''Your eyes,'' he said, ''your eyes were what gave you away.''
It was late September, when everything felt as though it was ending, that he started having chest pains. He didn’t want to see his regular doctor, who would simply not let him drink any more, so he went to see a doctor in a small office way uptown. It was late September, and everything felt as though it was ending.
The doctor was an ordinary man, with somewhat higher education than most, and he didn’t hesitate to make friends with his patients. ''A huge mistake,'' he thought. ''He cares too much.''
It turned out not to be lethal at that point, because this was his first, but he had to quit drinking at some point – his body was just too old to handle so much alcohol. He repeated, ''I’ve come here not to quit drinking, doctor, what else do you propose?''
The doctor looked out. ''He looks a little bit like the pictures of Breuer,'' he thought. He said, ''I’m not afraid to die, doctor, but I need to die a reasonably comfortable death, having lived a moderately content life. Drinking, drinking is essential for the latter part.''
''A curious wish'', the doctor said. ''A need'', he corrected. They looked at each other in silence for a short moment. ''Tell me, do you live alone?'' ''I live with my wife'', he answered. ''Do you have kids?'' ''One. She’s away.'' ''Away?'' ''Away.''
The doctor prescribed weekly visits as a part of his exercise and told him to try to drink less. Maybe even take his wife out with the spare money.
He left the doctor’s office having promised to come back in a week, although he didn’t know why. It took up quite some time to come uptown.
"In September the first cool nights came, then the days were cool and the leaves on the trees in the park began to turn color and we knew the summer was gone."
YanıtlaSil- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms