"Ten Indians" and the pleasures of close reading.

Nolan, Charles J., Jr.

WHEN IN 1983 Robert Fleming used the manuscript versions of "Ten Indians" to explore the ambiguities in Dr. Adams's treatment of his son and when the next year Paul Smith, also working from the manuscripts, examined the story's structure and Hemingway's central omission from the text, the big news was out. And, in fact, except for Smith's later summation of research in his extremely helpful Guide (1989) and relatively brief discussion of the story in various recent biographies and critical books, there has been no extended commentary since.(1) But there are small discoveries still to be made. A dose reading of the story, informed by the several manuscript versions, both reveals the important artistic choices Hemingway made at various points along the way and demonstrates anew the extraordinary craft we have come to associate with Hemingway's best work.

For his title, Hemingway turned to the still well-known children's song Ten Little Injuns. Composed in 1864 at a party for neighborhood children by Septimus Winner, music popularizer and composer of, among other tunes, Listen to the Mocking Bird, the song was first published in 1868 (Claghorn 38).(2) As inherently racist then as now, its rather violent verses seem particularly appropriate for a story in which Indians are portrayed as foul-smelling, drunk, and duplicitous. The fourth verse, for example, goes: "Seven little Injuns, cutting up sticks, / One chopped himself in half, and then there were six" (38). In Hemingway's story, another in the saga of Nick Adams's development, nine of the Indians have passed out along the road, having celebrated the Fourth of July in Petoskey too vigorously; and the tenth, Prudence Mitchell, betrays Nick when he goes into town that day.

As ultimately published in Men Without Women (1927), the story proper opens with one of Hemingway's characteristic first lines that puts us immediately into the center of the world being created: "After one Fourth of July, Nick, driving home late from town in the big wagon with Joe Garner and his family, passed nine drunken Indians along the road" (CSS 253). But in his first draft, there is an earlier paragraph, which he wisely cut, that details what the Indians do when they come into town: they make no noise, they walk along the streets, they sit in the park, and they go to the ballgame, all the while drinking but in such a way that no one sees them doing it. By the end of the day, however, they are drunk and lying along the road (Item 202C 1).(3) Though this paragraph provides interesting information about the Indians, it suggests that the story will be about them rather than about Nick and as such provides a false lead. The published opening, on the other hand, locates us within the domestic world of the Garner family, important for later contrasts, at the same time that it suggests, perhaps in a stereotypical way, negativity about the Indians.

Next comes brief mention of how Nick remembered that there were nine drunken Indians. Joe had stopped the wagon, jumped off, and pulled an Indian who was asleep face down in the sand out of the way, commenting when he got back into the wagon that this last made nine the family had passed since they had left town. Hemingway based this incident on an actual event, in which the drunken Indian dragged out of the way was a woman (Montgomery 98), but no doubt changed the Indian's gender so as not to distract us with thoughts about the woefulness of the Indians' plight. Mrs. Garner's wry comment on all this, "Them Indians," a phrase that she will repeat a few moments later, takes on special irony when we learn just what the tenth Indian has been doing on this Independence Day.(4)

Then comes some banter among the family about who the last drunken Indian might be and some description about their distance from Petoskey and Harbour Springs, about the sandy road and the difficulty the horses have on it, and about the position of each of the characters in the wagon. Joe and Mrs. Garner, we learn, sit "close together" up front; Nick is between Carl and Frank, the two Garner boys, presumably in the back (254). All of this scene-setting, especially Hemingway's placement of the characters, works to create an almost idyllic picture of family life, which is reinforced by what happens on the rest of the ride home. A discussion among the boys about the spot where their father ran over a skunk and Nick's remark about having seen two others the previous night lead the boys, by association, to tease Nick about his pungent-smelling "Indian girl," Prudence Mitchell. Though Nick denies that he is involved with her, he feels "hollow and happy inside" to be teased about Prudie; in the first version, which Hemingway may have changed to avoid any negative associations, Nick felt slightly nauseated, if still joyful (Item 202C 6).

Mrs. Garner, who has already chided Carl for his comment about the Indians' odor, stops her son's teasing with the remark that "Carl can't get a girl, . . . not even a squaw" (254). True to life, Frank then attacks his brother, noting that Carl doesn't do well with girls, though Joe defends his son by pointing out that "Girls never got a man anywhere. Look at your pa." Mrs. Garner, of course, responds to her husband, noting that he would say such a thing and observing that Joe had had "plenty of girls" in his day, but at the same time she "move[s] close to Joe," revealing her affection. As the joking continues, with Joe telling Nick that he might try to take Prudie away, Mrs. Garner whispers something to her husband, probably of a sexual nature, because Joe laughs. When Frank asks him why he is laughing, Mrs. Garner warns, "Don't you say it, Garner." Joe capitulates, telling Nick that Prudie is safe from him because he already has "a good girl." With Mrs. Garner's comment, "That's the way to talk," the scene is essentially over, and they all arrive at the farmhouse shortly thereafter.

This description of the Garners' warm family life and healthy sexuality becomes important when Hemingway turns to the Adams household, after Nick thanks his hosts, turns down their offer of hot supper, because "Dad probably waited for me" (255), and walks home barefoot through the dew. As Nick approaches his cottage in the darkness, he sees his father through the window reading. At this point it is hard to tell if Hemingway means for us to react positively to what might be a warm image of Dr. Adams sitting inside by the big lamp or to feel, given what comes later, at least in the Madrid versions of the story, the doctor's essential loneliness. But it is clear, once Nick walks through the door, that another family scene is about to take place: "'Well, Nickie,' his father said, 'was it a good day?'" Like Dr. Adams' use of the diminutive form of his son's name, the boy's language in his reply--"I had a swell time, Dad. It was a swell Fourth of July"--suggests that Nick is at a transitional age, probably a preteen or early teenager.(5)

Next Dr. Adams asks his son if he is hungry, wonders about his missing shoes, and tells Nick to come into the kitchen, where he puts some cold chicken, milk, and pie before him. Then sitting down beside the table, Dr. Adams, Hemingway writes, "made a big shadow on the kitchen wall." Several, like Boutelle, have found this shadow central to discussions about whether, in the rest of the story, Nick's father acts responsibly or maliciously in telling his son about Prudence's betrayal (138).(6) Some who see Dr. Adams as malevolent note the ominousness of the large and therefore threatening shadow, though two of the earlier versions of the story seem to contain no hint of this intention. In Hemingway's first try at writing the story, for example, at Chartres in 1925 (Item 202C), the size of the shadow is not given (12); and the matter-of-fact description that follows of the shadow made by the pump in the kitchen suggests that he was not trying to portray the doctor negatively but rather was just describing the scene accurately. In the first of two Madrid versions (Item 728), the lines about the pump's shadow are cut, but there is no change in the description of Dr. Adams' shadow. Only in the second Madrid version (Item 729) does Hemingway indicate anything about size, a change that he carries over into the published story.

As the scene develops, Dr. Adams attends to his son's needs: "His father sat watching him eat and filled his glass from the milk-pitcher.... His father reached over to the shelf for the pie. He cut Nick a big piece" (256). In the first clause of the quotation--"His father sat watching him eat"--Hemingway sets up a pattern that he will use effectively to reveal aspects of Dr. Adams's character. After Nick asks his father what he did that day and Dr. Adams tells him that in the morning he went fishing and caught some perch, Hemingway repeats that opening clause almost verbatim: "His father sat watching him eat the pie." Though Waldhorn sees this repetition as "suggesting subtle pressure on the boy to ask about his father's activities" (56), it seems more likely that Hemingway is setting us up to recognize Dr. Adams's sensitivity to his son's pain, as the next series of exchanges between the two makes clear.

When Nick wants to know what his father did in the afternoon and Dr. Adams tells him that he went walking by the Indian camp, Nick immediately asks if his father saw "anybody," the clear implication being, of course, Prudence. But Dr. Adams answers evasively that all the Indians had gone to Petoskey to get drunk. When Nick presses him--"Didn't you see anybody at all?"--his father tells him that he saw Prudie but does not continue with what he knows until Nick asks him where he saw her. No longer able to avoid revealing what will surely be painful information, Dr. Adams tells Nick that Prudie was in the woods with Frank Washburn and that "They were having quite a time." Immediately following that remark, Hemingway writes: "His father was not looking at him." This glance away, of course, a variation of the pattern already established, results from Dr. Adams' recognition of the pain he is causing his son; he does not want to see how the information he has just provided is affecting Nick.

Next Nick wants to know what Prudie and Frank Washburn were doing, but Dr. Adams temporizes, noting that at that point he went on about his business. Nick, however, is now obsessive about the matter and asks again what Prudie and Frank had been doing. Once more Dr. Adams tries to mitigate his son's pain by claiming not to know exactly what was going on but mentioning that he heard them "threshing around." Then comes increasing intensity on Nick's part: he wants to know how his father was sure that it was Prudie and Frank; and, when his father tells him that he saw them, Nick challenges his father's certainty and then asks again who it was with Prudie. Apparently wanting and yet not wanting to know the full extent of what Dr. Adams had seen, Nick asks: "Were they--were they?"--a question that Dr. Adams responds to with one of his own: "Were they what?" When Nick finally gets it out, "Were they happy?", his father replies, "I guess so." Then, recognizing how painful this information is for his son and presumably not wanting to embarrass Nick by watching him digest the news, Dr. Adams leaves the kitchen and goes outside.

When the doctor returns a few minutes later, we learn that "Nick was looking at his plate" and that "He had been crying." Without commenting on Nick's obvious feelings, Dr. Adams asks his son if he would like more pie, picking up the knife to cut another piece. For Boutelle this "knife-wielding," along with the doctor's "big shadow" on the wall, suggests "the Freudian monster of the castrating father" (135). But in the first draft of the story, which contains no mention of the shadow's size, Nick cuts the pie for himself (Item 202c 12), and in the second and third drafts--the Madrid versions (Items 728 and 729)--there is no pie cutting at all. The early versions of the story, then, make doubtful too dark a reading of these lines and call into question Waldhorn's suggestion of a "vinegary innuendo" (57) in what comes next, Dr. Adams's urging his son to "have another piece." As his father picks up the dishes from the table, Nick asks him just where Prudie and Frank were in the woods. When Dr. Adams answers, "Up back of the camp," we gauge the pain of this information by Nick's response: "Nick looked at his plate," the technique of repetition here similar to that Hemingway has already used in describing how Dr. Adams earlier had glanced at and then away from his son.

As noted, some, like Waldhorn, see in this whole dialogue between father and son the doctor's "mild but perceptible sadism" (56), since, in such a reading of events, Dr. Adams appears to draw out the conversation, inflicting the pain of his revelation slowly (Boutelle 138). But, as the earlier drafts of the story seem to confirm, it is more likely that the doctor is merely trying to spare his son's feelings. In the Madrid versions, where this discussion of Prudie's betrayal first occurs, Hemingway gives us a somewhat different Dr. Adams. In the first of the two typescripts (Item 728), after the doctor has revealed his bad news, he looks at his son, who is crying, and tries to comfort him, suggesting that human nature is what it is (7). When Nick comments that not everybody is duplicitous, Dr. Adams observes that, in fact, almost all are. Nick then agrees and chokes on his tears. Seeing what this recognition has done to his son, Dr. Adams retracts his statement. But when Nick tells his father that it is too late to do so, Dr. Adams claims that his own resentment has colored his remarks and that, in reality, not everyone is reprehensible. Nick, however, remains unconvinced, as he goes to his room. Clearly distraught, Dr. Adams paces back and forth on the porch, upbraiding himself for speaking so openly to a child. Then he goes in to check on Nick, and, finding him awake, expresses his regret (8). The second Madrid typescript (Item 729) follows the earlier version of this scene fairly closely, though there are some excisions and additions. In both of these drafts, however, Dr. Adams is certainly trying to comfort his son, especially when he recognizes that his own suffering has led him to make remarks that cause Nick unnecessary pain. That he has a rather pessimistic view of human nature seems obvious, but it is also clear that he loves his son and is sorry to have hurt him unintentionally.

In the final part of the published story, Nick goes into his room after the conversation with his father, gets undressed, and climbs into bed, lying with his face in the pillow and thinking, "My heart's broken.... If I feel this way my heart must be broken" (257). Then he listens to his father retire, hears the wind in the trees, and feels the cool air come in through the window. For a long time he continues to remain face down in his pillow, but "after a while he forg[ets] to think about Prudence" and ultimately falls asleep. Though he wakes up in the night, hearing the wind and the waves, he goes back to sleep. In the morning,"he was awake a long time before he remembered that his heart was broken." This is essentially a comic ending, perhaps befitting an author who was on his honeymoon with his second wife when he wrote it (Reynolds Homecoming 126); but it is quite different from the original conclusion and from the versions he wrote in Madrid a year earlier, when he was alone in a cold hotel room, in love with Pauline but not yet separated from Hadley ("Art of Short Story" 97).

In Hemingway's first attempt at the story in Chartres, Prudy (in this manuscript spelled differently) does not betray Nick, and consequently the discussion between father and son is not explosive. Instead, after Nick returns from the Garners, Dr. Adams gives him milk and cold chicken, asks about the ballgame, and tells his son about his catching perch in the morning, much as he does in the published version. Then he brings in a huckleberry pie he has made; they cut and discuss the pie, and Nick says that he will get up in the morning and make breakfast. When they move to the living room, Nick makes a fire, and his father starts reading, but then he remembers to tell Nick that Prudence had come for him, believing that he had promised to go out with her in the boat. Nick is incredulous at this news, wondering if she had discounted the fact that it was a holiday (202c 14). When he goes off to bed, however, he prays both for his parents and for Prudy (15), before falling asleep.

Sometime later Nick awakens to hear Prudy calling him at his window. After he dresses, he goes quietly out to the porch where he embraces and kisses her; and she, who has been crying, puts her head on his shoulder. They go down to the rowboat, Nick asks Prudy to kiss him, but she refuses, claiming that she is done with kissing (16). When a few moments later, however, he tells her to kiss him, she agrees. They get into the boat, Nick shoves off, and Prudy tells him that she felt it necessary to leave the camp because all the Indians had returned from town intoxicated (16). Clearly, this is a somewhat sober ending, especially since, as Smith suggests, Prudy's final comment has a "sinister implication, perhaps of abuse or incest" (Guide 197); but at least Nick is spared the jilting that the other versions recount.

In the Madrid typescripts, the focus at the end shifts to Dr. Adams. After he tells Nick how sorry he is and they say good night, he blows out the lamp, goes to his own room, and undresses. In the first of the two typescripts (Item 728), he gets into the double bed, stretching out diagonally across it to occupy as much space as he can--an act that emphasizes his utter loneliness (8). Though Hemingway scratches out everything he writes after Nick and his father say good night, he essentially returns to this ending in the second typescript (Item 729), changing and expanding upon it. Here, after Dr. Adams undresses, he kneels down beside the bed and prays distraughtly, asking God to prevent him in the future from revealing to a child how bleak reality is (8). Then Hemingway again depicts Dr. Adams stretched out diagonally across the bed and again mentions his loneliness. The two sentences containing this picture are scratched out and then written back in, and the second sentence again lined through. Hemingway concludes this version with another handwritten paragraph in which he tells us that Dr. Adams can't sleep, that he goes to check on Nick and finds him breathing evenly, and that he takes the lamp back to his room, preparing to read for a while in the hope that reading will help him drift off.

No doubt this is the ending that had made Hemingway sad, as he mentioned to Plimpton in his Paris Review interview (31)--and with good reason. The picture of the lonely Dr. Adams, lying across the double bed, is clearly different from that of the notebook version (Item 727), which Hemingway worked on in May 1927 while honeymooning with Pauline. In that version, included in a small notebook of manuscript fragments, there are six pages of story containing the central part of the dialogue between Dr. Adams and his son and Nick's musings about his broken heart; the final lines about Nick's being awake for a long time before he remembers his tragedy first appear here. Essentially, this becomes the published ending.

Smith has suggested that the second Madrid version may be "neither better nor worse" than Hemingway's final choice but "simply the ending of a different story" (Guide 198). He notes that, though the Madrid typescripts involve an "unexpected" change in viewpoint from Nick to his father, Hemingway prepares us for it and that a similar kind of shift also occurs in "A Canary for One" (198). Possibly, the second version may even be superior to that of the published story. This ending, with Dr. Adams sprawled across the double bed, reminds us of a world in which hearts really can be broken, advances our knowledge of Nick's parents, and fits the collection more appropriately because here we have two men without women. In addition, this version is more psychologically true: it seems unlikely that Nick would take so long to remember his trauma of the previous day when he awakens the next morning. His relationship with Prudie, presumably his first intimate experience, is intensely sexual, if we accept, as many have, that she is the Trudy of "Fathers and Sons." Surely Atkins is wrong in suggesting that, though "Hemingway is as aware as any writer of the immediate and annihilating attack of emotion that accompanies a sexual relationship, especially among the young, . . . he also knows that all traces of it can disappear just as quickly" (204). For most of us, experience seems to indicate, first sexual love is too powerful to forget so easily, certainly if it involves betrayal.

Smith makes another insightful comment that bears on this issue of which ending is to be preferred. Noting that Hemingway's decision not to try to publish either "Ten Indians" or "Now I Lay Me" earlier in magazines suggests that he was restrained by some commonality between the two, Smith remarks: "That shared feature, of course, is a depiction of Nick Adams's father in his silent conflict with, or separation from, his wife" (198). Perhaps Hemingway composed the sunny, final ending of "Ten Indians" as much because he was hesitant to expose again the emptiness of his parents' marriage as because he found the Madrid version wanting, though, of course, his inclusion of "Now I Lay Me" in the collection made plain the Hemingways' marital troubles.(7)

As it stands, however, "Ten Indians" reveals the young writer in full control of his art. Though Fitzgerald saw the story as "belong[ing] to an earlier and almost exhausted vein (Letters 300-1) and though at least once Hemingway himself claimed not to have liked it (Mellow 358), the story continues to fascinate because of what it demonstrates about the writer's clearly remarkable craft. As he moved from initial draft to published story two years later, Hemingway made choices that document the growth of his first-class talent. The pleasures that come from tracing that process lead us inevitably both to a renewed appreciation of Hemingway's complex artistry and to a reevaluation of the place that this lyrical tale of a boy's first heartbreak has in the Hemingway canon.

NOTES

(1.) Brief commentary on the story appears in Atkins 204-5; C. Baker, Life 157,169,184,186, 592; Artist 129, 411; S. Baker 30, 57, 135; Bakker 4, 5; Benson 11-12; Brenner 18; Capellan 78-79; Dahiya 31-33, 34, 40, 41; DeFalco 49-52; Flora, Fiction 36, 39, 52, 53, 58, 121 n.53, 127, 138; Adams 44-51, passim 52-57, 71, 93, 94, 96, 104, 113, 161, 183, 214, 216, 240, 265, 267; Friedman 108; Grebstein 107-108; Griffin 222; Hardy and Cull 47; Hovey 6-7, 37-38; Kert 179; Lewis 9-10; Lynn 52:, 366; Mellow 31, 32, 34, 330, 358; Meyers 16, 133; Montgomery 96-106; Rao 44, 45, 123; Reynolds, Homecoming 28-29, 122, 126, 227n.10; Paris 332; Rovit and Brenner 160,161; Smith, Guide 197-203; Unfried 15-16; Wagner 67; Waldhorn ,56-57; Whitlow 101-05; Williams 93; Young, Hemingway 48, 62; "World" 5-19.

(2.) When it was published in London in 1868, Winner's song was soon transmogrified. Frank Green wrote the equally racist Ten Little Niggers in late 1868 or early 1869, based on Winner's work, and versions of the song became extremely popular at minstrel shows; other titles include Ten Little Negroes, Ten Little Darkies, and The Ten Youthful Africans (Opie 328-29).

(3.) For a superb analysis of the various manuscripts of the story, see Paul Smith's "The Tenth Indian and the Thing Left Out."

(4.) Flora, Adams 44, notes the appropriateness of the Fourth of July--Independence Day--for a "story of education" and comments on Hemingway's "use of journey to stress the development of the protagonist."

(5.) If, as is often assumed, the Prudence Mitchell of this story is also the Trudy Gilby of "Fathers and Sons," Nick's relationship with Prudence is sexually consummated, suggesting perhaps that Nick has moved into his teenage years. Whitlow, however, argues that the two Indians are actually different people (102). If he is right, Nick may not yet have become a teenager, and his relationship with Prudence, although presumably sexual, may not have been consummated. (Preteens, of course, are physiologically capable of intercourse.) Another possibility is that the full consummation of their relationship will wait for a later summer. To some degree, too, locating Nick's age and degree of intimacy with Prudence depends on whether we use the published or the Madrid versions (Items 728 and 729) of the story.

(6.) In his article, Fleming traces the critical response to Dr. Adams. In my own later review of the criticism, it seems to me that those who regard Dr. Adams positively are Flora (Hemingway's Nick Adams Stories, and Unfried; those who take a more negative view include Benson, Brenner, Capellan, Grebstein, Hovey, Meyers, Waldhorn, and Young, "Big World." DeFalco and Fleming see some ambiguity in the doctor's motivation.

(7.) I am aware, of course, of the problems of making too close a connection between Nick's parents and the Hemingways.

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