Cocotte here trot right along. I’ll be damned if your nag could follow us. What would you do, silly fool, when you saw me clearing out? Learn this much, at least: when the Big One grumbles, never show your cash. Here,” she said, “take your eighteen francs fifty centimes, and your meal will cost you thirty sous. Now, we’ll soon be having some horses for sale. If there’s a small one, you offer ten francs, in any case never more than twenty, even if it’s Lancelot’s own!”
The meal over, the canteen-woman, who was still haranguing him, was interrupted by a woman crossing the fields and passing them on the road. “Hey there!” she shouted. “Margot! Your Sixth Light is over on the right.”
“I must leave you, my boy,” the canteen-woman remarked to our hero; “but I pity you, I really do; we’re friends, after all, Lord knows! You really are an ignoramus, aren’t you? And you’re going to get yourself mowed down as sure as the Lord is God! You better come with me to the Sixth Light.”
“I know I’m ignorant,” Fabrizio replied, “but I want to fight, and I’ve made up my mind to go where that white smoke is.”
“Look how your nag is pricking up her ears! Once she’s over there, weak as she is, she’ll take the bit between her teeth and start galloping and God knows where you’ll end up. Listen to me! As soon as you’re with the soldier-boys, pick up a musket and a cartridge-pouch, get yourself down beside the men, and do exactly what they do. But my God, I bet you don’t even know how to tear open a cartridge!”
Fabrizio, stung to the quick, nonetheless admitted to his new friend that she had guessed correctly.
“The poor boy’ll get himself killed right off. As God is my witness it won’t take long. You better come with me,” the canteen-woman continued imperatively.
“But I want to fight …”
“And fight you will. Come on, the Sixth Light is famous for fighting, and today there’ll be enough for everyone.”
“But will we find your regiment soon?”
“In a quarter of an hour at most.”
“With this good woman’s help,” Fabrizio told himself, “I won’t be taken for a spy, despite my ignorance, and I’ll be able to do some fighting.” At this moment the cannon-fire redoubled, each explosion coming immediately after the last. “It’s like a rosary,” Fabrizio thought.
“You can hear the infantry shots now,” said the canteen-woman, whipping her little horse, which seemed quite excited by the gunfire.
The canteen-woman turned right and followed a road through the fields; the mud was a foot deep here, and the little cart was about to get stuck; Fabrizio gave the wheel a push; his own horse fell twice; soon the road, though less muddy, was no more than a path through high grass. Fabrizio had not ridden five hundred paces when his mare stopped short: a body was lying across the path, frightening both horse and rider.
Fabrizio’s face, naturally pale, turned distinctly green; the canteen-woman, after glancing at the corpse, observed as if to herself: “Not from our division.” Then, glancing up at our hero, she burst out laughing. “Here, my boy!” she exclaimed. “Here’s something nice for you!”
Fabrizio was petrified. What struck him most was the dead man’s filthy feet, already stripped of his shoes; the corpse was left with nothing but a blood-stained pair of ragged trousers.
“Come here,” the canteen-woman ordered, “get off your horse. You’ve got to get used to this. Look!” she exclaimed. “He got it in the head.” A bullet, entering one side of the nose, had come out through the opposite temple and hideously disfigured the corpse; one eyes was still open. “So get off your horse, boy,” the canteen-woman said, “shake his hand for him, and see if he’ll shake yours.”
Without hesitation, though ready to expire with disgust, Fabrizio flung himself off his horse and took the corpse’s hand, shaking it hard; then he remained
The meal over, the canteen-woman, who was still haranguing him, was interrupted by a woman crossing the fields and passing them on the road. “Hey there!” she shouted. “Margot! Your Sixth Light is over on the right.”
“I must leave you, my boy,” the canteen-woman remarked to our hero; “but I pity you, I really do; we’re friends, after all, Lord knows! You really are an ignoramus, aren’t you? And you’re going to get yourself mowed down as sure as the Lord is God! You better come with me to the Sixth Light.”
“I know I’m ignorant,” Fabrizio replied, “but I want to fight, and I’ve made up my mind to go where that white smoke is.”
“Look how your nag is pricking up her ears! Once she’s over there, weak as she is, she’ll take the bit between her teeth and start galloping and God knows where you’ll end up. Listen to me! As soon as you’re with the soldier-boys, pick up a musket and a cartridge-pouch, get yourself down beside the men, and do exactly what they do. But my God, I bet you don’t even know how to tear open a cartridge!”
Fabrizio, stung to the quick, nonetheless admitted to his new friend that she had guessed correctly.
“The poor boy’ll get himself killed right off. As God is my witness it won’t take long. You better come with me,” the canteen-woman continued imperatively.
“But I want to fight …”
“And fight you will. Come on, the Sixth Light is famous for fighting, and today there’ll be enough for everyone.”
“But will we find your regiment soon?”
“In a quarter of an hour at most.”
“With this good woman’s help,” Fabrizio told himself, “I won’t be taken for a spy, despite my ignorance, and I’ll be able to do some fighting.” At this moment the cannon-fire redoubled, each explosion coming immediately after the last. “It’s like a rosary,” Fabrizio thought.
“You can hear the infantry shots now,” said the canteen-woman, whipping her little horse, which seemed quite excited by the gunfire.
The canteen-woman turned right and followed a road through the fields; the mud was a foot deep here, and the little cart was about to get stuck; Fabrizio gave the wheel a push; his own horse fell twice; soon the road, though less muddy, was no more than a path through high grass. Fabrizio had not ridden five hundred paces when his mare stopped short: a body was lying across the path, frightening both horse and rider.
Fabrizio’s face, naturally pale, turned distinctly green; the canteen-woman, after glancing at the corpse, observed as if to herself: “Not from our division.” Then, glancing up at our hero, she burst out laughing. “Here, my boy!” she exclaimed. “Here’s something nice for you!”
Fabrizio was petrified. What struck him most was the dead man’s filthy feet, already stripped of his shoes; the corpse was left with nothing but a blood-stained pair of ragged trousers.
“Come here,” the canteen-woman ordered, “get off your horse. You’ve got to get used to this. Look!” she exclaimed. “He got it in the head.” A bullet, entering one side of the nose, had come out through the opposite temple and hideously disfigured the corpse; one eyes was still open. “So get off your horse, boy,” the canteen-woman said, “shake his hand for him, and see if he’ll shake yours.”
Without hesitation, though ready to expire with disgust, Fabrizio flung himself off his horse and took the corpse’s hand, shaking it hard; then he remained
Similar Books
