07 - Chapter 7. All Quiet on the Western Front.

07 - Chapter 7. All Quiet on the Western Front.  
Considered by many to be the greatest war novel of all time, All Quiet on the Western Front is the chronicle of a German soldier fighting in the trenches of World War I, including the severe physical suffering and emotional trauma that will leave many unable to readjust to civilian life afterward.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter seven of All Quiet on the Western Front by
Eric Maria Remark translated by Arthur Wesley Ween. This LibriVox
recording is in the public domain. Chapter seven. They have
taken us farther back than usual to a field depot

(00:21):
so that we can be reorganized. Our company needs more
than one hundred reinforcements. In the meantime, when we are
off duty, we loaf around. After a couple of days,
Himilstas comes up to us. He has had the bounce
knocked out of him since he has been in the
trenches and wants to get on good terms with us.

(00:41):
I am willing enough because I saw how he brought
Hyavestus in when he was hid in the back. Besides,
he's decent enough to treat us at the canteen when
we are out of funds. Only Todden is still reserved
and suspicious, but he is won over two. When Himmelstas
tells us that he is taking the place of the
sergeant Cook who has gone on leave. As a proof,

(01:04):
he produces on the spot two pounds of sugar for
us and a half pound of butter, specially for Tiaden.
He even sees to it though we are detailed the
next two or three days to the cook house for
potato and turn appealing the grub he gives us. There
is real officers fair. Thus, for the moment we have
the two things a soldier needs for contentment, good food

(01:27):
and rest. That's not much when one comes to think
of it. A couple of years ago we would have
despised ourselves terribly, but now we are quite happy. It
is all a matter of habit, even the front line.
Habit is the explanation of why we seem to forget
things so quickly. Yesterday we were under fire. Today we

(01:51):
act the fool and go foraging through the countryside. Tomorrow
we go up to the trenches again. We forget nothing, really,
But so long long as we have to stay here
in the field, the front line days when they are past,
sink down in us like a stone. They are too
serious for us to be able to reflect on them
at once. If we did that, we should have been

(02:12):
destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much terror
can be endured so long as a man simply ducks.
But it kills if a man thinks about it, just
as we turn into animals when we go up to
the line, because that is the only way which brings
us through safely. So we turn into wags and loafers

(02:33):
when we are out resting. We can do nothing else.
It is a sheer necessity. We want to live at
any price, so we cannot burden ourselves with feelings which,
though they might be ornamental enough in peace time, would
be out of place here. Camrick is dead, Hyahstus is dying.

(02:53):
They will have a job with Hans Kramer's body at
the judgment day, piecing it together after a direct hit.
Martin's has no legs any more. Meyer is dead, Max
is dead, Byer is dead, Hammerling is dead. There are
a hundred and twenty wounded men lying somewhere or other.
It is a damnable business. But what has it to

(03:14):
do with us now we live. If it were possible
for us to save them, then it would be seen
how much we cared. We would have a shot at it,
though we went under ourselves, for we can be damned
quixotic when we like fear. We do not know much
about terror of death, yes, but that is a different

(03:36):
matter that is physical. But our comrades are dead. We
cannot help them. They have their rest, and who knows
what is waiting for us. We will make ourselves comfortable,
and sleep and eat as much as we can stuff
into our bellies, and drink and smoke, so that the
hours are not wasted. Life is short. The terror of

(03:59):
the front sinks deep down. When we turn our backs
upon it. We may grim coarse jests about it. When
a man dies, then we say he had nipped off
his turd. And so we speak of everything that keeps
us from going mad. As long as we take it
that way, we maintain our own resistance. But we do

(04:20):
not forget. It's all rot that they put in the
war news about the good humor of the troops, how
they are arranging dances almost before they are out of
the front line. We don't act like that because we
are in a good humor. We are in a good humor,
because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were
not so, we could not hold out much longer. Our

(04:43):
humor becomes more bitter every month. And this I know.
All these things that now, while we are still in
the war, sink down in us like a stone. After
the warm shall waken again, and then shall begin the
disentanglement of life and death. The days the weeks, the
years out here shall come back again, and our dead

(05:05):
comrades shall then stand up again and march with us.
Our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose,
and so we shall march our dead comrades beside us,
the years at the front, behind us, against whom, against whom.
Some time ago there was an army theater in these parts.

(05:27):
Colored posters of the performances are still sticking on a
hoarding with wide eyes crop an I stand in front
of it. We can hearty credit that such things still exist.
A girl in a light summer dress with a red
patent leather belt about her hips. She is standing with
one hand on a railing, and with the other she
holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes,

(05:51):
fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles. A
blue lake with white horses at the side is a
bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose,
red lips, and slender legs. Wonderfully clean and well cared for.
She certainly bathes twice a day and never has any
dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of

(06:14):
sand from the beach beside her stands a man in
white trousers, a blue jacket and saidyr's cap. But he
interests us much less. The girl on the poster is
a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there
are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes.

(06:35):
We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it.
For happiness, beauty and joy. That is peace time, that
is as it should be. We feel excited. Just look
at those thin shoes. Though she could march many miles
in those, I say, and then begin to feel silly,
for it is absurd to stand in front of a

(06:57):
picture like this and think of nothing but marching. How
old would she be? Krop asks about twenty two at
the most. I hazard, then she would be older than us.
She is not more than seventeen. Let me tell you
it gives us goose flesh. That would be good. Albert,

(07:18):
what do you think? He nods. I have some white
trousers at home, too, white trousers, say I, but a
girl like that. We look askance at one another. There's
not much to boast of here. Two ragged, stained and
dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete, so we proceed

(07:41):
to tear the young man with the white trousers off
the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That
is something'swards it. We could go and get deloused anyway.
Krop then suggests, I am not very enthusiastic because it
doesn't do one's clothes any good, and a man is
lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered

(08:05):
the picture once more, I declare myself willing I even
go farther. We might see if we could get a
clean shirt as well. Socks might be better, says Albert,
not without reason. Yes, socks too. Perhaps let's go and
explore a bit. Then Leir and Tiaton stroll up. They

(08:27):
look at the poster and immediately the conversation becomes smutty.
There was the first of our class to have intercourse,
and he gave stirring details of it. After his fashion.
He enjoys himself over the picture, and Tiang supports him nobly.
It does not distress us exactly. Who is in smutty
is no soldier. It merely does not suit us at

(08:49):
the moment. So we edge away and march off to
the delousing station with the same feeling as if it
were a swell gentleman's outfitters. The houses in which we
are billeted lie near the canal. On the other side
of the canal, there are ponds flanked with poplars. On
the other side of the canal there are women too.

(09:10):
The houses on our side have been abandoned on the
other side, though one occasionally sees inhabitants. In the evening
we go swimming. Three women come strolling along the bank.
They walk slowly and don't look away. Although we have
no bathing suits. Lear calls out to them. They laugh

(09:30):
and stop to watch us. We fling remarks at them
in broken French, anything that comes into our heads hastily,
and all jumble together anything to detain them. They are
not specially wonderful pieces, But then where are such to
be had about? Here? There is one slim little brunette.
Her teeth gleam, which she laughs. She has quick movements.

(09:54):
Her dress swings loosely about her legs. Although the water
is cold. We are very and do our best to
interest them so that they will stay. We try to
make jokes, and the answer with things we cannot understand,
we laugh, and Beckon Chodden is more crafty. He runs
into the house gets a loaf of army bread and

(10:15):
holds it up. That produces a great effect. They nod
and beckon us to come over, but we don't dare
to do that. It is forbidden to cross to the
opposite bank. There are sentries on all the bridges. It's
impossible without a pass. So we indicate that they should
come over to us, But they shake their heads and

(10:36):
point to the bridge. They are not allowed to pass either.
They turn away and walk slowly down the canal, keeping
along the towpath all the way. We accompany them swimming.
After a few hundred yards, they turn off in pointo
house that stands a little distance away among the trees
and shrubbery. Lear asks if they live there. They laugh,

(10:59):
sure that their house. We call out to them that
we would like to come some time when the guards
cannot see us at night to night. They raise their hands,
put them together, rest their faces on them, and shut
their eyes. They understand. The slim brunette does a two step.
The blonde girl twitters bread good eagerly. We assure them

(11:24):
that we will bring some with us, and other tasty
bits too. We roll our eyes and try to explain
with their hands lee are nearly drowned trying to demonstrate
a sausage. If it were necessary, we would promise them
a whole quartermaster's store. They go off and frequently turn
and look back. We climb out on the bank on

(11:45):
our side of the canal and watch to see whether
they go into the house, for they might easily have
been lying. Then we swim back. No one can cross
the bridge without leave, so we will simply have to
swim over. At night, we are full of excitement. We
cannot last out without a drink, so we go to

(12:05):
the canteen, where there is beer and a kind of punch.
We drink punch and tell one another, lying tales of
our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story,
only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a
taller one. Our hands are fidgety. We smoke countless cigarettes
until Crop says we might as well take them a

(12:27):
couple of cigarettes too, so we put some inside our
caps to keep them. The sky turns apple green. There
are four of us, but only three can go. We
must shake off Chodden, so ply him with rum and
punch until he rocks. As it turns dark, we go
to our billets Chodden in the center. We are all

(12:48):
glowing and full of a lust for inventure. The little
brunette is mine. We settle that by cutting for her.
Chadden drops on his sack of straw and snores. Once.
He wakes up and grins so craftily that we are
alarmed to begin to think he is cheating, and that
we have given him the punch to no purpose. Then

(13:09):
he drops back again and sleeps on. We each get
hold of a whole army loaf and wrap it up
in newspaper. The cigarettes we put in two, as well
as three good rations of liver sausage that were issued
to us this evening. That makes a decent present. We
stow the things carefully in our boots. We have to

(13:29):
take them to protect our feet against treading on wire
and broken glass on the other bank, as we must
swim for it. We can take no other clothes. But
it is not far and quite dark. We make off
with our boots and our hands. Swiftly we slip into
the water, lie on our backs, and swim, holding the
boots with their contents up over our heads. We climb

(13:53):
out carefully on the opposite bank take out the packages
and put on our boots. We put the things under
our arms, and so all wet and naked, clothed only
in our boots, we break into a trot. We find
the house at once. It lies among the trees. Lear
trips over a root and skins his elbows. No matter,

(14:16):
he says gaily. The windows are shutterered. We slip round
the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then
we grow impatient. Suddenly Crop hesitates, what if there's a
major in with them? Then we just clear off? Grins
Lear he can try to read our regimental numbers here

(14:39):
and Smacks is behind the door of the courtyard stands open.
Our boots make a great clatter. The house door opens,
A cheek of light shines through, and a woman cries
out in a scared voice. Sh sh Comrade, bon amie,
we say, and show our packages protestingly. The whither two

(15:00):
are now on the scene. The door opens wide, and
the light floods over us. They recognize us, and all
three burst into laughter at our appearance. They rock and
sway in the doorway. They laugh so much, how supple
their movements are. Oh moment, they disappear and throw us
bits of clothing, which we gladly wrap round ourselves. Then

(15:22):
we venture in a small lamp burns in the room,
which is warm and smells a little of perfume. We
unwrap our parcels and hand them over to the women.
Their eyes shine. It is obvious that they are hungry.
Then we all become rather embarrassed. Leer makes the gestures
of eating, And then they come to life again and

(15:43):
bring out plates and knives, and fall to on the food.
And they hold up every slice of liver sausage and
admire it before they eat it, and we sit proudly by.
They overwhelm us with their chatter. We understand very little
of it, but we listen, and the words sound friendly.
No doubt, we all look very young. The little brunette

(16:06):
strokes my hair and says what all the French women say,
La guerre, grandma, dieu pauv garson. I hold her arm
tightly and press my lips into the palm of her hand.
Her fingers close round my face. Close above me are
her bewildering eyes, the soft brown of her skin, and

(16:26):
her red lips. Her mouth speaks words I do not understand,
nor do I fully understand her eyes. They seem to
say more than we anticipated when we came here. There
are other rooms adjoining in passing. I see leir he
has made a great hit with the blonde, and he
knows it too. But I am lost in remoteness, in weakness,

(16:52):
and in a passion to which I yield myself trustingly.
My desires are strangely compounded of yearning and misery. I
feel giddy. There is nothing here that a man can
hold on to. We have left our boots at the door.
They have given us slippers instead, and now nothing remains
to recall for me the assurance and self confidence of

(17:14):
the soldier. No rifle, no belt, no tunic, no cap.
I let myself drop into the unknown, come what may. Yet,
in spite of all, I feel somewhat afraid. The little
brunette contracts her brows when she is thinking, but when
she talks they are still, and often the sound does

(17:35):
not quite become a word, but suffocates or floats away
over me, half finished. An arch, a pathway, a comet?
What have I known of it? What do I know
of it? The words of this foreign tongue, which I
hardly understand, They caress me to a quietness, in which
the room grows dim and dissolves in the half light,

(17:57):
and only the face above me lives and is clear.
How various is a face, But an hour ago it
was strange, and now it is touched with a tenderness
that comes not from it but out of the night.
The world and the blood. All these things seem to
shine in it together. The objects in the room are

(18:18):
touched by it and transformed. They become isolated. And I
feel almost awed at the sight of my clear skin,
when the light of the lamp falls upon it, and
the cool brown hand passes over it. How different all
this is from the conditions and the soldier's brothels to
which we are allowed to go, and where we have
to wait in long queues. I wish I never thought

(18:41):
of them, but desire turns my mind to them involuntarily,
and I am afraid, for it might be impossible ever
to be free of them again. But then I feel
the lips of the little brunette and press myself against them,
my eyes close, and let it all fall from me,
war and terror and grossness, in order to awaken young

(19:02):
and happy. I think of the picture of the girl
on the poster, and for a moment believe that my
life depends on winning her. And if I press ever
deeper into the arms that embrace me, perhaps a miracle
may happen. So after a time we find ourselves reassembled again.
Leir is in high spirits. We pull on our boots

(19:25):
and take our leave warmly. The night air cools our
hot bodies. The rustling poplars loom large in the darkness.
The moon floats in the heavens and in the waters
of the canal. We do not run. We walk beside
one another with long strides. That was worth a ration, Loaf,

(19:45):
says Leir. I cannot trust myself to speak. I am
not in the least happy. Then we hear footsteps and
dodge behind a shrub. The steps come nearer. Close by us.
We see a naked soldier in boots just like ourselves.
He has a package under his arm and gallops onward.

(20:06):
It is Joddon. In full course he has disappeared already.
We laugh. In the morning, he will curse us unobserved.
We arrive again at our sacks of straw. I am
called to the orderly room. The company commander gives me
a leave pass and a travel pass, and wishes me

(20:27):
a good journey. I look to see how much leave
I have got seventeen days, fourteen days leave and three
days for traveling. It is not enough, and I ask
whether I cannot have five days for traveling. Bertink points
to my pass. There I see that I am not
to return to the front immediately after my leave. I

(20:49):
have to report for a course of training to a
camp on the moors. The others congratulate me. Kat gives
me good advice and tells me I ought to try
to get a base. If you are smart, you'll hang
on to it. I would rather not have gone for
another eight days. We are to stay here that much longer,

(21:10):
and it is good here. Naturally, I have to stand
the other's drinks at the canteen. We are all a
little bit drunk. I become gloomy. I will be away
for six weeks. That is lucky, of course, But what
may happen before I get back? Shall I meet all
these fellows again? Already Haya has gone? Who will the

(21:33):
next be? As we drink, I look at each of
them in turn. Albert sits beside me and smokes. He
is silence. We have always been together opposite Squat's cat
with his drooping shoulders, his broad thumb and calm voice,
Mueller with the protruding teeth and the booming laugh, Chadden

(21:54):
with his mousy eyes. Leir, who has grown a full
beard and looks at least forty over us, hangs a
dense cloud of smoke. Where would a soldier be without tobacco.
The canteen is his refuge, and beer is far more
than a drink. It is a token that a man
can move his limbs and stretch in safety. We do

(22:16):
it ceremonially. We stretch our legs out in front of
us and spit deliberately. That is the only way how
it all rises up before a man when he is
going away. The next morning, at night we go again
to the side of the canal. I am almost afraid
to tell the little brunette that I am going away,
and when I return, we will certainly be far away

(22:38):
from here, we will never see one another again. But
she merely nods and takes no special notice. At first,
I am at a loss to understand. Then it suddenly
dawns on me. Yes, Leir is right. If I were
going up to the front then she would have again
called me pove Garson. But merely going on leave, she

(23:03):
does not want to hear about that that is not
nearly so interesting. May she go to the devil with
her chattering talk. A man dreams of a miracle and
wakes up to loaves of bread. Next morning, after I
have been deloused, I go to the railhead. Albert and
Cat come with me. At the halt, we learn that

(23:25):
it will be a couple of hours yet before the
train leaves, the other two have to go back to duty.
We take leave of one another. Good luck Cat, good
luck Albert. They go off and wave once or twice.
Their figures dwindle. I know their every step and movement.
I would recognize them at any distance. Then they disappear.

(23:49):
I sit down on my pack and wait. Suddenly I
become filled with a consuming impatience to be gone. I
lie down on many a station platform, I stand before
many a soup kitchen. I squat on many a bench.
Then at last the landscape becomes gloomy, mysterious, and familiar.

(24:11):
It glides past the western windows, with its villages, their
thatched roofs like caps pulled over the whitewashed half timbered houses,
its corn fields gleaming like mother of pearl in the
slanting light, Its orchards, its barns, and old lime trees.
The names of the stations begin to take on meaning,
and my heart trembles. The train stamps and stamps onward.

(24:34):
I stand at the window and hold on to the frame.
These names mark the boundaries of my youth. Smooth meadows, fields,
farm yards. A solitary team moves against the skyline along
the road that runs parallel to the horizon, a barrier
before which peasants stand waiting, girls waving, children playing on

(24:56):
the embankment roads leading into the country, smooth roads without artillery.
It is evening, and if the train did not rattle,
I should cry out. The plain unfolds itself in the distance.
The soft blue silhouette of the mountain rages begins to appear.

(25:17):
I recognize the characteristic outline of the Doldenburg, a jagged
comb springing up precipitously from the limit of the forests.
Behind it should lie the town. But now the sun
streams through the world, dissolving everything in its golden red light.
The train swings round one curve and then another far

(25:38):
away in a long line, one behind the other. Stand
the poplars, unsubstantial, swaying and dark, fashioned out of shadow,
light and desire. The field swings round as the train
encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish. The
trees become a block, and for a moment I see
one only. Then they reappear from behind the foremost tree

(26:02):
and stand out a long line against the sky until
they are hidden by the first houses. A street crossing,
I stand at the window. I cannot drag myself away.
The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I
repeat myself the name of the street that we cross over,
bramer Strasa, Bramerstrasa. Below there are cyclists, lorries, men. It

(26:29):
is a gray street and a gray subway. It embraces
me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops,
and there is the station with noise and cries and sentries.
I pick up my pack and fasten the straps. I
take my rifle in my hand and stumble down the
steps on the platform. I look round. I know no

(26:52):
one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A
red cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away.
She smiles at me, too foolishly, so obsessed with her
own importance. Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee.
She calls me, comrade, but I will have none of it. Outside,

(27:14):
in front of the station, the stream roars alongside the street.
It rushes, foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge.
There stands the old square watch tower. In front of
it the great model lime tree, and behind it the
evening Here we have often sat. How long ago it
is we have passed over this bridge and breathed the cool,

(27:37):
acid smell of the stagnant water. We have leaned over
the still water on this side of the loch, where
the green creepers and weeds hang from the piles of
the bridge, And on hot days we were joiced in
the spouting foam on the other side of the loch,
and told tales about our school teachers. I pass over
the bridge, I look right and left. The water is

(28:01):
as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots
over in gleaming arches. In the tower building, laundresses still
stand with bare arms as they used to over the
clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out
through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street.
Before the doors of the houses. People stand and follow
me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and

(28:25):
heavy laden. In this confectioners we used to eat ices,
and there we learn to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street,
I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemists, the tobacconists.
Then at last I stand before the brown door with
its worn latch, and my hand grows heavy. I open

(28:47):
the door, and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me.
My eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots.
Up Stairs, a door rattles. Some one is looking over
the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened.
They are cooking potato cakes, and the house reeks of it.
And to day, of course, is Saturday. That will be

(29:08):
my sister leaning over. For a moment. I am shy
and lower my head. Then I take off my helmet
and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister, Paul,
She cries, Paul. I nod. My pack bumps against the banister's.
My rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open

(29:30):
and calls mother, Mother Paul is here. I can go
no further. Mother, Mother Paul is here, I lean against
the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold
them as tight as I can, but I cannot take
another step. The staircase fades before my eyes. I support

(29:51):
myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet
and clench my teeth fiercely. But I cannot speak a word.
My sister's call has made me powerless. I can do nothing.
I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no
word comes. And so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralyzed,

(30:12):
and against my will. The tears run down my cheeks.
My sister comes back and says, why, what is the matter.
Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing.
I lean my rifle in a corner. I set my
pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and
fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say, fiercely,

(30:36):
bring me a handkerchief. She gives me one from the cupboard,
and I dry my face. Above me, on the wall
hangs the glass case with the colored butterflies that once
I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes
from the bedroom. Is she in bed? I asked my
sister she is ill, she replies. I go into her,

(31:00):
give her my hand and say as calmly as I can.
Here I am mother. She lies still in the dim light.
Then she asks anxiously are you wounded? And I feel
her searching glance. No, I have got leave. My mother
is very pale. I am afraid to make a light.

(31:23):
Here I lie now, says she, and cry. Instead of
being glad, are you sick? Mother? I ask? I am
going to get up a little to day, she says,
and turns to my sister, who is continually running to
the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn,
and put out the jar of preserved wortleberries. You like that,

(31:45):
don't you, she asks me. Yes, Mother, I haven't had
any for a long time. We might almost have known
you were coming. Laughs. My sister, there is just your
favorite dish, potato cakes, and even wartleberries go with them too.
And it is Saturday, I add. Sit here beside me,

(32:08):
says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are
white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say
very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing.
What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished
for has happened. I have come out of it safely
and sit here beside her, And in the kitchen stands

(32:30):
my sister, making the evening bread and singing. Dear boy,
says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in
our family. Poor folk who toil and are full of
cares are not. So It is not their way to
protest what they already know. When my mother says to me,

(32:52):
dear boy, it means much more than when another uses it.
I know well enough that the jar of wortleberries is
the only one they have had had for months, and
that she has kept it for me. And the somewhat
stale cakes that she gives me two. She has taken
a favorable opportunity of getting a few, and has put
them all by for me. I sit by her bed,

(33:16):
and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer
garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply
and say over to myself, you are at home. You
are at home. But a sense of strangeness will not
leave me. I can find nothing of myself in all
these things. There is my mother, There is my sister,

(33:39):
There my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano.
But I am not myself there there is a distance
a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack
to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought.
A whole edam or cheese. That cat provided me with
two loaves of army bread, three quarters of a pound

(34:01):
of butter, two tins of liver sausage, a pound of dripping,
and a little bag of rice. I suppose you can
make some use of that. They nod. Is it pretty
bad for food here? I inquire, yes, there is not much.
Do you get enough out there? I smile and point

(34:23):
to the things I have brought. Not always kite so
much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well.
Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my
mother seizes hold of my hand and asks, falteringly, was
it very bad out there? Paul, mother? What should I
answer to that? You would not understand and never realize it.

(34:47):
You never should realize it? Was it bad? You ask you, mother?
I shake my head and say, no, mother, not so
very There are always a lot of us together, so
it isn't so bad. Yes, But Heinrich Braidermeyer was here
just lately, and he said it was terrible out there now,

(35:09):
with the gas and all the rest of it. It
is my mother who says that. She says, with the
gas and all the rest of it. She does not
know what she is saying. She is merely anxious for me.
Should I tell her how we once found three enemy
trenches with their garrison all stiff, as though stricken with apoplexy,

(35:32):
against the parapets in the dugouts. Just where they were
the men stood and lay about with blue faces dead. No, mother,
that's only talk, I answer. There's not very much in
what Braidermeier says. You see. For instance, I'm well and fit.
Before my mother's tremulous anxiety, I recover my composure. Now

(35:56):
I can walk about and talk and answer questions without fear,
having suddenly to lean against the wall because the world
turns soft as rubber, and my veins become brimstone. My
mother wants to get up, so I go for a
while to my sister in the kitchen. What is the
matter with her? I asked? She shrugs her shoulders. She

(36:18):
has been in bed two months now, but we did
not want to write and tell you. Several doctors have
been to see her. One of them said, it is
probably cancer again. I go to the district commandant to
report myself. Slowly I wander through the streets. Occasionally some
one speaks to me. I do not delay long, for

(36:41):
I have a little inclination to talk. On my way
back from the barracks, a loud voice calls out to me.
Still lost in thought, I turn round and find myself
confronted by a major. Can't you salute? He blusters? Sorry, Major,
I say, in embarrassment, I didn't notice you. Don't you

(37:02):
know how to speak properly? He roars. I would like
to hit him in the face, but control myself, for
my leave depends on it. I click my heels and
say I did not see you, hair Major, and keep
your eyes open. He snorts, What is your name? I
give it? His fat red face is furious. What regiment?

(37:27):
I give him full particulars, even yet he has not
had enough. Where are they? But I have had more
than enough, and say between langemark and big shoot eh?
He asks, a bit stupefied. I explained to him that
I arrived on leave only an hour or two since,

(37:48):
thinking that he would then trot along, but not at
all he gets even more furious. You think you can
bring your front line manners here. What well, we don't
stand that sort of thing. Thank god we have discipline here.
Twenty paces backwards, double march, he commands. I am mad

(38:10):
with rage, but I cannot say anything to him. He
could put me under a rest if he liked. So
I double back and then march up to him, six
paces from him. I spring to a stiff salute and
maintain it until I am six paces beyond him. He
calls me back again and affably gives me to understand
that for once, he's pleased to put mercy before justice.

(38:34):
I pretend to be duly grateful. Now dismiss he says,
I turn about smartly and march off. That ruins the
evening for me. I go back home and throw my
uniform into a corner. I ought to have done that before.
Then I take out my civilian clothes from the wardrobe
and put them on. I feel awkward. The suit is

(38:58):
rather tight and short. I have grown in the army
collar and tie give me some trouble. In the end.
My sister ties the bow for me. But how light
the suit is. It feels as though I had nothing
on but a shirt and underpants. I look at myself
in the glass. It is a strange sight. A sunburnt,

(39:21):
overgrown candidate for confirmation gazes at me in astonishment. My
mother's pleased to see me wearing civilian clothes. It makes
me less strange to her. But my father would rather
I kept my uniform on, so that he could take
me to visit his acquaintances. But I refuse. It is

(39:44):
pleasant to sit quietly somewhere in the beer garden, for example,
under the chestnuts by the skittle alley. The leaves fall
down on the table and on the ground, only a
few the first A glass of beer stands in front
of me. I have learned a drink in the army.
The glass is half empty, but there are still a

(40:04):
few good swigs ahead of me. And besides, I can
always order a second and a third if I wish to.
There are no bugles and no bombardments. The children of
the house play in the skittle alley, and the dog
rests his head against my knee. The sky is blue.
Between the leaves of the chestnuts rise the green spire

(40:26):
of Saint Margaret's Church. This is good, I like it,
but I cannot get on with the people. My mother
is the only one who asks no questions. Not so
my father. He wants me to tell him about the front.
He is curious in a way that I find stupid
and distressing. I no longer have any real contact with him.

(40:50):
There is nothing he likes more than just hearing about it.
I realize he does not know that a man cannot
talk of such things. I would do it willingly, but
it is true dangerous for me to put these things
into words. I am afraid they might then become gigantic,
and I be no longer able to master them. What
would become of us if everything that happens out there

(41:12):
were quite clear to us? So I confine myself to
telling him a few amusing things. But he wants to
know whether I have ever had a hand to hand fight.
I say no and get up and go out. But
that does not mend matters. After I have been startled
a couple of times in the street by the screaming

(41:32):
of a tram cars, which resembles the shriek of a
shell coming straight for one, somebody taps me on the shoulder.
It is my German master, and he fastens on me
with the usual question, well, how are things out there? Terrible? Terrible? Eh? Yes,
it is dreadful, but we must carry on, and after all,

(41:55):
you do at least get decent food out there. So
I hear you look well, Paul and fit. Naturally, it's
worse here, naturally the best for our soldiers. Every time
that goes without saying. He drags me along to a
table with a lot of others. They welcome me. My
head master shakes hands with me and says, so you

(42:18):
come from the front. What is the spirit like out there? Excellent? Eh, excellent.
I explained that no one would be sorry to be
back home. He laughs uproariously. I can well believe it,
But first you have to give the frog is a
good hiding. Do you smoke here? Try one waiter bring

(42:41):
a beer as well for our young warrior. Unfortunately, I
have accepted the cigar, so I have to remain. And
they are also dripping with good will that it is
impossible to object. All the same, I feel annoyed and
smoke like a chimney as hard as I can, in
order to make at least some show of appreciation. I

(43:03):
toss off the beer in one gulp immediately a second
is ordered. People know how much they are indebted to
the soldiers. They argue about what we ought to annex.
The head master with the steel wash chain wants to
have at least the whole of Belgium, the coal areas
of France, and a slice of Russia. He produces reasons

(43:24):
why we must have them, and is quite inflexible until
at last the others give in to him. Then he
begins to expound just whereabouts in France the breakthrough must come,
and turns to me, Now shove ahead a bit out
there with their everlasting trench warfare, smashed through the Johnnies,
and then there will be peace. I reply that, in

(43:46):
our opinion, a breakthrough may not be possible. The enemy
may have too many reserves. Besides, the war may be
rather different from what people think. He dismisses the idea
loftily informs me, I know nothing about it. The details, yes,
says he, But this relates to the whole, and of

(44:08):
that you are not able to judge. You see only
your little sector, and so cannot have any general survey.
You do your duty, You risk your lives. That deserves
the highest honor. Every man of you ought to have
the iron cross. But first of all, the enemy line
must be broken through in Flanders and then rolled up

(44:28):
from the top. He blows his nose and wipes his
beard completely. Rolled up, they must be from the top
to the bottom, and then to Paris. I would like
to know just how he pictures it to himself, and
pour the third glass of beer into mine. Immediately he
orders another, but I break away. He stuffs a few

(44:52):
more cigars into my pocket and sends me off with
a friendly slap. All of the best. I hope we
will soon hear something worthwhile from you. I imagine leave
we be different from this. Indeed, it was different a
year ago. It was I, of course, that have changed
in the interval. There lies a gulf between that time

(45:15):
and today. At that time I still knew nothing about
the war. We had been only in quiet sectors. But
now I see that I have been crushed without knowing it.
I find I do not belong here anymore. It is
a foreign world. Some of these people ask questions, some

(45:35):
ask no questions, but one can see that they are
quite confident they know all about it. They often say
so with their air of comprehension. So there is no
point in discussing it, they make up a picture of
it for themselves. I prefer to be alone so that
no one troubles me, For they all come back to

(45:56):
the same thing, how badly it goes, and how well
it goes. One thinks it is this way, another that,
and yet they are always absorbed in the things that
go to make up their own existence. Formerly I lived
in just the same way myself. But now I feel
no contact here any longer. They talk to me too much.

(46:21):
They have worries, aims, desires that I cannot comprehend. I
often sit with one of them in the little beer
garden and try to explain to him that this is
really the only thing, just to sit quietly like this.
They understand, of course, they agree. They may even feel
it so too, but only with words. Only with words, Yes,

(46:44):
that is it. They feel it, but always with only
half of themselves. The rest of their being is taken
up with other things. They are so divided in themselves
that none feels it with his whole essence. I cannot
even say my self exactly what I mean. When I
see them here in their rooms, in their offices, about

(47:06):
their occupations, I feel an irresistible attraction in it. I
would like to be here too and forget the war.
But also it repels me. It is so narrow. How
can that fill a man's life? He ought to smash
it to bits? How can they do it? While out
at the front the splinters are whining over the shell holes,

(47:28):
and the star shells go up. The wounded are carried
back on the waterproof sheets, and comrades crouch in the trenches.
There are different men here, men I cannot properly understand,
whom I envy and despise. I must think of Kat
and Albert, and Muller and Tiadden. What will they be doing?

(47:49):
No doubt they are sitting in the canteen, or perhaps swimming.
Soon they will have to go up to the front
line again. In my room, behind the table stands a
brown leather sofa. I sit down on it. On the
walls are pated countless pictures that I once used to

(48:09):
cut out of the newspapers. In between are drawings and
post cards that have come my way. In the corner
is a small iron stove against the wall. Opposite stand
the book shelves with my books. I used to live
in this room before I was a soldier. The books
I bought gradually with the money I earned by coaching.

(48:32):
Many of them are second hand. All the classics, for example,
one volume in blue Cloth Boards cost one mark twenty Fennich.
I bought them complete because I was thorough going. I
did not trust the editors of selections, even though they
may have chosen all the best, so I purchased only

(48:52):
collected works. I read most of them with laudable zeal,
but few of them really appealed to me. I preferred
the other books, the moderns, which were of course much dearer.
A few I came by, not quite honestly, I borrowed
and did not return them because I did not want
to part with them. One shelf is filled with school books.

(49:16):
They are not so well cared for. They are badly thumbed,
and pages have been torn out for certain purposes. Then
below are periodicals, papers and letters, all jammed in together
with drawings and rough sketches. I want to think myself
back into that time. It is still in the room.
I feel it at once. The walls have preserved it.

(49:39):
My hands rest on the arms of the sofa. Now
I make myself at home and draw up my legs
so that I sit comfortably in the corner in the
arms of the sofa. The little window is open. Through
it I see the familiar picture of the street with
the rising spire of the church at the end. There
are a couple of flowers on the table, penholders, a

(50:01):
shell as a paperweight, the ink. Well. Here nothing is changed.
It will be like this too if I am lucky
when the war is over and I come back here
for good, I will sit here just like this and
look at my room and wait. I feel excited, but

(50:21):
I do not want to be, for that is not right.
I want that quiet rapture again. I want to feel
the same powerful, nameless urge that I used to feel
when I turn to my books. The breath of desire
that then arose from the colored backs of the books
shall fill me again, melt the heavy, dead lump of

(50:41):
lead that lies somewhere in me, and waken again the
impatience of the future, the quick joy in the world
of thought. It shall bring back again the lost eagerness
of my youth. I sit and wait. It occurs to
me that I must go and see Kemrick's mother. I

(51:03):
might visit Middlstett too. He should be at the barracks.
I look out of the window. Beyond the sober picture
of the street appears a range of hills, distant and light.
It changes to a clear day in autumn, and I
sit by the fire with Cat and Albert and eat
potatoes baked in their skins. But I do not want

(51:25):
to think of that. I sweep it away. The room
shall speak, it must catch me up and hold me.
I want to feel that I belong here. I want
to hearken and know when I go back to the front,
that the war will sink down, be drowned utterly in
the great home coming tide. Know that it will be
then past forever, and not gnaw as continually, that it

(51:48):
will have none but an outward power over us. The
backs of the book stand in rows. I know them
all still, I remember arranging them in order. I implore
them with my eyes. Speak to me. Take me up,
take me, life of my youth. You are care free, beautiful,

(52:10):
Receive me again. I wait, I wait. Images float through
my mind, but they do not grip me. They are
mere shadows and memories, nothing nothing. My disquietude grows a
terrible feeling of foreignness. Sunny rises up in me. I

(52:32):
cannot find my way back. I am shut out. Though
I entreat earnestly and put forth all my strength, nothing
stirs listless and wretched, like a condemned man. I sit there,
and the past withdraws itself, And at the same time
I fear to importune it too much, because I do

(52:53):
not know what might happen. Then I am a soldier.
I must cling to that wearily. I stand up and
look out of the window. Then I take one of
the books, intending to read and turn over the leaves.
But I put it away and take out another. There

(53:14):
are passages in that that have been marked. I look,
turn over the pages, take up fresh books. Already they
are piled up beside me, speedily, more joined the heap, papers, magazines, letters.
I stand there, dumb as before a judge, dejected. Words, words, words,

(53:37):
They do not reach me. Slowly, I place the books
back in the shelves. Never more quietly I go out
of the room. Still I do not give up hope.
I do not indeed go to my room anymore, but
comfort myself with a thought that a few days are

(53:58):
not enough to judge by Afterwards, later on there is
plenty of time for that. So I go over to
see Middleschtet in the barracks and we sit in his room.
There is an atmosphere about it that I do not like,
but with which I am quite familiar. Midduchtet has some
news ready for me that electrifies me on the spot.

(54:21):
He tells me Katrick has been called up as a territorial.
Just think of it, says he, and takes out a
couple of good cigars. I come back here from the
hospital and bump right into him. He stretches out his
paw to me and bleats, hello, Midtoschtett, how are you.
I look at him and say, territorial Katrick. Business is business,

(54:44):
and schnapps his schnaps. You ought to know that well
enough yourself stand to attention when you speak to a
superior officer. You should have seen his face, a cross
between a dud and a pickled cucumber. He tried once
again to chum up. Oh. I snubbed him a bit harder.
Then he brought out his biggest guns and asked, confidentially,

(55:06):
would you like to use my influence so that you
can take an emergency exam. He was trying to remind
me of those things, you know. Then I got mad
and I reminded him of something instead, territorial, Katrick. Two
years ago you preached us into enlisting, and among us
there was one Joseph Bame who didn't want to enlist.

(55:28):
He was killed three months before. He would have been
called up in the ordinary way. If it had not
been for you, he would have lived just that much longer.
And now dismiss you will hear from me later. It
was easy to get put in charge of his company.
First thing I did was to take him to the
stores and fit him out with a suitable equipment. You

(55:50):
will see in a minute. We go out to the
parade ground. The company has fallen in Middelschett stands them
at ease and inspects. Then I see Katrick, and I'm
scarcely able to stifle my laughter. He is wearing a
faded blue tunic. On the back and in the sleeves
there are big dark patches. The overcoat must have belonged

(56:14):
to a giant. The black worn breeches are just as
much too short. They reach barely half way down his calf.
The boots tough old clod hoppers with turned up toes,
and laces at the side are much too big for him,
but as a compensation, the cap is too small, a
terribly dirty, mean little pill box. The whole rigout is

(56:38):
just pitiful. Middleshett stops in front of him. Territorial, Katrick,
do you call those buttons polished? You seem as though
you can never learn? Inadequate, Cantric, quite inadequate. It makes
me bubble with glee. In school, Katric used to Chasen

(56:58):
Middleshet with exactly this same expression. Inadequate, midustaut quite inadequate.
Midrustat continues to upgrade him. Look at Betcher. Now there's
a model for you to learn from. I can hardly
believe my eyes. Becher is there too, Betcher, our school porter,

(57:20):
and he is a model. Cantrick shoots a glance at
me as if he would like to eat me. But
I grin at him innocently, as though I do not
recognize him anymore. Nothing could look more ludicrous than his
forage cap and his uniform. And this is the object
before whom we used to stand in anguish as he

(57:41):
sat up there, enthroned at his desk, spearing at us
with his pencil for our mistakes in those irregular French
verbs with which afterwards we made so little headway in France,
that is barely two years ago, and now here stands
territorial cantric, the spell quite broken, with bent knees, arms

(58:01):
like pothooks, unpolished buttons, and that ludicrous rigout an impossible soldier.
I cannot reconcile this with the menacing figure at the
schoolmaster's desk. I wonder what I, the old soldier, would do,
if this skinful of woe ever dared to say to
me again, Baumer, give thee imperfect of alaire. Then Middelsted

(58:25):
makes them practice skirmishing, and as a favor appoints Kantrick
squad leader. Now in skirmishing, the squad leader has always
to keep twenty paces in front of his squad. If
the order comes on the march about turn, the line
of skirmisher simply turns about. But the squad leader, who
now finds himself suddenly twenty paces in the rear of

(58:48):
the line, has to rush up at the double and
take his position again twenty paces in front of the squad.
That makes altogether forty paces double march. But no sooner
has a arrived than the order on the march about
turn comes again, and he wants more has to race
at top speed another forty paces to the other side.

(59:10):
In this way, the squad is made merely the turnabout
and a couple of paces, while the squad leader dashes
backwards and forwards like a fart on a curtain pole.
That is one of Himmelsta's well worn recipes. Kantrik can
hardly expect anything else from Middlestett, for he once messed
up the latter's chance of promotion, and Middlestett would be

(59:31):
a big fool not to make the best of such
a good opportunity as this before he goes back to
the front again. A man might well die easier after
the army has given him just one such stroke of luck.
In the meantime, Katrick is dashing up and down like
a wild boar. After a while, Middleschtett stops the skirmish

(59:52):
and begins the very important exercise of creeping on hands
and knees, carrying his gun in regulation fashion. Katric shoves
his absurd figure over the sand immediately in front of us.
He is breathing hard and is panting is music. Mettelchett
encourages Katric the Territorial with quotations from Kantric the Schoolmaster.

(01:00:16):
Territorial Cantric, we have the good fortune to live in
a great age. We must all humble ourselves and for
once put aside bitterness. Katrick sweats and spits out a
dirty piece of wood that is lodged in his teeth.
Middlechett stoops down and says, reproachfully and in the trifles,

(01:00:36):
never lose sight of the great adventure Territorial Cantric. It
amazes me that Cantric does not explode with a bang,
especially when during physical exercises, Middlchett copies him to perfection,
seizing him by the seat of his trousers as he
is climbing along the horizontal bar so that he can

(01:00:57):
just raise his chin above the beam, and then starts
to give him good advice. That is exactly what Katrick
used to do to him at school. The extra fatigues
are next detailed off. Katrick and Betcher bread fatigue. Take
the hand cart with you. In a couple of minutes,
the two set off together pushing the barrow. Katrick, in

(01:01:19):
a fury, walks with his head down, but the porter
is delighted to have scored light duty. The bakehouse is
away at the other end of the town, and the
two must go there and back through the whole length
of it. They've done that a couple of times already,
grins Middlstett. There are still a few people waiting to
see them. Excellent, I say, But hasn't he reported you yet?

(01:01:45):
He did try. Our Ceo laughed like the deuce when
he heard the story. He hasn't any time for schoolmasters. Besides,
I'm sweet with his daughter. He'll mess up the examination
for you. I don't care, said Middlestette calmly. Besides, his
complaint came to nothing because I could show that he

(01:02:06):
had had hardly anything but light duty. Couldn't you polish
him up a bit? I ask? He is too stupid,
I couldn't be bothered, answers Middelstette contemptuously. What is leave
a pause? That only makes everything after it so much worse?

(01:02:28):
Already the sense of parting begins to intrude itself. My
mother watches me silently. I know she counts the days.
Every morning she is sad it is one day less
she has put away my pack. She does not want
to be reminded by it. The hours pass quickly if

(01:02:48):
a man broods. I pull myself together and go with
my sister to the butcher's to get a pound of bones.
That is a great luxury. And people line up early
in the morning, and and waiting, many of them faint.
We have no luck. After waiting by turns for three hours,
the que disperses. The bones have not lasted out. It

(01:03:13):
is a good thing. I get my rations. I bring
them to my mother, and in that way we all
get something decent to eat. The days grow even more strained,
and my mother's eyes more sorrowful. Four days left. Now
I must go and see Kemrick's mother. I cannot write

(01:03:33):
that down, this quaking, sobbing woman who shakes me and
cries out on me, why are you living? Then? When
he is dead? Who drowns me in tears and calls out,
what are you there for at all? Child? When you
who drops into a chair and wails, did you see him?
Did you see him? Then? How did he die? I

(01:03:57):
tell her he was shot through the heart and died
Insteadaneously she looks at me, She doubts me, you lie,
I know better. I have felt how terribly. He died.
I have heard his voice at night, I have felt
his anguish. Tell the truth. I want to know it.
I must know it. No, I say, I was beside him.

(01:04:22):
He died at once. She pleads with me gently. Tell
me you must tell me. I know you want to
comfort me, but don't you see you torment me far
more than if you told me the truth. I cannot
bear the uncertainty. Tell me how it was, and even

(01:04:42):
though it will be terrible, it will be far better
than what I have to think. If you don't, I
will never tell her. She can make mincemeat out of me. First,
I console her, but she strikes me as rather stupid
all the same, Why doesn't she stop worry? Camerck will
stay dead, whether she knows about it or not. When

(01:05:05):
a man has seen so many dead, he cannot understand
any longer whether she be so much anguish over a
single individual. So I say, rather impatiently, he died immediately.
He felt absolutely nothing at all. His face was quite calm.
She is silent. Then she says, slowly, will you swear it? Yes,

(01:05:31):
by everything that is sacred to you, Good God? What
is there that is sacred to me? Such things change
pretty quickly with us. Yes, he died at once. Are
you willing never to come back yourself? If it isn't true?
May I never come back? If he wasn't killed instantaneously.

(01:05:54):
I would swear to anything. But she seems to believe me.
She moans and deep steadily. I have to tell how
it happens. So I invent a story, and I almost
believe it myself. As I leave, she kisses me and
gives me a picture of him in his recruit's uniform.
He leans on a round, rustic table with legs made

(01:06:15):
of birch branches. Behind him, a wood is painted on
a curtain, and on the table stands a mug of beer.
It is the last evening at home. Everyone is silent.
I go to bed early. I seize the pillow, press
it against myself, and bury my head in it. Who

(01:06:36):
knows if I will ever lie in a feather bed again.
Late in the night, my mother comes into my room.
She thinks I am asleep, and I pretend to be
so to talk, to stay awake with one another, it
is too hard. She sits long into the night, although
she is in pain and often writhes, At last, I

(01:06:58):
can bear it no longer, and pretend I have just
wakened up. Go and sleep, mother, you'll catch cold here.
I can sleep enough. Later, she says, I sit up.
I don't go straight back to the front, mother, I
have to do four weeks at the training camp. I

(01:07:19):
may come over from there one sunday. Perhaps she is silent,
then she asks gently, are you very much afraid? No, mother,
I would like to tell you to be on your
guard against the women out in France. They are no good. Ah, mother, mother,

(01:07:40):
you still think I am a child? Why can I
not put my head in your lap and weep? Why
have I always to be strong and self controlled? I
would like to weep and be comforted too. Indeed, I
am little more than a child. In the wardrobe, still
hang my short boy's trousers. It is such a little

(01:08:01):
time ago. Why is it over where we are there
aren't any women, mother, I say, as calmly as I can,
and be very careful at the front. Paul Ah, mother, mother,
Why do I not take you in my arms and
die with you? What poor wretches we are? Yes, Mother,

(01:08:23):
I will, I will pray for you every day, paul Ah, mother, Mother,
Let us rise up and go out back through the
ears where the burden of all this misery lies on us.
No more, back to you and me alone. Mother. Perhaps
you can get a job that is not so dangerous. Yes, mother,

(01:08:45):
Perhaps I can get into the cook house. That can
easily be done. You do it then, and if the
others say anything, that won't worry me. Mother. She sighs.
Her face is a white glean in the darkness. Now
you must go to sleep, mother, She does not reply.

(01:09:07):
I get up and wrap my cover round her shoulders.
She supports herself on my arm. She is in pain,
and so I take her to her room. I stay
with her a little while, and you must get well again, mother,
before I come back. Yes, yes, my child, you ought

(01:09:28):
not to send your things to me. Mother. We have
plenty to eat out there. You can make much better
use of them here, how destitute. She lies there in
her bed, she that loves me more than all the world.
As I am about to leave, she says hastily, I
have two pairs of underpants for you. They are all wool.

(01:09:50):
They will keep you warm. You must not forget to
put them in your pack. Ah, Mother, I know what
these underpants have cost you in waiting and walking and begging. Ah, Mother, mother,
how can it be that I must part from you?
Who else is there that has any claim on me?
But you? Here I sit, and there you are lying,

(01:10:13):
and we have so much to say that we can
never say it. Good Night, mother, good night, my child.
The room is dark. I hear my mother is breathing,
and the ticking of the clock outside the window. The
wind blows, and the chestnut trees rustle on the landing.

(01:10:34):
I stumble over my pack, which lies there, already made up,
because I have to leave early in the morning. I
bite into my pillow, I grasp the iron rods of
my bed with my fists. I ought never to have
come here. Out there, I was indifferent and often hopeless.
I will never be able to be so again. I

(01:10:57):
was a soldier, and now I am nothing but an
agony for myself, for my mother, for everything that is
so comfortless and without end. I ought never to have
come on leave. End of chapter seven