was brought in. The first thing I learned was that the Armistice had been signed and that the war was at an end. You may be sure I rejoiced. But the news that my entire company had been wiped out at Exermont greatly disheartened me.
Although I was out of danger of death, my mind was periodically unsound and my memory as well. Sometimes for hours I would forget who I was, in which ward I belonged and the name of my nurse. During those periods I would suffer indescribable mental anguish until Nurse Monet came to claim me. I would always recognize her and in a minute everything would become clear again. I took to wheeling my chair after her wherever she went. She did not seem to mind.
Many evenings the nurse and I would be in the hospital garden. It was very lovely there with the green lawn and the cultivated flower beds and the stone fountain which played incessantly. She would sit beside my wheel-chair and coax me to sing to her. My nasal interpretations of “K-K-K-Katy” and “Over There” sent her into fits of laughter and she never seemed to tire of them. I would laugh with her until my shrapnel wounds began to hurt. To this day, whenever I undress for bed and notice the scars on my left leg and thigh, I think of the evenings in the garden with Gilberte Monet.
One evening in particular would be much better forgotten; and I would not mention it all were it not for my firm resolution to be frank. It happened so naturally and so sweetly that I can scarcely believe it was an adultery. Yet.... It will be hard to describe. I can only tell you what we did—;and that may sound very ordinary—;but what we did and what that night did to me is the important issue. That half-hour has since served as a standard by which I weigh love to ascertain its value. Gilberte's love was real, not feigned. It could, and did, weather anything —;even her realization that I could not reciprocate.
Yes, she gave herself to me. And what is more, no one cared. Who cared what anyone did during those topsy-turvy years—;like roulette with the play for human chips? The hospital staff was too preoccupied with a macabre puzzle to be disturbed over absurdities connected with a normal human function. They were attempting to put wrecks of men together again and, far too frequently, important pieces were missing.
And the important missing part in my own case was Anita. Gilberte helped me to fill that gap, for which I shall be eternally grateful. My only regret is the night I am trying to describe. There, and there only, did we overstep the boundaries beyond which we should never have passed. If I had loved Gilberte and not been in love with another woman it would have been quite all right. But I never loved her and, since she loved me, it must have hurt her no end to discover that she was merely receiving the crumbs from Anita's table.
However, it is too late to think about such things now. Even if we had known, I doubt if we could have prevented what happened. Before either of us realized quite what was happening, we found ourselves stretched full-length on a secluded strip of lawn, protected by the enveloping darkness. Gilberte's uniform was unfastened at the breast and my cheek rested on her satiny flesh. I became suffused with a warm glow and the intoxicating belief that nothing mattered but this one very human moment. I kissed her on the mouth—;the first time I had ever done so. She responded by tightening her grip and literally melting to me. I removed one arm from under her and in a few seconds nothing—;not a shred of clothing—;separated us.
“I love you, Gilberte,” I moaned again and again.
But, even at that time, while I held a woman in my arms for the first time in almost two years, I knew I was lying. But, somehow, that seemed the only proper thing to say.
The greater portion of the A.E.F. sailed for home on the Leviathan and other ships late in March of 1919; but I was still in no condition to make such a long trip. I'd sit in
Although I was out of danger of death, my mind was periodically unsound and my memory as well. Sometimes for hours I would forget who I was, in which ward I belonged and the name of my nurse. During those periods I would suffer indescribable mental anguish until Nurse Monet came to claim me. I would always recognize her and in a minute everything would become clear again. I took to wheeling my chair after her wherever she went. She did not seem to mind.
Many evenings the nurse and I would be in the hospital garden. It was very lovely there with the green lawn and the cultivated flower beds and the stone fountain which played incessantly. She would sit beside my wheel-chair and coax me to sing to her. My nasal interpretations of “K-K-K-Katy” and “Over There” sent her into fits of laughter and she never seemed to tire of them. I would laugh with her until my shrapnel wounds began to hurt. To this day, whenever I undress for bed and notice the scars on my left leg and thigh, I think of the evenings in the garden with Gilberte Monet.
One evening in particular would be much better forgotten; and I would not mention it all were it not for my firm resolution to be frank. It happened so naturally and so sweetly that I can scarcely believe it was an adultery. Yet.... It will be hard to describe. I can only tell you what we did—;and that may sound very ordinary—;but what we did and what that night did to me is the important issue. That half-hour has since served as a standard by which I weigh love to ascertain its value. Gilberte's love was real, not feigned. It could, and did, weather anything —;even her realization that I could not reciprocate.
Yes, she gave herself to me. And what is more, no one cared. Who cared what anyone did during those topsy-turvy years—;like roulette with the play for human chips? The hospital staff was too preoccupied with a macabre puzzle to be disturbed over absurdities connected with a normal human function. They were attempting to put wrecks of men together again and, far too frequently, important pieces were missing.
And the important missing part in my own case was Anita. Gilberte helped me to fill that gap, for which I shall be eternally grateful. My only regret is the night I am trying to describe. There, and there only, did we overstep the boundaries beyond which we should never have passed. If I had loved Gilberte and not been in love with another woman it would have been quite all right. But I never loved her and, since she loved me, it must have hurt her no end to discover that she was merely receiving the crumbs from Anita's table.
However, it is too late to think about such things now. Even if we had known, I doubt if we could have prevented what happened. Before either of us realized quite what was happening, we found ourselves stretched full-length on a secluded strip of lawn, protected by the enveloping darkness. Gilberte's uniform was unfastened at the breast and my cheek rested on her satiny flesh. I became suffused with a warm glow and the intoxicating belief that nothing mattered but this one very human moment. I kissed her on the mouth—;the first time I had ever done so. She responded by tightening her grip and literally melting to me. I removed one arm from under her and in a few seconds nothing—;not a shred of clothing—;separated us.
“I love you, Gilberte,” I moaned again and again.
But, even at that time, while I held a woman in my arms for the first time in almost two years, I knew I was lying. But, somehow, that seemed the only proper thing to say.
The greater portion of the A.E.F. sailed for home on the Leviathan and other ships late in March of 1919; but I was still in no condition to make such a long trip. I'd sit in
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