An essay I wrote about Hemingway's "Cross-Country Snow" from
In Our Time:
When Nick Adams and his friend George arrive at the lodge in Cross-Country Snow, Nick orders a bottle of wine, a Sion. When the girl brings the bottle, Nick has difficulty with the cork, and small bits of it are left in the wine. “Those specks of cork in it don’t matter,” Nick says to George. Not hearing, or not caring, George then remarks, “I wonder if she’s got any cake” (109).
Small they may be, but those bits of cork in the wine do matter. Not for the drinking, but for the understanding of this story. Hemingway was not one to use superfluous words or include needless description. His conscious omitting, as described in A Moveable Feast, is the hallmark of the Hemingway style. The inclusion of Nick’s remark that the bits of cork don’t matter reveals two things. One, the cork does matter to Nick. While it may not affect the flavor of the wine, Nick notices it, and finds it important enough to mention. In this story, Nick notices almost everything. George, however, seems to not to care, or even notice. Sion or Chablis, George just wants some wine. This aspect of George’s character, to address only the superficial, is obvious from the beginning of the story, but is noticeable here particularly as George wonders about the availability of cake. This is the second attempt by Nick to take the conversation beyond the superficial that is parried by George. The first is when the “boys” first sit down and Nick remarks, “There’s nothing really can touch skiing, is there?” George’s reply, that, “It’s too swell to talk about” effectively ends any further talk on the matter (109).
Nick does not notice the girl’s pregnancy until her second visit to the table. When she takes their order and leaves, George remarks, “She isn’t so cordial, is she?” Nick is ready with a clear and concise answer as to why she’s a bit “touchy” (110). But why doesn’t Nick notice this pregnancy right away? This lack of noticing, particularly in the one who notices everything, is important. Nick himself is expecting a child. He is unsure what to think about this. It will mean moving back to the United States with his wife, something neither of them wish to do. Though Nick demonstrates a great deal of readiness in the story, it is clear he is still capable of being caught up by forces outside his control. At the beginning while skiing, Nick, “knew the pace was too much. But he held it. He would not let go and spill” (107). Immediately afterwards, he hits some soft snow, and goes down. Though Nick was prepared for the speed, he wasn’t prepared for the anomaly of the soft snow. The pregnancy of his wife seems to be causing the same hitch in his stride. When George finally leans forward and brings up Helen’s pregnancy, Nick is terse, and without genuine answers. When George says, “It’s hell, isn’t it?” Nick replies, “No. Not exactly” (111). Still, he doesn’t say what exactly it is. Like the soft snow, the forthcoming baby is something that was unexpected and has thrown everything out of order.
The Nick portrayed in this story is different from the Nick of The Three-Day Blow, particularly in his desire to talk to his friend, about what is happening with his life. He is certainly older, and it must be after the war at this point. George, unlike Bill, is not particularly interested in talking. In The Three-Day Blow, Bill spends a good deal of time setting up the situation to make it possible to talk to Nick about his breakup with Marjorie. In this story, the roles are reversed, with Nick attempting to draw the conversation to this crux of addressing the most pressing issue on his mind in multiple ways. “Should we have another bottle?” Nick says, as George parries the attempt by saying, “Not for me” and slumping back against the wall in the manner of the silent woodcutters at the other table. Nick leans his elbows on the table in an attempt to engage. Only after what would seem to have been an uncomfortable silence does George finally broach the questions that Nick has been waiting for. But, rather than questioning his obviously troubled friend further, George steers the conversation back to skiing at the earliest opportunity.
It is not conversation that makes George and Nick feel friendly towards one another, but rather the shared participation in skiing. It is a relationship of doing, and interestingly, watching. There is a voyeuristic element to their skiing, particularly noticeable when George says to Nick, “No, you come on and go first. I like to see you take the khuds” (108). Reaching the fence at the bottom, Nick then observes George coming down, and through the voice of the narrator, describes George’s telemark technique using adjectives such as “beautiful” and “wild” (108). The men obviously admire each other’s technique. The difference between the two of them, and the primary cause of the tension between them, are their outlooks on how to address the experiences of life. George thinks that, “It’s too swell to talk about” (109) while Nick seems to want to talk about the sensation of the activities. This naturally carries over to their stunted conversation about wine, parenthood, and the future. Despite these differences the men are fond of one another because of the sharing of the skiing experience. The sentence “Now they would have the run home together.” is written twice in the story, the first time when the men are said to be happy, eating and drinking in the restaurant and the second as the last line of the story. The relationship highlights both the benefits and limitations of homosocial friendships. The simplicity of the relationship allows the men to observe and admire each other without pretense or artifice. However, it also denies a very broad connection, and prevents the addressing of major life events, such as Nick’s impending fatherhood and exile back to the United States. Unlike the Nick of The Three-Day Blow, he is ready to talk to his friend about what is and will be happening to him. When George finally acquiesces to speak about the subject Nick wants to address, Nick clams up. He realizes that George is not the person he can speak to about these sorts of things. George is a friend, but a friend almost exclusively belonging to the aspect of life concerned with freedom. To quote David Wyatt, “It is in the tension between freedom and form that we find the meaning.” George is carefree. He likes the idea of bumming around Europe skiing instead of going back to school. And who wouldn’t enjoy at least entertaining such a notion? George’s character can be likened to the campsite and upper stream in Big Two-Hearted River. The campsite is a good place. George is a good guy. The stream is clear, cold, and honest. Nick can see the trout in it, and can find open places to land them easily. George is honest, open, and cold. He doesn’t hide his feelings, but he is light-hearted and fanciful. George and the campsite also share a temporary nature. One cannot camp forever, just as one cannot always be lighthearted and playful.
Like the Nick of Big Two-Hearted River, or perhaps even more like the Nick of Indian Camp, George is not ready to fish the swamp yet. Nick knows that their friendship is limited. He also knows that doing nothing but skiing forever would be as bad as going back to the states. “That’s the way it is everywhere I’ve ever been” Nick says in response to George’s affirmation about the poor nature of California’s mountains (112). This inability of George to engage in the complex intimacy that Nick desires makes the title of the story quite appropriate. Nick wants to go down, and George wants to stay up. Together, they go sideways. They ski cross-country, always moving, but not changing.
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