A Farewell to Arms

A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway Page B

Book: A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ernest Hemingway
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Classics
Ads: Link
them out. I could see the light come out from the dressing station when the curtain opened and they brought some one in or out. The dead were off to one side. The doctors were working with their sleeves up to their shoulders and were red as butchers. There were not enough stretchers. Some of the wounded were noisy but most were quiet. The wind blew the leaves in the bower over the door of the dressing station and the night was getting cold. Stretcher-bearers came in all the time, put their stretchers down, unloaded them and went away. As soon as I got to the dressing station Manera brought a medical sergeant out and he put bandages on both my legs. He said there was so much dirt blown into the wound that there had not been much hemorrhage. They would take me as soon as possible. He went back inside. Gordini could not drive, Manera said. His shoulder was smashed and his head was hurt. He had not felt bad but now the shoulder had stiffened. He was sitting up beside one of the brick walls. Manera and Gavuzzi each went off with a load of wounded. They could drive all right. The British had come with three ambulances and they had two men on each ambulance. One of their drivers came over to me, brought by Gordini who looked very white and sick. The Britisher leaned over.
    “Are you hit badly?” he asked. He was a tall man and wore steel-rimmed spectacles.
    “In the legs.”
    “It's not serious I hope. Will you have a cigarette?”
    “Thanks.”
    “They tell me you've lost two drivers.”
    “Yes. One killed and the fellow that brought you.”
    “What rotten luck. Would you like us to take the cars?”
    “That's what I wanted to ask you.”
    “We'd take quite good care of them and return them to the villa. 206 aren't you?”
    “Yes.”
    “It's a charming place. I've seen you about. They tell me you're an American.”
    “Yes.”
    “I'm English.”
    “No!”
    “Yes, English. Did you think I was Italian? There were some Italians with one of our units.”
    “It would be fine if you would take the cars,” I said.
    “We'll be most careful of them,” he straightened up. “This chap of yours was very anxious for me to see you.” He patted Gordini on the shoulder. Gordini winced and smiled. The Englishman broke into voluble and perfect Italian. “Now everything is arranged. I've seen your Tenente. We will take over the two cars. You won't worry now.” He broke off, “I must do something about getting you out of here. I'll see the medical wallahs. We'll take you back with us.”
    He walked across to the dressing station, stepping carefully among the wounded. I saw the blanket open, the light came out and he went in.
    “He will look after you, Tenente,” Gordini said.
    “How are you, Franco?”
    “I am all right.” He sat down beside me. In a moment the blanket in front of the dressing station opened and two stretcherbearers came out followed by the tall Englishman. He brought them over to me.
    “Here is the American Tenente,” he said in Italian.
    “I'd rather wait,” I said. “There are much worse wounded than me. I'm all right.”
    “Come, come,” he said. “Don't be a bloody hero.” Then in Italian: “Lift him very carefully about the legs. His legs are very painful. He is the legitimate son of President Wilson.” They picked me up and took me into the dressing room. Inside they were operating on all the tables. The little major looked at us furious. He recognized me and waved a forceps.
    “Ca va bien?”
    “Ca va.”
    “I have brought him in,” the tall Englishman said in Italian. “The only son of the American Ambassador. He can be here until you are ready to take him. Then I will take him with my first load.” He bent over me. “I'll look up their adjutant to do your papers and it will all go much faster.” He stooped to go under the doorway and went out. The major was unhooking the forceps now, dropping them in a basin. I followed his hands with my eyes. Now he was bandaging. Then the

Similar Books

Sweet: A Dark Love Story

Kit Tunstall, R.E. Saxton

Enemy Invasion

A. G. Taylor

Secrets

Brenda Joyce

The Syndrome

John Case

The Trash Haulers

Richard Herman

Spell Robbers

Matthew J. Kirby