The Snows of Kilimanjaro Page #4

that I've not written...

and that I'll never write now.

I've written only

that first time in Paris--

the Paris that I loved.

The Place Contrescarpe...

where the flower sellers dyed

their flowers in the street.

The dye ran purple over the paving stones

where the autobus started.

And the children played in the streets

in the spring sunshine.

And the wood and coal man's place.

He sold wine too.

Bad wine.

And the golden horse's head

outside the Boucherie Chevaline...

where the carcasses hung yellow,

gold and red in the window.

And the green-painted cooperative

where we bought our wine.

Good wine, and cheap.

Our apartment was a room and a half.

There I did my work,

and Cynthia took up housekeeping.

And together we did all of the things

which go to make up living.

Harry.

- Harry.

- [ Grunts ]

Darling?

Your breakfast is ready.

Hello.

Hello.

[ Harry Narrating ] We knew our neighbors

in that quarter. We were all poor.

And in that poverty

and in that quarter...

I finished that first book.

A good book--

the start of all I thought I was to do.

And I called it

The Lost Generation...

not knowing at the time

how much it was about my Cynthia.

Harry!

Harry!

Harry.! Darling.!

- Oh, Harry, darling, it's been accepted!

- What?

- Your very first book, and it's gonna be published.

- No!

- Yes, and now we can get that--

- How much is the advance?

- The check. Yeah. How much?

- Oh!

It isn't so very much,

but it isn't so little either.

Well, you're right.

It isn't so very much.

It'll do if we pinch.

Darling, now we can get

that lovely apartment on the Seine.

Now we can go to Africa.

Oh!

[ Harry Narrating ]

And there never was another time for me...

like that first time in Africa.

Three of'em.

A bull and two cows.

- Good!

- [ African Language ]

- He says he's a fine bull.

- I know what he says. When do we get going?

We'll get downwind

and work up on 'im.

Don't you think it's time

the memsahib had the first shot?

- What?

- No, I don't want it.

- How correct you are, Mr.Johnson.

- I definitely don't want it!

- Come on. You'll do it marvelously.

- Come on. He's all yours!

Now, take it easy.

Just imagine

he's a tin can in the camp.

- But he's not a tin can. I don't want to do it.

- Shoot low at this distance.

Careful. Don't spook him.

Now!Just set him squarely

in your sights.

Brace yourself and squeeze.

Dearest Harry, please shut up.

Come on. Hurry up!

Will you shoot, for--

- You missed.

- I told you I didn't want to do it.

No harm done.

Everybody misses.

I never claimed I was a hunter.

You're the hunter.

Yes, and you,

the great white hunter.

Sure, sure. Come on, Annie Oakley.

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