix
said. She held her breath while her husband went
forward.

"Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs.
Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the
women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said,
"There she goes."

"We`re next." Mrs. Graves said. She
watched while Mr. Graves came around from the
side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and
selected a slip of paper from the box. By now,
all through the crowd there were men holding the
small folded papers in their large hand. turning
them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and
her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar
holding the slip of paper.

"Harburt.... Hutchinson."

"Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson
said. and the people near her laughed.

"Jones."

"They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man
Warner, who stood next to him, "that over in the
north village they`re talking of giving up the
lottery."

Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy
fools," he said. "Listening to the young folks,
nothing`s good enough for them. Next thing you
know, they`ll be wanting to go back to living in
caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a
while. Used to be a saying about `Lottery in
June, corn be heavy soon.` First thing you know,
we`d all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns.
There`s always been a lottery," he added
petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers
up there joking with everybody."

"Some places have already quit
lotteries." Mrs. Adams said.

"Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man
Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools."

"Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his
father go forward. "Overdyke.... Percy."

"I wish they`d hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said
to her older son. "I wish they`d hurry."

"They`re almost through," her son said.

"You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs.
Dunbar said.

Mr. Summers called his own name and then
stepped forward precisely and selected a slip
from the box. Then he called, "Warner."

"Seventy-seventh year I been in the
lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through
the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time."

"Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly
through the crowd. Someone said, "Don`t be
nervous, Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your
time, son."

"Zanini."

After that, there was a long pause, a
breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his
slip of paper in the air, said, "All right,
fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and then
all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly,
all the women began to speak at once, saving.
"Who is it?," "Who`s got it?," "Is it the
Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices
began to say, "It`s Hutchinson. It`s Bill,"
"Bill Hutchinson`s got it."

"Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said
to her older son.

People began to look around to see the
Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet,
staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly.
Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. "You
didn`t give him time enough to take any paper he
wanted. I saw you. It wasn`t fair!"

"Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix
called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us took
the same chance."

"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said.

"Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that
was done pretty fast, and now we`ve got to be
hurrying a little more to get done in time." He
consulted his next list. "Bill," he said, "you
draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any
other households in the Hutchinsons?"

"There`s Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson
yelled. "Make them take their chance!"

"Daughters draw with their husbands`
families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently. "You
know that as well as anyone else."

"It wasn`t fair," Tessie said.

"I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said
regretfully. "My daughter draws with her
husband`s family; that`s only fair. And I`ve got
no other family except the kids."

"Then, as far as drawing for families is
concerned, it`s you," Mr. Summers said in
explanation, "and as far as drawing for
households is concerned, that`s you, too.
Right?"

"Right," Bill Hutchinson said.

"How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked
formally.

"Three," Bill Hutchinson said.

"There`s Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little
Dave. And Tessie and me."

"All right, then," Mr. Summers said.
"Harry, you got their tickets back?"

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips
of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr.
Summers directed. "Take Bill`s and put it in."

"I think we ought to start over," Mrs.
Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I
tell you it wasn`t fair. You didn`t give him
time enough to choose. Everybody saw that."

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips
and put them in the box. and he dropped all the
papers but those onto the ground. where the
breeze caught them and lifted them off.

"Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was
saying to the people around her.

"Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and
Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at
his wife and children. nodded.

"Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the
slips and keep them folded until each person has
taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr.
Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came
willingly with him up to the box. "Take a paper
out of the box, Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy
put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take
just one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you
hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the child`s
hand and removed the folded paper from the tight
fist and held it while little Dave stood next to
him and looked up at him wonderingly.

"Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was
twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily
as she went forward switching her skirt, and
took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.,"
Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and
his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as
he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said.
She hesitated for a minute, looking around
defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to
the box. She snatched a paper out and held it
behind her.

"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill
Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around,
bringing his hand out at last with the slip of
paper in it.

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I
hope it`s not Nancy," and the sound of the
whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

"It`s not the way it used to be." Old Man
Warner said clearly. "People ain`t the way they
used to be."

"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the
papers. Harry, you open little Dave`s."

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and
there was a general sigh through the crowd as he
held it up and everyone could see that it was
blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened theirs at the
same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning
around to the crowd and holding their slips of
paper above their heads.

"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a
pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill
Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and
showed it. It was blank.

"It`s Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his
voice was hushed. "Show us her paper. Bill."

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and
forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had
a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers
had made the night before with the heavy pencil
in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held
it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.

"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said.
"Let`s finish quickly."

Although the villagers had forgotten the
ritual and lost the original black box, they
still remembered to use stones. The pile of
stones the boys had made earlier was ready;
there were stones on the ground with the blowing
scraps of paper that had come out of the box
Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to
pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs.
Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both
hands, and she said. gasping for breath. "I
can`t run at all. You`ll have to go ahead and
I`ll catch up with you."

The children had stones already. And
someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few pebbles.

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a
cleared space by now, and she held her hands out
desperately as the villagers moved in on her.
"It isn`t fair," she said. A stone hit her on
the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying,
"Come on, come on, everyone." Steve Adams was in
the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs.
Graves beside him.

"It isn`t fair, it isn`t right," Mrs.
Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon
her.

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