down! ... like the one in Condé-sur-Yser! ... Had we thought of that? ... In a fit of temper ... annoyed at finding us there ... He impressed us with the full extent of our responsibility ... harebrained youngsters that we were! ... the Germans had no use for unsavory towns with enemy soldiers still prowling around in them. That was common knowledge ...
While he was lecturing us like that in an undertone, his wife and two daughters, luscious hefty blondes, put in a word here and there to back him up ... The long and the short, they didn't want us there ... In the air between us there hovered sentimental and archaeological considerations, suddenly sprung to life since there was no one in Noirceur that night to contest them ... patriotic, ethical, word-propelled considerations, ghosts that the mayor tried to hold fast, but they faded away, undone by our fear and selfishness, and by the plain truth for that matter.
The mayor of Noirceur himself was knocking himself out with his touching effort to convince us that our Duty was to clear out instantly ... he wasn't as brutal about it as our Major Pinçon, but in his way he was every bit as determined.
The only argument we could have pitted against all those wielders of power was our contemptible little wish not to die and not to be burned alive. Which didn't amount to much, especially when you consider that you can't come out with sentiments like that in the middle of a war. So we wandered off into other deserted streets. Everyone I'd met that night had bared his soul to me.
"Just my luck!" said Robinson as we were pushing off. "If only you'd been a German, you're an obliging sort, you'd have taken me prisoner and we'd be all set ... It's hard for a man to get rid of himself in a war!"
"What about you?" said I. "Wouldn't you have taken me prisoner if you had been a German? Maybe they'd have given you the Médaille Militaire! Some funny word the Germans must have for their Médaille Militaire ..."
Seeing there was absolutely no demand for us as prisoners, we finally sat down on a bench in a little park and opened up the can of tuna fish Robinson had been warming in his pocket since morning. Now we could hear gunfire far in the distance, very far. If only both sides could have stayed in the distance where they were and left us alone!
Then we walked by the river, and alongside of some half-unloaded barges we urinated long streams into the water ... We were still leading the horse by the bridle, he tagged behind us like a great big dog ... Near the bridge, in the ferryman's one-room house, there was a dead man stretched out on a mattress all alone, a Frenchman, a major of light cavalry, actually he looked something like Robinson.
"Ugly son of a bitch!" says Robinson. "I don't know about you, but I don't like dead people."
"The funny part of it," I said, "is that he looks something like you. The same long nose, and you're not much older ..."
"Well, you see, it's being so tired that makes us all look alike, but oh if you'd seen me before! ... In the days when I went bicycle riding every Sunday! ... I was really handsome!
You should have seen the calves on me! You can't beat bicycling! It develops the thighs too ..."
We left the house, the match we'd lit to look at the stiff had gone out.
"You see? ... it's too late ... you see?"
Already, in the darkness at the end of the town, a long gray and green line marked the crest of the hill: Day! One more! One less! We'd have to try and get through this one the same as the rest, the days had got to be like hoops, tighter and tighter to get through, and filled with bursts of shrapnel.
"Coming back this way tomorrow night?" he asked before we separated.
"Tomorrow night? There's no such thing ... What do you think you are, a general?"
"I don't think about anything," he says. "No thoughts at all! I think about not getting killed ... that keeps me busy ... One more day is one more day?that's what I think!"
"You're right ... So long,
While he was lecturing us like that in an undertone, his wife and two daughters, luscious hefty blondes, put in a word here and there to back him up ... The long and the short, they didn't want us there ... In the air between us there hovered sentimental and archaeological considerations, suddenly sprung to life since there was no one in Noirceur that night to contest them ... patriotic, ethical, word-propelled considerations, ghosts that the mayor tried to hold fast, but they faded away, undone by our fear and selfishness, and by the plain truth for that matter.
The mayor of Noirceur himself was knocking himself out with his touching effort to convince us that our Duty was to clear out instantly ... he wasn't as brutal about it as our Major Pinçon, but in his way he was every bit as determined.
The only argument we could have pitted against all those wielders of power was our contemptible little wish not to die and not to be burned alive. Which didn't amount to much, especially when you consider that you can't come out with sentiments like that in the middle of a war. So we wandered off into other deserted streets. Everyone I'd met that night had bared his soul to me.
"Just my luck!" said Robinson as we were pushing off. "If only you'd been a German, you're an obliging sort, you'd have taken me prisoner and we'd be all set ... It's hard for a man to get rid of himself in a war!"
"What about you?" said I. "Wouldn't you have taken me prisoner if you had been a German? Maybe they'd have given you the Médaille Militaire! Some funny word the Germans must have for their Médaille Militaire ..."
Seeing there was absolutely no demand for us as prisoners, we finally sat down on a bench in a little park and opened up the can of tuna fish Robinson had been warming in his pocket since morning. Now we could hear gunfire far in the distance, very far. If only both sides could have stayed in the distance where they were and left us alone!
Then we walked by the river, and alongside of some half-unloaded barges we urinated long streams into the water ... We were still leading the horse by the bridle, he tagged behind us like a great big dog ... Near the bridge, in the ferryman's one-room house, there was a dead man stretched out on a mattress all alone, a Frenchman, a major of light cavalry, actually he looked something like Robinson.
"Ugly son of a bitch!" says Robinson. "I don't know about you, but I don't like dead people."
"The funny part of it," I said, "is that he looks something like you. The same long nose, and you're not much older ..."
"Well, you see, it's being so tired that makes us all look alike, but oh if you'd seen me before! ... In the days when I went bicycle riding every Sunday! ... I was really handsome!
You should have seen the calves on me! You can't beat bicycling! It develops the thighs too ..."
We left the house, the match we'd lit to look at the stiff had gone out.
"You see? ... it's too late ... you see?"
Already, in the darkness at the end of the town, a long gray and green line marked the crest of the hill: Day! One more! One less! We'd have to try and get through this one the same as the rest, the days had got to be like hoops, tighter and tighter to get through, and filled with bursts of shrapnel.
"Coming back this way tomorrow night?" he asked before we separated.
"Tomorrow night? There's no such thing ... What do you think you are, a general?"
"I don't think about anything," he says. "No thoughts at all! I think about not getting killed ... that keeps me busy ... One more day is one more day?that's what I think!"
"You're right ... So long,
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